The Confessions Of A Concubine

the meetings multiplied, little by little I also lost the fear that had almost killed me the first time.

I searched for Pietro's gaze with mine, in the hope of discovering that small wink that presaged a new encounter.

I had fallen in love. Irreparably. Without solution.

I had also bought some lace underwear and each time I couldn't wait to show it to Pietro, although

"showing" was a eufemism, because in that squallid basement where we had established the abode of our meetings it was almost dark and even cold, but I did not feel any of this when I was stretched out on the cartons that he had brought downstairs and laid on the ground, overwhelmed by the whirlwind of sensations that Pietro made me feel.

Of course, it was important for me that he paid attention to me even outside of our tête-à-tête, but I was certain that instead it was vital for him to

have carnal contact with me.

He kept telling me that he had never felt what he felt for me, that I was fantastic, wonderful, beautiful, unique.

And each time I came out of it drunk.

And each time he wanted more.

Always more.

"I want to make love to you, I can't resist any longer! When I'm with my wife I think of you, I think I'll go crazy at this rate..."

In his arms everything seemed possible, but thinking back to his requests when I found myself alone, I didn’t feel ready, I didn’t want this last barrier that had remained between us to fall, the last small embankment against a current which was now too violent.

***

I felt a vague sense of guilt towards Filippo

hovering between us, leading me to have sexual impulses that, much more than once I think, had left him surprised if not appalled. To me it seemed that by giving myself to him I could partly silence my feelings of guilt.

One evening after some disinterested sex, done as if by obligation, he turned to me and said:

"You can't have children, you can't make me feel real pleasure... luckily at least you’re able to cook and tidy up the house, otherwise ... "

These were the things that made me realize more and more that I was not remotely willing to give up Pietro.

With my face pressed into the pillow I dreamed of Pietro, and clenched my teeth so as not to cry.

Filippo was never there: absent in moments of joy, and in moments of deep pain.

Absent not for nonsense, of course, for work.

" I serve the people!"

His work as a security guard made him feel a

step above the others.

For me by now it was late, too late to give up, to undo fastened ties, to give up, to do without Pietro.

I started because of pain.

Because of pain in love,

or love of the pain

now I don't know anymore.

I wrote love

and I didn't notice it

until many lines later,

when the pain reclined

tired and afflicted

on the extended palm of my heart.

And I loved.

Without hesitation and reservations,

certain

in the dark,

to find pain again,

only pain.

10.

The gala dinner

Giovanni Percalli, the new director of the company that managed the supermarket chain where I worked, had decided to offer a dinner to all the employees so they could meet him and to celebrate this new milestone.

"There’s no way I’m getting dressed up for someone who has bought himself a position in a company with money ..."

"But Filippo! Everyone will be there, do it for me, what will people think?"

"Think? What will they think? You work in that supermarket, you’re not obliged to do everything they ask!"

"But what if I want to go?"

"Listen Mysia, I don't want to come, and anyway tomorrow I have to cover a colleague, I’m doing a double shift, if you really want to go you can go by yourself, no problem."

Coversation over.

Television on.

End.

Swallowing tears of anger, and disappointment, I slid into a tub of boiling water.

The background of the news accompanied me, exasperating me, in every room.

I closed the bedroom door behind me, and stood in front of the closet looking for something that I could wear to the dinner.

***

The meeting room was already crowded with colleagues and other people I didn’t know.

The catering service had already set up a

wonderful buffet.

I felt a little calmer: I would spend a lovely evening with Pietro, he would tell me that he liked how I was dressed, that with my hair up I was more fascinating, he would make me feel beautiful for one evening, like Cinderella.

The director was in the middle of the room with his wife: a middle-aged couple that transmitted the complicity that united them. She looked towards him constantly, as she spoke, as if to seek comfort in his gaze, as he ran the palm of his hand lightly down her back. But what struck me immediately about the director's wife was her smile, which seemed to illuminate her whole face.

"Ah, good evening Pietro!"

The director’s voice brought me back to reality

"You’ve arrived at last, I wanted to introduce you to Giovanni, the new administrator, come on, come with me."

I turned around radiant, unaware of what my

pupils would see.

Pietro, with a woman, by the hand: his wife.

Me alone.

The smile faded from my face, as I looked at the scene that as it passed my eyes slowly reached my brain.

Jesus, I wished I could disappear swallowed up by the floor.

He had a dark blue suit, a white shirt stretched over the chest I knew and a thin tie, the same color as the suit.

She, light eyes, blond hair, smooth cut into a bob that just touched her shoulders: she was wearing a long black dress that left her back bare, and had a shell-shaped evening bag in her hand.

On the left ring finger together with the wedding ring a cascade of diamonds glittering so much that it attracted everyone's attention.

While Pietro was talking with the managers of other stores, the director’s wife turned to Pietro's

wife:

"My dear, you really are a splendor, and what a beautiful ring! Is it a present from Pietro?"

"Oh, yes, he gave it to me a few days ago, and just think, it wasn’t an anniversary!"

"My dear, watch out, men are real devils, they always know how to make us forgive them even for something that we will never know about!"

I felt as if I was living in a nightmare: my cheeks were on fire, my hands were like ice and I had a huge desire to cry.

As soon as I was sure that my legs would support me, I headed for the bathroom, with an uncertain step.

I opened the glass door that led into the dressing room and then everything disappeared.

***

In the distance I heard a voice calling me,

lovingly.

"Mysia dear, what’s wrong, come on open your eyes. You gave us take a nice scare darling."

The director’s wife caressed my neck gently and stared at me with genuinely worried eyes.

Now I remembered... Pietro with his wife, the bathroom, then total darkness.

With a quizzical gaze, perhaps reading all the questions that were crowding my mind, Mrs. Olga explained what had happened.

"Dear, I saw you coming to the bathroom with such an uncertain step that I thought I would follow you to make sure you were alright, and instead I found you slumped on the ground, unconscious. Maybe you suffer from low blood pressure? And tell me dear where your husband is, maybe it would be better if you went home..."

"Thank you, but I feel better already. It's nothing, really. Thank you."

I had only seen that woman a few times, in the

store, and now she was on her knees with my head resting on her legs. The touch of her hands on the nape of my neck suddenly made me think of my grandmother, but it was just a flash.

I tried to get up, but my legs still couldn't support me. Mrs. Olga helped me to a sitting position, and then stand up.

So it was that I made my entrance into the meeting room where the buffet was set up, supported by the director's wife, attracting everyone’s gaze, including Pietro’s.

I wanted to cry.

I spent the next two hours with colleagues who kindly took turns keeping me company.

At a certain point there was a momentary pause in the close surveillance, to which I was being subjected, just enough for Pietro to come closer and whisper calmly in my ear:

"You look beautiful. I would have liked to be the one who found you in the bathroom, unconscious,

completely in my power, so you could not have denied me!"

I hated him for his one-way jibes, but his proximity melted my joints and ligaments, and I felt my knees go weak again and the blood melt in my veins, yet I had to maintain the impassive mask of the afflicted colleague, because his wife was watching us.

Whether it was hatred or the fire that burned inside me that was predominant, I had no idea.

A few words when I returned from that devastating evening.

Between today and tomorrow

I dress in air

and in the irreversibility of time,

I wait,

to breathe.

Sitting at the kitchen table, alone with the scarlet notebook in front of me, I did not want to sleep, just write.

I wanted Pietro but I could not have him, it was clear, but I didn’t want to listen to the voice of logic that told me to stop, to interrupt that relationship while I was still in time, in time to save myself, in time to save my dignity, in time not to continue on the path of vivisection in pieces, of the choice, I like this and I don’t like that.

But stubbornly I looked only at what I wanted to see, I gave light to what made my heart beat faster, without evaluating the fact that Pietro seemed more interested in sex than in a future together, that after seeing him with his wife I should no longer have any doubt that he would never leave her for me.

But blindness is a choice.

And I had chosen.

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