Dolls rescue

One true history

Was she my life's woman? The only thing I'm sure is that she isn't anymore. Since that last day in which we saw no telephon call, no mail.

She was my baby. Blonde, petty and unprejudiced. Was her attitude to be amazing... her way to keep legs and arms spreadeagled: ridiculous in the morning, but becaming disturbed in the dark. Mouth was open wide, but fortunately she was dumb. She was my doll.

It was the year in which I release the apartment. While I was in the hospital, she remained there; fondled by my ex-home companion and friends. And there she remained instead I couldn't have her.

Now, I tell you the only attempt in my life, to reembrace her. And for this I'm grateful to my friend P. who supported and reinforced my painful step.

During time I succeeded, with a great effort, to convert my frustrated sentimental passion into a passionate need of knowledge; and by mean of which I was implacably takeing exams like a roadroller with the tank full and without driver ...but P. reveal his providential fuckness as usual.

We were in the library. Submerged by my notes sheets I was sleeping in the Turin's warm spring afternooon, that was so dear in the past when the inattentive study bestowed me bucolic vagrancy along avenues and parks. - Listen M. Why don't we go to search for Olinka?

I was not for null careful to that speech, but that name irruppe like the wave after crash of the dam, pulling down that wall of cospiracy of silence that my senses had erected to you round. I did not want, I denied every interest, I grabbed hold of to the leggio and then to the counter of the restitution loans... but I found again myself in road to cover that by now covered distance of gramigne of memories that lead me to the old residence.
An other label had been placed on the pulsantiera, that one mine and of my former companion of room. Taken P. my hand white woman and motivatings force like a bubbled, but cold fish... and made to trillare the citofono for me, then forced to me to answer.
A sound gracchio', and I said without by now to think more: - Therefore, they are the previous renter of the apartment... and I wanted to know if for case has found one what... (the embarrassment suggested me not to try of sapiegarmi beyond).
- It comes su'.

One young girl piu' of we apri' the door without to make other questions. That benevolent attitude, nearly premuroso me preoccupo'. P. was triumphant for successful being to condurmi until there, and without no obstacle. See again that little changed place..., in best, from the feminine taste of the new renter... rendered me of all the unarmed one. Fu' P. to take the initiative.
- You see we we are the previous renters (mentiva for cio' that he regarded he)... and going via we are forgotten one what.
The red girl divenne in ace. I interpreted the reaction like commozione of forehead to our noble interest... P. I later on knew, that interpreto' like deep embarrassment and amused pain.
-... we have not found null...
- But, via... - and P. spiego' better the object of our interest. I did not resist to that story and I let to fall to behind for appoggiarmi to the washbasin of the kitchen-income.

From the expression of my beloved friend I understood that I had lost it. Of essermi only resumed memory in road, the before din of the station.
P. was of forehead to me. Me riferi' that terrible answer: - Ah! That one... we have thrown it in the cassonetto... - and hand put me one on the shoulder. And I thought that never it had not been mine.