Lilith. Armando Lazzari

to the top of a hill. I stop at the intersection and try to scan the end of the hill: there is a building not well defined. I take the road. A huge gate delineates the entrance to a large square, with a deactivated fountain in the middle and surrounded by well-kept hedges. In the background stands a dream villa for anyone who hasn't won the lottery. I get out of my car and approach the gate: no signs of rust or decay. But a general sense of abandonment permeates the air: I can hear the sound of silence, which sometimes is more annoying than the noise of a built-up area. A prominent bell invites me to be pressed. I approach it hesitantly, afraid of introducing a sound out of place in a quiet and sleepy atmosphere. I press it gently and imagine the echo inside the house. How silly of me to think that it could be heard from this distance. Nothing changes, it almost seems to be lost in an undefined place. I wait with the good manners of a guest. The lack of any response gives me the courage to try again, but this time more vigorously. One more time. By now it is certain: the prediction of the empty trip has come true. I don't know why, but a sense of unease surrounds me, convincing me to hurry back to the car.

      As I manoeuvre in reverse on the narrow lane, out of the corner of my eye I glimpse in the rear-view mirror the figure of a car stopped at the end of the slope. The nose of a sedan is pointing towards me, waiting for something. I'm convinced that it's not a driver who has taken a wrong turn, but that it's specifically there to observe me. Quickly, my hands move to find the optimal angle of the mirror, but a ray of sunlight, now dying, dazzles me. A moment, a few seconds of daze, and the vehicle is no longer visible. I turn sharply, compromisingly twisting my poor back, already pinned by the seat belt. A cloud of dust returning lightly to the asphalt is the only thing left in the air. It's not paranoia. Someone was watching me and I don't understand why.

      Finally home. As I undress, I run the hot water for a shower. I lose myself in the vapours, relishing in the silence every single drop that falls on my skin.

      Driin! Driin!

      It's clear that the concept of peace of mind is foreign to certain moments.

      Dripping, I grab my bathrobe, curse Meucci and Bell, just to do no one any harm, and head for the privacy-killing device that continues undaunted to play.

      "He's missing! Roberto is missing!"

      It's Sara's agitated, tear-filled voice.

      "Calm down Sara! What do you mean Roberto is missing?"

      "Today, when I went back to see him, he wasn't in the room. I thought he was having tests: his clothes were all still there, but instead no one knew where he was. They searched the whole hospital. My God, I'm scared, Davide. What if something terrible had happened to him, like to those two porters? I don't even want to think about it and I don't know what to do!"

      Heck, I'm worried too.

      "Don't jump to conclusions."

      Now what am I going to make up to reassure her?

      "They confirmed on TV that the porters were mixed up in a nasty drug racket and that that was the work of a settling of scores and not a crazed killer."

      Put like that, it should sound good.

      It takes him a while to swallow the pill, but then the placebo effect sustains its effectiveness.

      "Maybe you're right, I've definitely gone too far. But then what happened to Roberto? Where did he go?"

      I haven't idea. In this instant, however, I know where I would send that idiot!

      "Have you asked the authorities for help yet?"

      Maybe he's wandering like an automaton down some alley.

      "Yes, there were still some police officers at the hospital about yesterday's incident, and they helped me with the report, but I don't know what good that will do."

      Jokes are fine, but a guy in a hospital gown roaming the streets with his eyes wide open I don't think is that hard to spot.

      "Then don't worry, you'll see he'll be found soon enough. He must have had a lost moment. The important thing is that when he comes back, you stay very close to him, ready to help him."

      And to the assistance of good psychiatrists. I suggest a dozen.

      "Yeah, in fact, my husband and I were thinking about having him stay with us for a while."

      "Good idea. Family members are more helpful in these cases than cold hospital facilities."

      "You know, I've thought it through and I don't care what happened to him, now I just want to get back to a peaceful life."

      Does he really think that ignoring is the right way to regain normalcy? Even these searches of mine have now skewed the concept I had of it. The beauty of it is that I'm looking for answers to questions that are still unclear, including why I want to get to the bottom of this.

      "He'll be back the way he always was...have faith."

      And may God hear us.