Read Online About Time by Simona Sparaco - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Simona Sparaco
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see him again. You look distracted, I’m worried about you.”
I’ve always had the feeling that when somebody’s worried about you, it’s more a matter of form, or even of self-interest, than because they really care. That’s definitely the case with Barbara. The health of one of the company’s executives is certainly not high on her list of priorities, especially when the executive in question is a cynical, selfish bachelor, and not exactly a friend of hers.
“I’m just tired. It happens to all of us sometimes, doesn’t it?”
“Of course it happens,” she says in a reassuring voice, but with a hypocritical gleam in her eyes. Then she smiles, and advises me to look after myself. “And don’t get too thin. You know, don’t you, that eighty per cent of the women in this office think you’re some kind of Greek god?”
“And are you in that eighty per cent?”
She smiles again. “No, I’m in the hundred per cent that basically hates you.”
Beaming with amusement, she walks away along the corridor. A moment later, Elena joins me.
“I just can’t keep up with you today,” she says, and I assume that having constantly to follow me around is starting to get on her nerves. “You were supposed to be having lunch with the director and Deputy Incerti.”
“Yes, I know. Why? What time is it?”
“2.30,” she says, shrugging her shoulders and shaking her head. “I got back from my lunch hour and came to find you. You left your mobile in your office.”
Barbara again appears in the corridor. “You haven’t eaten either,” I say to her, trying to conceal my dismay, but she smiles, taking my statement as a joke.
“Actually, I had a big plate of noodles. What about you? Didn’t you go with the director? I told you only an hour ago, make sure you don’t get too thin.”
7
I NEVER KNEW this condition existed, I never knew there was a mental disorder that could catapult a person into a reality like this. Somehow I’ve managed to get through a month of this, and I’m still alive. And I still don’t consider myself completely mad, schizophrenic or a would-be suicide.
In these thirty long and very short days, I’ve avoided any kind of serious conversation, I haven’t been to the gym or gone out in the evening. At weekends I’ve shut myself up in my apartment to recover all the hours of sleep I’d lost during the week, though I have the feeling that doing nothing only makes time go even faster. I ignore the phone calls from friends. The only stable relationship I have is with the message service of my mobile phone. I’ve never talked so much to anyone in all my life, although all I do is record trivial things to remind myself that I have to remember them. I’m struggling to keep my head above water, to save face and my career, but today I really think I touched bottom, and if I don’t make an effort to come back up I’ll soon be forced to ask for help.
It was about lunchtime and I was in my office, I felt as if I was suffocating, the air was becoming unbreathable. After a while, I started to lose concentration, my eyes were smarting with tiredness . Elena kept throwing me sympathetic glances, as if to say, “Go home, please, I can’t bear to see you in this state.” Over the past month, everybody at work has started looking at me the same way. And the director is unrecognizable, he’s like someone in mourning: from a work point of view, I’m the equivalent of a son to him.
I decided to follow Elena’s tacit advice, I said goodbye to those I needed to say goodbye to and left, switching off my mobile. I asked Antonio to take me to the gym. He seemed happy to know that at least for one evening he’d get back home and see his wife earlier than he’d thought.
I wasn’t in the mood to start lifting weights, all I wanted was a massage from Donatella, my favourite therapist, and a quick sauna.
“Where have you been keeping yourself, Svevo?” she asked, greeting me with one of
I’ve always had the feeling that when somebody’s worried about you, it’s more a matter of form, or even of self-interest, than because they really care. That’s definitely the case with Barbara. The health of one of the company’s executives is certainly not high on her list of priorities, especially when the executive in question is a cynical, selfish bachelor, and not exactly a friend of hers.
“I’m just tired. It happens to all of us sometimes, doesn’t it?”
“Of course it happens,” she says in a reassuring voice, but with a hypocritical gleam in her eyes. Then she smiles, and advises me to look after myself. “And don’t get too thin. You know, don’t you, that eighty per cent of the women in this office think you’re some kind of Greek god?”
“And are you in that eighty per cent?”
She smiles again. “No, I’m in the hundred per cent that basically hates you.”
Beaming with amusement, she walks away along the corridor. A moment later, Elena joins me.
“I just can’t keep up with you today,” she says, and I assume that having constantly to follow me around is starting to get on her nerves. “You were supposed to be having lunch with the director and Deputy Incerti.”
“Yes, I know. Why? What time is it?”
“2.30,” she says, shrugging her shoulders and shaking her head. “I got back from my lunch hour and came to find you. You left your mobile in your office.”
Barbara again appears in the corridor. “You haven’t eaten either,” I say to her, trying to conceal my dismay, but she smiles, taking my statement as a joke.
“Actually, I had a big plate of noodles. What about you? Didn’t you go with the director? I told you only an hour ago, make sure you don’t get too thin.”
7
I NEVER KNEW this condition existed, I never knew there was a mental disorder that could catapult a person into a reality like this. Somehow I’ve managed to get through a month of this, and I’m still alive. And I still don’t consider myself completely mad, schizophrenic or a would-be suicide.
In these thirty long and very short days, I’ve avoided any kind of serious conversation, I haven’t been to the gym or gone out in the evening. At weekends I’ve shut myself up in my apartment to recover all the hours of sleep I’d lost during the week, though I have the feeling that doing nothing only makes time go even faster. I ignore the phone calls from friends. The only stable relationship I have is with the message service of my mobile phone. I’ve never talked so much to anyone in all my life, although all I do is record trivial things to remind myself that I have to remember them. I’m struggling to keep my head above water, to save face and my career, but today I really think I touched bottom, and if I don’t make an effort to come back up I’ll soon be forced to ask for help.
It was about lunchtime and I was in my office, I felt as if I was suffocating, the air was becoming unbreathable. After a while, I started to lose concentration, my eyes were smarting with tiredness . Elena kept throwing me sympathetic glances, as if to say, “Go home, please, I can’t bear to see you in this state.” Over the past month, everybody at work has started looking at me the same way. And the director is unrecognizable, he’s like someone in mourning: from a work point of view, I’m the equivalent of a son to him.
I decided to follow Elena’s tacit advice, I said goodbye to those I needed to say goodbye to and left, switching off my mobile. I asked Antonio to take me to the gym. He seemed happy to know that at least for one evening he’d get back home and see his wife earlier than he’d thought.
I wasn’t in the mood to start lifting weights, all I wanted was a massage from Donatella, my favourite therapist, and a quick sauna.
“Where have you been keeping yourself, Svevo?” she asked, greeting me with one of
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