The mute doorbell and the blind man (parte II)

segunda parte...

II.
(...)
It was his house, it seemed. He was not ready for the change, he was not ready for the death of his long time spouse. But he was thankful she was gone in the Saturday morning, after the breakfast. It was a sunny morning, those typical of summer, and outside the window no leaf fidgeted. When he woke up he knew that that would be the last day. His dreams for the past week were all full of dark corners, burning embers and empty glasses. He dismissed them on the waking, but he knew it best. It was eleven fifty. He didn’t weep nor he quetch, just stood there, not knowing what to do. He was an orphan from birth, got out to pursuit his unknown quest and never knew somebody who he cared for. Except her, of course. He can’t remember the day that they had met each other, just the golden necklace over her pale bust and the scarlet lips around bright and pure teeth. A month had passed when he asked her to marry him. He could see that she didn’t want to marry him, but said ‘sure’ in a soft low voice. She was pregnant. The marriage was a small one in a chapel in the outskirts of town fully dressed in colorful hellebores and bluebells. ‘Awful combination’, he thought. In a dreadful day, six months later, the new car hit a big pothole and went over the cliff. She lost her baby, and her life was from that day haunted by an ever growing tumor. He couldn’t see the face of the woman he loved since he lost his sight in that day. He had just bought a pair of teashades on discount at the shopping mall like it was written he will need them. And there he was, standing in front of the unknown house. The will was clear: the house once belonged to his spouse’s uncle, a physicist (whom he never knew alive) from the province that left town when it became too crowded. His will stated that the house should be given to his niece but he could not use it in life. An ultimate joke, he guessed. But the fact was that he no longer could keep on living in their house, with her bay windows and china figurines. He could no longer read, no longer watch a film, all was left was darkness and the sound of his music. When he died he wanted to be cremated but he demanded his ashes to be buried alongside his violin. Knowing God enough, he was sure he was going to play on heaven’s stage.
(...)

[to be continued...]