L'ipocondriaca

“It missed one.”

“What?”

“It missed one, I tell you.”

“But one what?”

“A heartbeat, for God’s sake! If you took care of me, Ennio, if you looked at me every now and then, you would know that I was measuring my heart rate.“

“You do it at least ten times a day, Elena, and then it’s two in the morning. Anyway, let me hear … “

Ennio reaches out to the bedside lamp and turns on the light. With the other hand, he gently takes his wife’s wrist and begins to count while staring at the watch.“

“It seems egular to me.”

“No, it isn’t! It skips one out of three! You always refuse to see problems. I explained to you that I have been in pain for days. It is just like they said on television. There are certain veins that can break at any moment and mine must be close. Here, you see, I’m not breathing, I’m suffocating!“

“Calm down, Elena, it’s nothing. You’ll see, as soon as you stop freaking out, everything goes away. Yesterday you were crying for your bladder and after ten minutes you peed and everything was fine. I’ll make you a chamomile, okay?“

“Put three teaspoons of sugar in it. I feel so strange, Ennio. It must be the fault of the suppositories that Dr. Collecchi gave me. On the leaflet it says that they can cause arrhythmias.“

“Don’t read the leaflets!”

“But I don’t want to die! “

Before going to the kitchen to prepare chamomile tea for Elena, Ennio stops in the bathroom to rinse his hot face and shiny eyes.

When he goes back to the room, Elena is dozing off with the light on, her head bowed, her breathing steady and calm. Ennio puts the tray on the bedside table, next to a bundle of medical journals, and stands silently watching his wife. He is about to tell her how much he loves her, but the spoon slips and hits the floor.

“I’m sorry, I woke you up.”

“Did you put the sugar, Ennio?”

He nods, says nothing because of the lump closing his throat. He goes back to bed, lies down beside her, turns off the light. Sooner or later he will have to tell her the truth.

But she snuggles into the hollow of his hot arm and falls asleep immediately, while he stays awake staring at the ceiling, dark as the lid of a coffin.

*******

“Believe me, Dr. Collecchi, I had a terrible night, my heart seemed to go crazy and I felt a grip on my chest, here, right at this point …”

“Mrs. Malagodi, since you are here, it would be appropriate for me to speak to you, what I have to say is infinitely burdensome, but it is right that you know …”

“So it’s true, I have a heart condition! And Ennio always denying, calling me a hypochondriac! He thinks only of himself, men are all selfish … “

“Mrs. Malagodi, don’t …”

“I know, doctor, I know, you are about to tell me that the electrocardiogram is bad …”

“Mrs. Malagodi … you may have noticed that your husband hasn’t been the same for some time …”

Ennio? What’s he got to do with it now? In fact, why isn’t he here to comfort me, to hold my hand?

“… he’s pale …”

Pale?

“… His muscle mass has atrophied …”

Coming out of the doctor’s office, the only thing Elena has understood is that Ennio has known for three months that he must die.

He didn’t say anything to her, poor Ennio, he kept his pain and fear for himself, without sharing it with her. This morning too, greeting her at the door, he gave her a kiss, murmuring: “I’m going, Elena, but, please, don’t get upset, stay calm.”

Poor, poor Ennio.

(Um … What if the kiss was contagious?)