a conversation || Anny Ballardini

A conversation

You are young, you have a family to raise, three kids, …

“I know, deontology! The Hippocratic Oath, I swore for things that at the eyes of god were even worse. But, what can I say, I chose to side power, they pamper me ‘nuf.”

I didn’t ask for a confession, I didn’t even want to be interrupted, but since you burst out, no conscience at all? Better, doesn’t it scream at night, when you look at His eyes, when they ask for help with clemency, those never-ending loving eyes?

“He’s a bastard, he has a home, I am renting.”

He has worked his entire life and never stopped. Sometimes when I was small I just saw him at weekends. I didn’t seem him when I was a teenager, nor as a young lady. He arrived when I was asleep and went out when it was still dark. When he was sixteen he used to get up at 4am to pick up the truck, so that his father could sleep a little longer. At night he went to school, he wanted his head filled with good things, and not by vain thoughts. Then they called him for WW2. It does not seem to me that you are in need of anything, a nice car, good clothes.

“Money, I want money, a lot of it.”

Is this what you teach your children?

“Well, we speak of money at home, the economy of the country is endlessly vomited out of the television, a common topic, everybody speaks of money. I do not want to create adults estranged from their milieu.”

I am wondering how you were able to carve your way through the social services. They listened to you, even if you did not have much to say.

“I know I look cool, perfectly fit, I dress casual, light blue eyes. Yeah, the young doc with family who works in the mountains because he wants to be here (not because I did not find a shit of a job where I lived). The sort of environmentalist guy who is also a vegetarian and deals with herbs. Here money drips down from trees, you know, a tourist place and all those things that go with it, young girls that wanna have fun and so on. “

I don’t think you know, but a doc at the Hospital in Trento told me that it was you who sent Him to Heaven the first time when you took away Coumadin and prescribed cardioaspirin. I am wondering, do you want to kill Him again?

“I know I was clear at the beginning of this conversation. It is becoming hot in here.”

Let me ask you a couple of things.

“I already told you, I need some fresh air, I need to go.”

Where is the physiotherapist they promised He would have at home? Where the nurse? Where all the equipment needed?
…
No answers. And what about that Rumanian man who is following him. Didn’t you see he lifted him with his hemiplegic arm instead of grabbing him around his chest, didn’t you see the devastating pain take away the color from His face? I could notice it in an abandoned filthy dog, you did not see anything?

“That is not my business, they decided he is ok.”

Didn’t you hear what His wife said of the man? I told you and you were listening.

“It’s because she is a racist.”

You, don’t you dare say anything like that of my father nor mother anymore! You should be ashamed of your tiny self. You are probably projecting something that is way well hidden somewhere deep inside you.

“Let’s have a coffee. I’ll pay for it.”

You know I will pay for it, not only, that I’ll buy the cake for your children so that today you can act the part of the good father that goes home with something sweet. I know you will suffer because of what you have done to Him, you sufferance will be as intense as His, this is what is written, in the same way that I have paid for your coffee. I know you are reading me, you have reached me all the way here, I saw your hand trying to destroy the black registers with your name. He is closer to God than what you have ever imagined. God knows, there is no destroying at His eyes.