“Mother, mother, are you there?”
The kitchen is in order and no noise disturbs the peaceful quiet of the house, napping in the summer afternoon.
A mournful locomotive whistle in the distance, in gratitude for my love of trains.
The curtain hanging on the open door softly flutters at every occasional sighs of a light breeze.
From the adjacent railway station side, the glint of the tracks and the lonesome garden once vibrant of family happiness.
Not even a stray cloud in that sky so turquoise and so near so as to hear its sighs.
I ran up the stairs that connected to the main floor. Almost caressing it, I knocked lightly on the bedroom door, receiving no answer.
Resting my hand on its handle, and with apprehension, holding my breath i cracks it open.
A familiar and forgotten smell of violets _envelops me. It is the scent of my mother, her essence.
The sweet fragrance I felt when as a child, attached to her bosom, I would find the strength to overcome my fears and, in losing myself into that motherly intimate warmth, I escaped the doubts of my future.
Or when half asleep, I would feel myself in her arms being held tight and rocked with love.
Or when as a grown man, I would catch the fragrance suspended in the air surrounding me , while watching her outside the door, under the shady tree with distant eyes lost on an undetermined point in infinity.
She was so intent in observing a distant time _ or maybe in chasing a vanished dream that she wouldn’t notice me.
Only when a furtive and inopportune tear would quickly run down a cheek _ leaving a humid trace on her wrinkled face, she would shake aware of the present, and with a trembling hand, blotting it dry, in apprehension of being caught in that moment of weakness.
I push the door completely open, the window curtains lightly fill, the room is immersed in an unreal silence.
The bed has been made, and my own face _ young and filled with emotion in the day of my college graduation, smiles from the photograph on the old dresser.
‘Mother’? It is more of a whisper that comes out of my lips spontaneously …than a call for her.
Even the bedroom like the rest of the house is empty. I am feeling desperate while closing the door behind my shoulders.
In that penumbra of the corridor, I become aware of a small blade of light filtering from above between the doors leading to the attic.
With my galloping heart from the emotions of the moment,I climb the few steps that separate me from the loved figure of my mom.
She does not become aware of my presence, she is bent over and going through and old trunk of memories, her fine hands clutching Rosary beads...
A timid sun ray intrudes upon the suffused darkness of the attic. In its tail, dance imperceptible specs of dust, impalpable entities playing at chasing one another and rocking on miniscule rainbows.
Suddenly she straightens up and steps to the frail ‘body’ of a dress; I not recalling ever _having seen her wear.
It is a white dress with small bouquets of delicate flowers shaded of yellow and orange, the same colors of those wonderful sunsets often witnessed, sitting on the sandy beach not far from the house with the summer evening wind caressing my sweaty young body.
I held My breath while my mom , trudging to a long mirror stained by the years and covered with dust, becomes resplendent in a sun ray streaking through the attic.
Lilly, the old house cat, approaches me with joy, rolling on the floor and rubbing the little humid nose and tail against my legs.
I smile advancing towards that lovely figure:
“ Mother: finally” I blurts out …while my eyes light up with joy and my arms reach out to embrace that tired and adored figure.
She turns around…in her face _ an expression relaxed and appeased…the eyes shining and tears as star drops.
A light gust of the summer wind…a sigh…and it's all in the vanishing.
And on your anniversary of your death, dear mother, I still remember your lullaby songs and your rocking me to sleep so gently. I love you mom.
