"Marcello," I lower my voice, "look what I have here. I made this with the materials you gifted me." I pull the bodice I'd made in front of him and start talking. Maybe changing the subject could help him get out of whatever place he shut himself in.
I tell him all about the process and how I'd worked on it.
"I want to make a princess dress for Claudia. You remember Claudia? She's my daughter." His rocking slows down a little, and he raises his head to look at me. His gaze is still blank, but one word escapes his lips.
"Claudia?" He croaks, and my heart bursts with emotion in my chest.
"Yes, Claudia is my daughter. You've met her. She's almost ten and she's a little troublemaker." I tell him stories about Claudia scaring the nuns off at the convent, about her little stunts and her newly found love of chocolate.
"Catalina?" His voice is hoarse as he says my name, and I eagerly nod.
"Yes, it's me. Do you recognize me?"
His eyes look straight at me and he furrows his brows, as if clearing the fog surrounding his mind.
"Catalina?" He blinks twice. He then leans forward, dropping his knees to the floor.
"Are you alright?" I move as close to him as I can without making him uncomfortable.
"Now I am," he whispers, "thank you."
"What for?" I ask, baffled.
"You made them go away..." He responds, looking above my head.
"Who, Sarah?"
"No," he shakes his head and takes a deep breath, "the demons. You made the demons go away." He says in all seriousness.
And then he does something that surprises me. His hand hesitantly reaches out and with the tip of his finger, he strokes my cheek with the ghost of a touch.
"You always chase the demons away." He whispers and a tear falls down his cheek.
Figliuol mio, qui può essere tormento, ma non morte.
-Dante Alighieri, Purgatorio Canto XXVII
Chapter Fifteen
SOMETIMES IT FEELS LIKE dying; like a thousand needles poke at your skin at the same time, inflicting infernal torture on your body.
That's what it felt like when Sarah put her hand on my face. I barely felt the contact before my mind simply retreated. It's easy enough by now. I have my own little corner in my head where no one can come in. Where the monsters are kept at bay. Where I'm alone... but at least I'm safe. It's like a white room with no windows and no doors. I don't know where the light comes from, but my mind must have figured out it keeps the monsters away.
And yet, sometimes, they still get in.
It's not the first time that the room has felt too big, like there's too much room for the monsters to roam freely. And so I downsize. I imagine a box. A small box that holds only me inside. Because in my mind, I'm small too. Still a child. I fit myself to the box so that there's no space for other creatures. And then I wait, humming a prayer to myself. I wait for the safety that almost never comes.
But this time it's different.
The more I wish to disappear within myself, the louder a voice from the outside becomes. A soft voice that speaks of simple things, like taking measurements for a dress. A melodious voice that makes me feel calm... secure. She says a name... Claudia, and my heart contracts with a foreign feeling. And then she tells me about this young girl, her adventures, her growing up.
I don't know how, but my box expands. I want to clutch at it and hold it together, but it slowly unravels, until I find myself in the room again. And I'm not alone. In my white room, I see this beautiful angel whispering soothing words. The more I listen, the more entranced I am by the sound.
Until a door appears.
No!
I don't want to face the demons. They'll take me away.
I seek to hide, but her lovely voice won't let me. It permeates every atom of the room, and echoes in my very being. She holds her hand in front of me, but I just shake my head. I can't touch her. She's too pure... I'd taint her.
"I'll keep you safe." The angel tells me, and I raise my head to gaze into her eyes.
A blinding light assaults me, and whether out of fear or a sense of safety, I grasp her hand.
"Catalina?"
It's hard for my eyes to adjust to daylight. Catalina is sitting on her haunches, her face filled with worry.
"Are you alright?" She asks, sliding towards me.
"Now I am," I try to form the words "thank you."
She has no idea just what she's done for me.
"What for?" She frowns.
"You made them go away..." I don't know if she understands... Probably no one does.
"Who, Sarah?" The name of that woman makes me curl my lip in disgust.
"No," I pause, trying to find a way to make her understand, "the demons. You made the demons go away."
It's not the first time either.
For the last ten years, her face has been my only guide back to reality. The only tether I had to the world.
I don't know if it's the love and gratitude I feel for her in my heart that prompts me to do this, but I even shock myself when I lift my hand to touch her cheek.
I close my eyes for a moment, waiting for the pain to come.
Surprisingly, it doesn't.
"You always chase the demons away." I open my eyes and let the tears fall. I'm not afraid of looking weak in front of her. Not when just knowing she's near makes me feel so strong.
"Marcello, you..." She looks at me in awe. With my bravado still intact, I take it a step further and I take her hand in mine. I let out a loud groan at the sensation. I hesitantly wrap my fingers around her hand, and I have to take a minute to regulate my breathing. Human contact. Non-painful human contact. For the first time in over a decade.
"Lina," I croak, wanting to convey everything I'm feeling right now but not being able.
"Shh, it's ok." She coos and interlinks our fingers.
I stare at our linked hands for what seems like an eternity.
"I can touch you," I say, more to myself.
Maybe I'm still locked in my mind. A deep disappointment runs through me at the thought. It wouldn't be the first time... Every night I go to sleep thinking about her. Dreaming about touching her, kissing her.
"Is this real?" I whisper, raising my eyes to look at her, pleading with her to tell me it is.
"It's real. I'm real." Her body moves closer, and our knees almost touch.
I open my mouth to say something, but I find myself tongue-tied. She's dazzling. That beauty that shines from deep inside of her takes my breath away. I squeeze her hand. I wish I could put into words how much she means to me.
But I can't.
I don't deserve it. I don't deserve any of it. Not her compassion, nor her comfort. Yet, I'm so weak, I can't even stay away.
"Are you ok?" She asks me, and I just nod. I bring her hand to my lips for the briefest contact.
"Thank you," I tell her again, my voice full of emotion.
"You don't need to thank me," the corners of her lips turn up, "we're family."
"Family..." I repeat, the word so foreign on my tongue. Our definitions of family are inherently opposite. Family for me has always been about suffering... for her it seems the meaning encompasses so much more.