The Last Christmas On Earth. Andrea LepriЧитать онлайн книгу.
his presence, even if unknowingly. He blamed himself for breaking the only taboo of his life and his mind ran back almost sixteen years before, it was a beautiful sunny morning like any other day. Dr. Parker had chosen that sunny morning to tell him that his son had genetic problems and that anomaly, that extra chromosome, would have caused him a "different" life.
He had reported it to him in the clinic, without preparing him at all for the news and without humanity, coldly explaining the fact to him as if he were teaching a normal lesson in a university classroom. At that very moment, James discovered the meaning of the word "hate", because he had hated the doctor for his eternally insensitive manners. He had thought that if someone had pointed out to him that he had just sat on a bomb ready to explode, he would have made that usual unbearable gesture with his hand and replied, "Well, we will see what we can do about it." He remembered how in an instant all the projects he had done on his child had collapsed, at that precise moment he realized that from that moment on their lives would be changed forever.
Since then they would have had to think mainly of blocking the blows because Harry would never have reached full self-sufficiency and probably would have been bullied even starting from the kindergarten. Often James asked God why it had happened to him, almost as for personal offense or spite, he had repeatedly wondered if this was a punishment for something he had done and, if so, for what. But when he picked up Harry for the first time all his doubts and bitterness suddenly vanished and over time he learned that his son was something incredible. Something different, indeed not worse, and so he had made peace with God.
While he was looking for the most suitable words to answer James swallowed a couple of times, he had the impression time was flying. Harry kept staring at him, waiting for an answer, his eyes half-closed and his tongue resting on his lower lip, just a little bit protruding, and he couldn't tell if the question had been asked three seconds or three hours before.
"It means...it means..." he stuttered, unable to finish the sentence.
"It simply means that you are special ... but you already knew that!" Said Eve, returning into the bedroom to help James.
"Now sleep, or this time I'll be the one to get angry!" she added a little bit impatient, tucking him in, then turned off the lamp on the dresser and took James by the arm to drag him out.
James was still under the sheets with his arms folded under his head and peering at the ceiling, he was too tired to sleep and couldn't stop thinking about those nightmarish hours. He heard the television downstairs turning off and his wife slowly coming up the stairs. Eve entered the room, took the clip out of her hair and placed it on the dresser, took up her brush and the nightgown and went to the bathroom without looking at him once. He followed her with his eyes until the bathroom door was closed, only then he slapped with anger the pillow next to him. Eve had stopped changing in front of him for so long, over the years they had almost completely lost their intimacy and confidence and had sex seldom; James could not even remember when it had been the last time. Moreover, she always wanted to have it in the dark, as if she had something to be ashamed of, and James had never liked that. In the end, as in a silent truce, he had stopped looking for her and she had begun to deny herself, without trauma, and James had thought resignedly that it was probably because of their own hormones that they no longer fit.
Suddenly he compared his wife to a Praying Mantis: just as the insect kills his companion after the relationship that serves only to procreate, in the same way, she had killed their relationship after having had Harry. Annoyed by his own thoughts, he snorted and turned on his side in trying to sleep. Eve entered the room continuing to smooth her hair with her fingers untangling a knot. She put the brush on the dresser, mirrored herself one last time and slipped under the sheets. "Goodnight," she said, turning off the light and then turned her back.
"Goodnight?" James said, turning the light back on, Eve gave him a nervous glance. "Why, now what? I'm destroyed and I want to sleep!"
"How can you be so calm? Our son was away for a day and a half, he came back with torn clothes and broken glasses but no a single scratch on him. Furthermore, he does not remember where he was nor what he did for all that time; we have been searching for him by sea and by mountains and there was no single sign of him. Then suddenly, as he had disappeared, he reappeared magically, even so, everything is fine now? As if nothing ever happened? And all you can say is "goodnight"?"
"Why? What do you think we should do now? Do you want to call the FBI to find out what happened? My son has come home and that's enough for me, and let it be enough for you too!"
"I can't!" James murmured, shaking his head. She sighed dejectedly.
"He got probably lost, perhaps he found slept in a barn or a cabin for hunting and spent the night there. And maybe he doesn't want to tell us the truth because he fears our reaction" she strived to say it stretching her arm toward the light switch.
"When he told us he didn't remember anything he wasn't lying!" James insisted.
"How can you be sure of that?"
"You also know that Harry doesn't tell lies! And in any case, this fact changes everything, we will have to review the margin of trust and freedom that we can grant him! This is a big step backward" he concluded dismayed.
"How can you say so? I think you're exaggerating".
"Do you think I'm exaggerating? Think if it happens again, maybe next time we might not be lucky enough to see him again! Do you know how many people disappear every day without leaving a trace?"
"It won't happen again, don't worry!" she cut him off with her firm expression. Shocked by the excess of security in the tone of his voice, James oddly looked at her.
"I mean, my guess is it was just a prank, I don't think he will do it again... and how can you even presume to know how I feel about it? I'm exhausted, I stayed awake all night the same just like you! Now I'm begging you, please turn the light off, I really need to get some sleep!"
James thought about them, when in the middle of the night together they were wandering in the woods searching for Harry, shouting his name as loud as they could, and concluded that perhaps he had judged her too harshly. Eve had not stopped searching for a moment, even when he had returned to base camp to take stock.
"You're right ... I'm sorry, that was mean of me" he admitted, and she looked at him seriously. "You're forgiven," she told him after a moment.
"Are you serious?"
"Yes, as long as you let me sleep now ... please, I need it so much" Eve said, then turned on her side and curled up. James turned off the light and turned to her, made his chest stick to her back and pushed his knees into the crook of her bent legs, then gently laid his hand on her hip and moved a little closer. He had naively dared to hope that episode could have helped them to be closer, to reopen a speech that had by then been closed, but in response, she took off his hand and let it fall a little further. "I said goodnight" she pointed out, pushing toward the edge of the bed to get away from that contact.
"Goodnight" James replied, annoyed and disappointed, then turned away.
After continuing to change position and turning over for at least half an hour James had succumbed to fatigue, the digital alarm display showed it was seven minutes past three in the morning and he had been snoring loudly for over four hours. Eve put her hand on his shoulder and shook him vigorously, he mumbled something in protest and curled up pulling the sheet towards him. She began to count mentally and before she could even arrive at ten James was snoring again, stronger than before, so she turned on the lamp and studied him to make sure he was really sleeping soundly. When she was sure nothing would have wakened him up, neither firing a cannon shot, she turned off the lamp and took a flashlight from the drawer of the dresser, slipped silently out of bed and after putting on her robe she climbed the stairs leading to the attic.
In the attic, she started looking for a faulty wooden skirting board element, once she found it, pushed the table away and slipped her hand into the slot to pull out an old leather bag. She opened the zipper and spilled the contents onto a dusty carpet, chose what she needed and repeated the stairs. She went back into the master bedroom, holding a