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 Unjustified Fears  (5 ratings)by Fernando Sorrentino Page 2 of 2 So Don Nicola showed up and right away, being a man of action and not words, he set to work. Quickly he mixed mortar and, brick by brick, built up around Enrique Viani a tall, thin cylinder. The tight fit of his living quarters, far from being a drawback, allowed Enrique Viani to sleep standing up with no fear of falling and losing his upright position. Then Don Nicola carefully plastered over the construction, applied a base and painted it moss green to blend in with the carpeting and chairs. Still, Graciela - dissatisfied with the general effect of this mini obelisk in the living room - tried putting a vase of flowers on top of it and then an ornamental lamp. Undecided, she said: "This mess will have to do for now. Monday I'll buy something decentlooking." To keep Enrique Viani from getting too lonely, I thought of staying on for Patricia's party, but the thought of facing the music our young people are so fond of terrified me. Anyway, Don Nicola had taken care to make a little rectangular window in front of Enrique Viani's eyes, so he could keep entertained watching certain irregularities in the wall paint. So, seeing everything was normal, I said goodbye to the Vianis and Don Nicola and went back home. In Buenos Aires back in those years we were all overwhelmed with duties and obligations: the truth is I almost forgot all about Enrique Viani. Finally, a couple of weeks ago, I managed to get free for a moment and went to call on him. I found he was still living in his little obelisk, only now a splendid blueflowering creeper had twined its runners and leaves all around it. I pulled a bit to one side some of the luxuriant greenery and through the little window I managed to spot a face so pale it was nearly transparent. Guessing the question I was about to ask, Graciela told me that, through a kind of wise adaptation to the new circumstances, nature had exempted Enrique Viani from all physical necessities. I didn't want to leave without making one last plea for sanity. I asked Enrique Viani to be reasonable; after twentythree months of being walled up, this spider of ours was surely dead, so, then, we could tear down Don Nicola's handiwork and .... Enrique Viani had lost the power of speech or at any rate h is voice could no longer be heard; he just said no desperately with his eyes. Tired and, maybe, a bit sad, I left. In general, I don't think about Enrique Viani. But lately, I recalled his situation two or three times, and I flared up with rebellion: ah, if those unjustified fears didn't have such a hold, you'd see how I'd grab a pickaxe and knock down that ridiculous structure of Don Nicola's; you'd see how, facing facts that spoke louder than words, Enrique Viani would end up agreeing his fears were groundless. But, after these flareups, respect for my fellowman wins out, and I realize I have no right to butt into other people's lives and deprive Enrique Viani of an advantage he so treasures.
Copyright © 1999, 2000, 2001 Fernando Sorrentino, sffworld.com. All rights reserved. No part of this may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the author. The author has submitted the work in accordance with and in agreement with the following Submission Guidelines. |
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