Chapter 34
Vico
I hate this library. And I hate the way my father sits day after day, staring into nothingness in his worn-out leather chair. Only when Hanna visited the room, he wasn't here, and I can only guess why.
"Camilla and Alessia have gone to so much trouble," I say this sentence not for the first time in the past fifteen minutes.
As countless times before, he shakes his head. His thin hair rises and falls like feathers in the wind. "There's nothing to celebrate."
I stand directly in front of him and look at him intently. "It can't go on like this," I say seriously, lowering myself to a crouch. "Today is your birthday. Your daughters want to do something nice for you." And they specifically sent me to bring him to the celebration. They knew it would be a challenge.
"And you? What about you?" he asks stubbornly, like a child.
Even if I wanted to suppress my sigh, it would escape my lips now. I even postponed the deadline for a customer project to have time for him today. "Don't be so stubborn. Of course, we all want to celebrate with you. It's your fifty-fifth birthday after all.Camilla has invited half the village." Everyone who knows my father will come.
"Pfff," he responds weakly as if it doesn't matter to him at all that his daughter is making such an effort for him.
Another proof that he's already dead inside. "Your sweet little granddaughters will be there too." I force myself to smile at him. If his children can no longer reach his heart, maybe they can, at least the two of them.
Indeed, his eyes light up for a split second.
Finally. A first sign that I might still be able to fulfill my mission to Camilla's satisfaction.
"But they won't stay long. So we should hurry," I wink at him.
He drums his fingers on the armrest. "Is Aurora there too?"
He's asking the wrong question.
"She had to urgently return to France. An emergency at work," at least that's what she claimed when Camilla invited her to the celebration. But something about her was strange. The panic in her eyes, the nervous twitching of her bony fingers. As if she were afraid, yet I couldn't think of a single thing that could be the reason for it. "But Hanna will come. You should meet her anyway; today, you'll have the opportunity," I quickly add, trying to revive the little spark of life in my father's expression.
"Camilla and I spoke with her partner last week. I know enough. I don't need to know anything about her," he breathes out, devoid of strength.
My God, this can't be real.
I can bear his ignorance toward his own children, every heartbeat for him is sorrow, every breath is pain. But Hanna doesn't deserve such treatment. "You're missing the chance to get to know a wonderful person," I say.
"Wonderful people are dying." Doggedness spreads across his face, he clenches his fists.
Yes. That's exactly what I need right now. Thank you, dear Father, for reminding me as if my inner conflict wasn't already overwhelming enough.
Hanna's words suddenly echo in my mind.I wouldn't want to miss the beautiful memories for anything in the world, she said to me just before we looked through the family album. She sounded so certain, as if that were the only right way to deal with the death of a loved one.
For a moment, I thought it could actually be true. But now, seeing my father huddled, pale, and disheveled in his chair, staring into nothingness, I'm no longer sure. These beautiful memories are the ones robbing him of joy. For him, it would be better to forget what happened.
I grab his arm and pull him up. "Let's review the facts: I am not leaving this room without you. Your family and friends will never forgive you if you don't show up at your own celebration. You have two healthy arms and two healthy legs, so you are capable of dressing appropriately and coming with me." I feel a bit like a father, giving his son a stern lecture.
At least my words have an effect. Without resistance, he turns away and shuffles toward the old desk, where I've placed the freshly washed clothes that Camilla gave me for him. Once there, he lets out a heavy sigh, then looks at me. I nod, and he slowly unzips his shirt.
I should feel good about this, as I managed to break him out of his routine. However, I already sense that the celebration could turn into a disaster. Despite everyone's efforts to make him happy.
Patiently, I wait until he changes into the clothes and combs his thinning hair, interspersed with gray streaks. Then we set off toward the village in my VW bus, which I'll use to drive him to the celebration.
The guests are eagerly awaiting us. Even before I park the car, they wave at us through the windshield from outside the restaurant.
"See? Everyone has come to spend a lovely time with you," I say to my father, who has been staring out of the window motionlessly throughout the ride.
I get no response, so I sigh and steer the car toward the parking lot. As soon as we step out, applause erupts from the guests. Joyful cheers and congratulations fill the mild evening air. Suddenly, music starts playing as well. I spot a band on a small stage just outside the restaurant, playing a fanfare.
