The Girl who Reached for the Stars by Luca Di Fulvio

Author:Luca Di Fulvio [Di Fulvio, Luca]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-3-8387-5315-7
Publisher: Bastei Lübbe
Published: 2017-04-03T00:00:00+00:00

50

Rimini

“Why should he be happy?” Shimon Baruch had often repeated to himself up until the day he’d cried in Esther’s arms. That simple question had enabled him to keep his desire for revenge towards Mercurio alive. But above all, it implicitly affirmed that instead he, by contrast, was unhappy. Extremely unhappy.

But the day he’d cried in Esther’s arms the second half of this postulate had ceased to have any consistency. Those tears had loosened a knot, they’d diluted the pain, dissolved the bitterness. And once his cheeks were dry, Shimon had continued to repeat to himself, out of habit: “Why should he be happy?” but feeling that he was happy now too. Maybe as he’d never been before.

“Happy …” he found himself thinking.

Mercurio, Shimon had reflected in the following days, had caused him to fall into the darkest despair. Mercurio had flung him into a nightmare; he’d made him experience a frightening dizziness that he’d never felt before.

And in that dramatic fall Shimon had lost everything, not only his money. He had even risked losing his life with that knife to his throat. He’d lost his voice in any case. And, above all, he’d lost himself.

But then, as Shimon had reflected at the seaside, watching the waves foam under a leaden sky, that fall had helped him understand that he wasn’t as weak as he’d thought. That fall had “skinned” the old Shimon and uncovered his true nature. Now he was a man who would never be able to return to his past life. Maybe he wasn’t better according to God’s law and to the law of his people. But Shimon wasn’t concerned with being better. Those moral categories no longer applied to him. Shimon, now, knew he was strong. Now he could be shaken by grief, but not by fear. His life as a scaredy-cat had ended the day he felt the blade of the dagger penetrate his throat.

Mercurio, in some way, had killed him. Because, as a matter of fact, Shimon-Baruch-the-Coward was dead.

Shimon stood up, shaking off the sand. He turned towards Rimini. Towards Esther’s house, the place where he was able to feel happy. He went to the side of the road, sat down on a milestone, took off his shoes, and emptied out the light and very fine sand. He watched it fall to the ground. Like an hourglass that didn’t measure time. He took a deep breath. He brought his hand to his throat. He ran his index fingertip over the terrible scar from the burn with which he’d cauterized the wound. He felt the fleur-de-lis of the incandescent ducat that he’d pushed against his flesh. He remembered his incapacity to feel the pain those first days. He remembered his incapacity to formulate thoughts other than those of revenge. But he also remembered the exhilarating feeling of strength, of ferocity. The total absence of fear. He should have realized his luck even then.

“But you were young back then,” he thought while a sort of smile formed on his lips.

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