EDGAR…the new job

EDGAR …the new job  by Ida RENZICCHI  (Written and translated from Italian by the author)

Illustrations by  Luigi FONDI  e Riccardo SANNA  

All rights are reserved to the author. Reproduction and any other use, even partial, not authorized by the author is prohibited. Publication of the text is permitted for non-profit educational and cultural purposes upon concession and authorization of the author. For any contact with the author: idarenzicchi@gmail.com

TO THE EVENING

“… You make me wander with my thoughts on the tracks

that go to eternal nothingness; and meanwhile this evil time flees,

and with it go the throngs…”

Ugo Foscolo-1803

ASCOLTA il racconto su file audio o su Youtube.

Voce narrante Christian RENZICCHI 

.

The door to the room had opened and a nurse, in a white uniform, had entered, leaving the medicine trolley outside in the corridor. “Good morning Edgar. How are you today?” Without waiting for his response, she had brought him two pills on a square of gauze and, after having poured him a glass of water, before leaving, she had waited for the man to take his therapy.

“I am fine. Thank God, I’m fine. I just want to get out of here… you can’t sleep at night…” “Just say it. I will register your request immediately and the doctor will prescribe something to help you rest.” The woman had taken a pen that she kept in her lab coat pocket and she had started to write something on a diary that was on top of the trolley. “Look, I don’t need any other medicines. I would sleep very well if there wasn’t the television constantly on in the next room and people, including nurses, who do nothing but chat all night as if they were in the square… I would sleep… if there was silence… I would definitely sleep…” The woman had gone out without replying.

But how did he end up in that situation? Why was he in a nursing home?

Riccardo Sanna, Infiniti Passaggi. Olio su tela – dim. 50 x 60 – anno 2021

It all started when, after twenty-five years in a large company, he lost his job.

His company had been torn apart and divided into smaller units which had then been individually sold to multinationals that, after having invaded the national market, had swallowed up these small new companies.

These transfers, with the excuse of downsizing the workforce, were followed by cuts and the consequent dismissals of some of the staff.

In the most important positions the number of employees had remained more or less the same but there had been a turnover and new hires had been made, mostly people of foreign origin and certainly close to the new general management.

These operations, carefully studied, had been carried out in a surgical manner with the aim that the cuts did not take place either all together or all in the same department so that the workers, isolated from their colleagues fearful of also losing their jobs, would be limited in their ability to form a coalition and thus avoid collective trade union demonstrations and consequent problems with the government. “Divide et impera!”

What he occupied was not a particularly important position but, following the strategy of the new ownership, his sector had also been restructured and, through a formal message on his cell phone, he too had received the notice of dismissal.

He was stunned by it. Until then, for Edgar, those were things that only happened in American films where employees, with a small box, entered what had been their office for the last time and collected their things so as not to enter again.

With a plastic bag in his hand, one of those used for shopping, he had cleared the drawer of his workplace of a diary, two pens, an eraser, a packet of crackers almost crushed to crumbs, two packs of paper tissues, a roll of toilet paper and a pencil stub.

On leaving, only two colleagues in the room had stood up and hugged him and wished him good luck, the other two, recently hired, had remained sitting in their seats and had barely said goodbye to him. He hadn’t even entered the adjacent offices. Crossing the large hall with the desks arranged in the various positions, he waved with his arm and nodded to those who, as he passed, raised their heads. He didn’t linger… he felt it would make uncomfortable his former colleagues who were afraid to even show solidarity with him and anyone else in his situation. In fact, no one had approached him. They were all aware that, shortly, someone else would be subjected to the same treatment but they hoped that they would not be the new recipients of the laconic message.

Arriving in the large square in front of the company buildings, he stuffed the plastic bag in the trunk of his car, closed it and went back towards the administrative office block.

A secretary, very aseptically, after having made him sign some documents and various receipts, handed him a folder of paperwork in which two checks had also been inserted… one relating to the last salary and the other to the severance pay.

Even giving the worker his dues in paper form instead of making the usual bank transfer to his current account, had been a coldly studied technique… the ex-employee, certainly sorry for the dismissal, would have been, even if momentarily, distracted by the amounts of checks… for the company, it was sufficient that he was for the time he remained in the building.

Edgar, sure that the calculations of what he owed were correct, did not even stop to check.

In the car, with the two pieces of paper in his hand, he found himself adding up the total amount he had received. Dividing it by his monthly salary and then by twelve, he realized that that money would last more or less two years, barring unforeseen circumstances. He absolutely had to find another job… and as soon as possible.

The ringing of the phone took him away from his thoughts for a moment. His wife. “Hi, are you okay?” Without even waiting for his answer she continued: “Do you remember that I’m at the gym this afternoon? My friend gives me a lift on the way out, but you have to pick me up when you leave work. Then… also this story that the car is only for you… we’ll have to talk about it…”. She had just given him time to answer: “Yes, yes, I remember.” that she had hung up on.

She was tired and, while he took her home, they made the journey almost without saying a word. Some chicken nuggets already prepared and heated in the microwave, some bagged salad ready to season and an apple, was their dinner.

“I thought that, like many of your colleagues do, you too could take public transport to go to work and leave the car for me. I stay here at home all day rushing around…”

He would have liked to answer her that everyone is struggling… that she should have been the one, without time constraints, who should have moved by public transport, that she could have easily reached the gym with a walk since she went there to exercise… that, perhaps she too should have looked for a job… but he simply replied: “I’m afraid that it won’t be possible. At least not for now… I need the car… the company wants us to be available to move from one unit to another…”

“And, in this case, wouldn’t you be entitled to the company car and also the petrol reimbursement?”

“Maybe… but they didn’t talk about it… it’s not a good time… better not to raise problems… none of my colleagues objected and I too preferred to keep quiet. Let’s see… If things go better, later, we could buy a second car… maybe an used one…”

Why hadn’t he told her he’d been fired?

In the evening he stayed up late searching on the computer for proposals from companies looking for a profile like his. Nothing. However, he saved all the possible job offers that he would have been able to do or at least learn. Most of them concerned craftsmen: plumbers, electricians, bricklayers, carpenters… and he didn’t have the required skills.

The following day, after a sleepless night, he would have gladly lingered in bed for a while, but although he had only been asleep for an hour, he got up suddenly when the alarm rang and left the house as he had done every morning for the last twenty-five years.

He went to a post office, opened an account in his name and deposited the settlement check there. The other, the one relating to the last month’s salary, he paid into the bank, into the current account in the name of him and his wife, where up until then all the payments had been credited to him, then, determined not to waste time, he began to make the tour of the offices where you can apply for a position.

“Fifty-three years? The fact is that our company intends to take advantage of the tax relief for hiring young people… Forgive me for being frank… Obviously you are not old, on the contrary… I am sure that you will find a job suited to your abilities. Good luck!”

Eventually this became more or less the refrain of his days. Too old! Someone, perhaps to avoid offending him, had also told him “too qualified” and then returned to “too old” as soon as he had applied for any other less specialized job. “I am willing to do anything… for me the important thing is to work…” This too had become a refrain, a sort of mantra that he also repeated to himself to convince himself that, in the end, he would find something.

He put his profile on all the social networks specialized in finding job offers.

Ten days later, nothing. A former colleague, spoken to by telephone, told him that, three months after his dismissal, after having “toured the seven churches” without success, he had decided to get his C license and had proposed himself as a truck driver. “…It was an expense and a big commitment but, do you know what? In the end, I even start to like it… They made a bit of a fuss about my age… forty-five… being considered old… do you understand?… they only hired me because a Romanian had returned to his country… I felt sorry for my mother… She wasn’t happy when I told her I had been fired… and about my new job…”. The conversation with his former colleague had certainly not reassured him.

For a few days, he had realized that getting up in the morning and wandering around had become useless and, due to the cost of petrol, even wasteful.

Lately he went to a small bar where, in a room at the back, sitting at a table, with a cappuccino in front of him, he spent his days messing around on the computer more than really looking for something that wasn’t there anyway, bitterly regretting not having attended a vocational school.

In the evening he came home with a wolfish hunger.

One morning, after he had inadvertently knocked over the paper cup with a drop of coffee and milk remaining and after the owner’s wife had come to clean it up, she had no qualms about saying out loud that “…certain customers, who wanted to spend the day inside and in the heat with a cappuccino, it was better to lose them than to acquire them…”, he decided that he would never go back there again. His apologies and his immediate action to dry the table with the paper napkin were of no use. The few drops that ended up on the floor were clearly just the excuse the owner was waiting for to make him understand that he wasn’t welcome.

From that day on, he drove to the outskirts and wandered around on foot or sat on a park bench. If it rained or was too cold, he stayed inside the car where, in the trunk, he had stuffed a padded blanket found in the garage. He didn’t want to be seen by some acquaintances… he hadn’t yet told his wife about his dismissal.

By now he knew many places which, despite having lived in the city for some time, not even he suspected existed. Secondary streets with lower and more modest houses but also, moving away a little, pretentious gates behind which you could glimpse beautiful villas and well-kept gardens.

It was during one of these wanderings that, late one afternoon, along a dirt road, he noticed on the left an enormous industrial building where on a gigantic door was posted a sign: “PERSONNEL WANTED”. The entrance, with four iron doors, glass windows with large dark green rectangles, rather unusual for the type of construction, was so large, both in height and width that it would have easily allowed the passage of even large trucks. Even from afar it was possible to read the announcement written in large letters, clearly visible from the street.

He got out of his car and, crossing the vast unfenced square covered with white crushed stones, he tried to look into the warehouse. No light filtered through and it was all dark. He pushed a vertical handle… it was closed. He looked around…no one. He returned to the road and, continuing to look back, walked slowly to his car.

The following morning he chose that as the first destination of his wanderings and headed there immediately without delay. He entered the car into the forecourt.

As he walked towards the entrance, he noticed that from both of the two shorter sides of the rectangular building, it could easily access the back. The evening before, perhaps due to the onset of dusk, he had not noticed it. Again, the space was such that any type of vehicle would have had convenient access and ease of maneuver.

The door, whose iron parts were painted black, was wide open and its doors were blocked against the wall to prevent them from closing suddenly.

Arriving at the entrance, he found himself in front of a heavy, smooth velvet curtain, dark green in color which made him instinctively think of a theatrical curtain.

He was about to move the fabric aside, when from a side door a gentleman came out wearing a light beige plastic apron and a surgical mask raised over his forehead. The man, who was holding the thick curtain on one side with his hands in blue latex gloves, addressed him abruptly. “What are you doing here? To the right! Please, take a seat… on the right… we’ll be imediately there…”. He seemed annoyed by something. Edgar doubted that it was his very presence that had bothered him and that they probably received by appointment… but he hadn’t seen any telephone number in the notice…

He looked for the opening among the heavy fabrics and found himself in front of a dark walnut door.

He pressed a button. At the brief ring of a bell, a light click followed and the door opened onto an office, decidedly luxurious, large and flooded with light in which two walls, one facing the back and the other on the short side of the building, were completely windowed and covered with elegant curtains, thin but not transparent.

Luigi Fondi,  Aspettando la colomba…  Rilievo policromo realizzato con tecnica mista su legni di: castagno, marino e abete, h.120x88x6 cm. (Anno 2020)

He had never seen in his life a man as handsome as the one who entered from an entrance located at the end of the wall on the short side of the room, opposite the windowed one. Tall, slender, young, with light gray hair and eyes a deep blue that he had rarely seen before. During the brief presentation, he only understood his surname: Ferri. They sat down.

… “It’s true, we’re looking for staff. We urgently need it.” “And I’m looking for work… can I ask you what it’s about? It is not specified on the sign posted at your entrance main door…” “What kind of work are you interested in?” “Anything… Of course, something I may be able to do! Up to now I have only found offers of artisanal work for which, unfortunately, I have no qualifications or familiarity… I was employed by an important statistics company. After being broken up, my company…” “I know everything…” He didn’t even let him finish. “… Your unit has been downsized and you are one of the many fired… I know this story…”.

The man stood up and Edgar immediately did the same thing but Mr. Ferri told him to sit down. He went to a piece of furniture that turned out to be a refrigerator and took out a bottle, opened the long, narrow, rectangular darkened glass door of a cupboard, took a tray and two glasses, filled them both halfway and emptied his all in one breath. “Let’s toast to your new job!” “But… Mr. Ferri, you didn’t ask me anything… and I… I don’t even know what it’s about…” “Don’t worry… you will be fine with us and I believe that our work will suit you too… Good health, Edgar! By the way, my name is Lucio, I think you didn’t understand my name when I introduced myself…”. Wow! And how did he deduce it?

Edgar was dazed. He was struck by the kindness of his interlocutor and did not want to offend him. He looked at the glass with the golden liquid, undecided whether to drink or not. It was nine in the morning. Before leaving his house, he had only swallowed a bitter coffee… and he didn’t drink alcohol. A horizontal finger of wine, on particular occasions… and only when he couldn’t avoid it… “I understand… Don’t drink if you don’t want to… don’t worry. My fault, I should have asked you…” “Excuse me… I’m almost a teetotaller. I’m afraid that if I drank I would get drunk… in any case, I would certainly feel terrible…” Lucio, with a smile, took his guest’s glass and, in two sips, downed its contents. “I’m not a teetotaller…” he said as he laughingly put the empty glass back on the tray and headed towards the longest glass wall. “We are an important funeral agency…” he told him as he opened the curtain and, like in a large cinematographic screen, in the square behind, an enormous expanse of very shiny dark cars appeared… “Ours is one of the largest funeral companies … perhaps the largest. We transport all over the world and are able to satisfy any customer request. Come with me.” He took him by the arm and, holding him firmly, led him out of the room where they were and accompanied him to an immense coffin warehouse, divided into many corridors made up of enormous shelves that reached up to the ceiling.

Edgar felt his legs go limp.

“Don’t worry… your reaction is normal. Everyone fears death… but, believe me, there is nothing more normal than death… don’t you think?” Edgar was speechless. He needed to work… but that job… “Forgive me… I thank you… with all my heart but I don’t feel like it… this isn’t really the kind of job I was looking for… I would do anything, it’s true… but… not this one… forgive me…” “Obviously you haven’t thought about it… but, now, think about it… I don’t want to rush you or influence you in any way… we have other people to examine… in any case, don’t underestimate the fact that… you will agree with me… this business knows no crisis.”

Then, as Edgar, after thanking and saying goodbye, was about to leave, Mr. Ferri, as if something had suddenly occurred to him, turned to him again: “Edgar… as the writer… do you like him?” Edgar looked at him interrogatively. “Edgar Allan Poe, the writer. Your name is not so common…” “Yes, but I certainly didn’t give it to myself. If I like Poe?… A Descent in the Maelström… beautiful… I read it years ago all in one sitting…. but of his short tales of terror I never managed to finish the book…”

What would his wife have said to him? Indeed, would he have told her? He was confused and struggled to put his thoughts together. Now, even if he didn’t remember when he had agreed, he was part of the “Company of the Good Death.” He was not an employee. Mr. Ferri had been very keen to underline it… In reality, looking back on it, he hadn’t even understood, or perhaps he hadn’t yet told him, under what profile he would have been classified. “In the end, dear Edgar, I am not your employer…” What was clear to him, however, was that he would have no timetable… there would have been no time card to punch and that he could have been called at any time.

“… I mentioned it to you a few days ago… the company requested that I be available to move from one unit to another. I was offered a new contract according to which, among other things, I will no longer have a set timetable… I will be a kind of wild card… I don’t know what other term to use… who will move where and when… according to the needs of the company … I told you before. Do you remember? Obviously either I accepted… or I was out…”

“And the salary?”

“Don’t ask me anything. There are details that still need to be defined and that I need to understand well too… anyway, don’t worry… the important thing is that I will work… and that I will bring my salary home… right?”.

The following morning, not knowing how to behave, he went to the depot.

He had not yet reached the large iron and glass door when a van coming from the back approached him. The man next to the driver’s seat opened the window. “Ah, here you are. Good morning… Come on in…” Edgar looked at him and before he had time to say anything the other continued: “Grab your stuff and let’s go.” “Good morning. Excuse me, what stuff should I get?” “I thought they had already delivered the package to you… You won’t want to use your clothes… The rest is inside the van. Go to the office, have your uniform delivered and change. We’ll wait for you outside.”

The man looked at him then, getting out of the van that the driver had left running and motioning for Edgar to follow him, he headed towards the entrance. Dressed completely in white, he could have been mistaken for a nurse. “Meanwhile, I’m going to the toilet, you, go to the office.”

The door was ajar. Edgar was a little surprised to see Mr. Ferri standing there who almost seemed to be waiting for him. The man welcomed him kindly and preceded him into the coffin warehouse, opened what turned out to be a ceiling-high wall cupboard with sliding doors, took a large sealed package wrapped in white plastic and placed it in his hands. His name and surname were written on it. “But what an organization…” he found himself thinking.

Two pairs of trousers, two tunics closed up to the neck, two pairs of hospital clogs, two surgical caps, a box of surgical gloves, a box of surgical masks, a pair of protective glasses, soap, disinfectant, two towels… everything rigorously pure white. In the same package but in a separate envelope, a dark blue suit, a pair of black shoes, two white shirts and a dark burgundy tie.

Edgar left the room, which had been indicated to him by Mr. Ferri, dressed from head to toe in white. He wanted to say hello, but the office door was closed and he didn’t think it was appropriate to disturb him.

He returned to the square and got into the van which left immediately.

Thus began the first day of work in his new business.

A single house, rather small and low on the outskirts of the city. The door was open and they entered. The man in his fifties who was sitting in a sort of living room preceded them into a room where a dead woman was lying on a double bed, covered with a sheet, leaving only her head outside.

Her hair disheveled, her mouth and eyes wide open… Edgar would not have been able to give an age to that person devastated by illness and death. She certainly wasn’t old.

The two colleagues told him that, for the moment, he would only have to be present and pay maximum attention to all the operations, carried out by themselves or by whoever was on duty, relating to the care of deceased people… he shouldn’t have done, nor touch anything, just observe and learn and he, for a month, continued to accompany his colleagues in the minibus and then to the place where their presence was required.

At the end of the service, when he returned to the large shed, they told him that, if he wanted, he could leave his work clothes there, put the ones he was wearing in a bag with his name on it and leave them at the disposal of the laundry which would then take care of them and, once washed and ironed, would place them in the locker assigned to him. Of course this would have meant having to return to the depot every time but he thought it would be easier for him to endure such inconvenience rather than communicating the nature of his new job to his wife. He also learned that he could shower before returning home and immediately took advantage of it.

The first few evenings, he struggled to swallow the food his wife put on his plate. He was so nauseated that, even though he had washed thoroughly before returning, he always had the feeling that something impure and contagious was still stuck to him… this was the reason why, once he returned home, the first thing he did was immediately head to the bathroom to wash and rewash his hands with almost obsessive care.

To his wife’s questions about his new role, he responded very evasively, often giving the excuse of tiredness.

What was his qualification? And how much would his salary have been? It wasn’t like him… first of all to have accepted this assignment and then… not even to know how much he would receive for that absurd job that he never in his life thought he would be able to do.

At the end of the first month, he was called into the office. Once again, Mr. Ferri welcomed him with exquisite courtesy, made him sit down and, after asking him how he had been during that period, while he waited for his response, he placed two checks in front of him.

“Honestly… it’s not like I’ve done much this month… apart from accompanying colleagues and watching… How do I feel? I don’t know either…” Edgar hadn’t even noticed the two credit notes clearly visible on the desk. They were two checks, on each of which the same amount was written… an amount much higher than what he received in his former company.

“Something wrong?” “What does it mean? Why two checks?” “We thought that you would like to credit one to the bank account shared with your wife and the other to the postal account in your personal name. From next month, if you agree, we will proceed directly through two separate transfer orders… so you will not have any problems of any kind. As soon as you start taking care of it, for each body you take care of, you will receive an extra bonus which we will obviously load on the check to be credited to your personal account. Is this okay or is there something you would like to say? There was nothing to say… but he wouldn’t even know what to say, he was so amazed… by everything… the amounts… the two checks… and then… when and with whom had he ever spoken about his two accounts? He began to worry. Maybe it would be time to see a doctor.

“Now that you earn more, we can also buy a car for me.” This was his wife’s comment when the bank sent home the statement of account. A small-displacement car, used, but in excellent condition, which in the end he was the one to use because his wife had clearly told him that she didn’t want to be seen around the city in a poor-girl’s car.

He only needed it to go to the shed. He left it parked in the large gravel lot until, in the van, he returned to pick it up to go home.

His colleagues, at least those he had frequented until then, were honest people, good Christians. From the beginning, he was struck by their respect for deceased people and their families in situations that were always painful, sometimes tragic. They took care of the former physically, giving them all the care and attention in order to make them as presentable as possible on their last day of stay on earth, of the latter, trying with delicacy and sensitivity to soothe, as far as they were able, the pain for the death of their relative… this attitude also turned out to be a cure, even if only of a psychological nature and provided to people who were still alive.

Over time, he got used to that job.

Now, despite continuing to wash himself meticulously, at home he was able to eat with appetite; indeed, as the days passed, an immense hunger for food and life grew within him. He felt a desire to have fun and enjoy that he had never had before.

His wife, who until then had always reproached him for being a couch potato, was pleasantly surprised by this change and certainly didn’t hold back when he proposed to her evenings out or entire days of vacation that he always spent with his cell phone at hand ready to answer every call. What left her a little perplexed about her husband’s new assignment were the night-time phone calls… she would never have imagined that a company that dealt with statistics could have night-time commitments… of course the world was moving fast… but given that they were well-paid jobs… and that she wasn’t the one who had to get up at any time, she began to no longer even notice the oddities of Edgar’s new job.

Riccardo Sanna, Verso la luce. Olio su tela – dim. 60 x 80 (anno 2025)

In the meantime, she had met another man. The woman found difficult to assign an age to what, at times seemed like a boy with a light-hearted and innocent look, even too young for her and at others a mature man full of a dark and mysterious charm… other times, even an elderly man… in any case, a very sensitive person, with a penetrating gaze, who knew how to read and decipher the hidden thoughts in the depths of her soul as not even she herself would have been able to do. He, showing great self-irony, mocked and laughed heartily when she, now crazy about him, sang his praises. He seemed to know the things of the world well and always had a solution to every problem. The woman was sure she had never seen him in the city before, yet he seemed to know everything, about everyone.

It began a relationship between them. The strangest thing was that that man managed to make it appear as if all the decisions made by the woman came solely and exclusively from her will even when it was clearly he who had driven the choice. She didn’t seem to realize it and, under his protection, she felt determined and displayed a confidence she had never had before.

It wasn’t love, she wouldn’t even have been able to define that feeling. The certain fact, however, was that she could no longer do without that presence that always showed itself when her husband was away on business. At first she hadn’t noticed, she was so confused by that new knowledge that upset her body and soul, only later she began to notice the strangeness of this situation and ask herself some questions.

Who was that man so attractive and full of both economic and intellectual resources? What exactly did he do? Who introduced him to her? How and when did she meet him?

She struggled to reconstruct the specific circumstance in which she had met him for the first time and how that whole story had evolved to the point that he now calmly frequented her house without feeling the slightest embarrassment and without the fear that her husband might return. at any moment.

Once she had asked him what he did as a job, he had answered very vaguely that he was in the personal care sector and since then the woman had convinced herself that he was the representative of a large cosmetics company. Good presence was a fundamental requirement for companies in that sector and he really didn’t lack it… The man, who at first seemed quite annoyed by her questions, had shown up the next day with a beautiful package of cosmetic and hygiene products of the highest level, a gift that she had greatly appreciated and which had immediately made her forget the perplexities resulting from his strange evasive and annoyed attitude of the day before.

In the meantime Edgar had been assigned to another team.

He didn’t like his new colleagues at all.

Unlike the previous ones, he noticed in them a vulgarity and moral baseness that disgusted him… they didn’t have the slightest respect for the bodies… should the opportunity arise, they misappropriated precious objects worn by the deceased who they were supposed to take care of… furthermore… despite being paid, they accepted or even requested money from the families of the deceased for services already included among those agreed upon by them with the funeral agency… they did not follow the regulatory procedure strictly observed by those with whom he had previously collaborated… their words and gestures were completely inadequate to the place, the circumstance and the service they should have performed.

Ever since he started his new job, Edgar hated the ringing of the telephone which he now associated with the death of someone. Only with time and with great effort had he come to perceive his activity as almost a charitable mission… if it hadn’t been for the money received at the end of the month… after all, he had to live…

Now, after the change of team, his mind had taken steps backwards and his occupation was becoming unbearable… even worse than the first few days when, after having been in contact with death, he felt such repugnance from it that he felt the maniacal need to wash himself constantly. Edgar saw his colleagues who, with indifference, manipulated the bodies and, at the same time, talked, laughed and made inappropriate comments. He, who had never been pious, found himself, more and more often, mentally reciting some prayer for the deceased and asking God for forgiveness for those unfortunate companions.

Like a true gang of criminals, the members of the new team regularly divided what they had collected both with the extra money requested from the relatives of the deceased, and from the sale of precious objects that they managed to slip into their pockets after having stolen them from the deceased ones during the dressing of the same.

At the beginning, Edgar had tried, with every possible excuse, to slip away during these divisions but the others had not liked his attitude and had told him so outright… “All guilty… no one guilty…” Who did he think he was? So, even though he was disgusted, he too put in his pocket that money that smelled of death, material and moral at the same time.

The third team to which he was assigned took care of cremations. The large oven worked twenty-four hours a day without any interruption. The assembly line of a real circle of hell. Now he took turns… afternoon, morning, night, rest and then it all started again.

He certainly hadn’t imagined having a career in a funeral home, but not even to touch the bottom of that business which he hadn’t yet been able to talk to his wife about.

The days passed dark. Edgar, continually in contact with death, now, after having gone through a phase in which, hungry for life, he had dedicated himself body and soul to entertainment, he felt empty. He got up, went to work, came back and spent the rest of the day apathetically…

Had he at least been able to sleep…

His wife had also changed. She spent most of her day taking care of herself. For some time then, she had started wearing makeup. Not that she hadn’t done it before, but now her make-up was unsuitable and, instead of making her more beautiful, it weighed down her features and gave her a vulgar appearance. When he timidly mentioned it to her, she promptly reiterated that he understood nothing about women and makeup… because she used the highest quality products. Edgar, who feared he had inadvertently offended her, had given up any further comments, but he couldn’t help but notice her wrinkles made even more evident by the thick layer of foundation dye that penetrated her skin, irremediably marking her face.

One morning, summoned to the office, he went there at a good pace in the hope, who knows, of some improvement.

Mr. Ferri was already there waiting for him.

Behind the large desk, on one of the shelves that reached from the floor to the ceiling, his attention was caught by a series of boxes, all the same, perfectly aligned that he was certain he had not seen when he first entered that room.

In front of him was the beautiful man from their first meeting. “Are you interested in cosmetics?” It was clear that he had followed his gaze. “They are the ones which are used by our Company’s thanatopractors… particular products, for exclusive use in our company, which are not for sale. But… excuse me… are you feeling well?”

No he wasn’t well! The night before he had eaten very little and in the morning he had only left home with a coffee in his stomach. He made an enormous effort to say: “A little dizziness… excuse me… I’m fine… yes, yes, I’m fine.”

“I saw you looking at the cosmetic packages and I asked you if you were interested… now many relatives ask for conservative interventions and, almost all of them, want aesthetic treatments for their deceased loved ones… It is a highly specialized service. As I told you, we respond to all the needs of our customers… In my opinion you have the capabilities… on the other hand, you don’t seem satisfied with your current role… “.

When had he told him? He had gone to the appointment with the specific desire to ask for a change but Edgar was sure that he had not yet mentioned his state of mind regarding work. Or maybe he had told him about it and, due to his little discomfort, he didn’t remember?…

“In fact, perhaps more than assignment, I think I should really change jobs… I really don’t know how I ended up… I mean… I can’t understand how I could accept this job for which, believe me, I feel I’m absolutely not suited. Forgive me, perhaps I expressed myself badly… I thank you… you helped me in my time of need, and I am grateful to you, believe me… but I think it’s time for me to look elsewhere.”

It was not possible! No, that wasn’t possible! Why did he find himself on the van, with the cosmetics case in his hand? How did it happen? He had gone to the meeting because he had to clarify… because he wanted to leave that job and leave that place… And instead…

“You don’t have to do anything. You just have to observe. It was the man who had got off the bus with him who spoke. “I believe it well. And who would be capable of it?” “Certain. No one is born learned.” He was amazed by this phrase that he had heard his mother say a few times.

After a month of practice in the field, he began this new task aimed at making the appearance of the deceased more pleasant in the eyes of visitors, on his last day on earth… his skilled care slowed down the natural process of decomposition of him and the face, disfigured by death, through his aesthetic intervention, took on the relaxed appearance of a sleeping person… a task that required rigorous procedures and a lot of attention.

In that period, his work had increased and his life, marked by a monotonous, unchanged sequence of daily actions, had become quite hectic between the telephone ringing, going to the shed, rushing to where his work was required, returning to the building…

The positive consequence was that his postal deposit had seen a notable increase. Even the bank account, shared with his wife, now had a good amount of money even though she didn’t really economize… on the contrary… she spent and squandered, especially on herself and a lot on superfluous things. Edgar, who did not agree, had tried to make some complaints to her, but had then ended up, for the sake of peace, by avoiding any comment on the useless waste of money that was taking place in his house and avoiding all the discussions that, on the contrary, she always seemed ready to fire up.

For some time, surrounded by death and in contrast with the growing vanity of his companion, almost exclusively concentrated on her external appearance, he felt an increasingly overpowering need for interiority and concentration, which he had not spoken to her about in the certainty that she would sarcastically mock him.

Edgar had begun to shun all useless things and to attend a church that was just a few meters from their house from which it was only separated by a major, busy road. On his way home from work, he passed by it almost every day, but until then and always in a hurry, he had never even turned to look at it.

Luigi Fondi,“ IL BACIO DELLA GRANDE RANA”, anno 1995. Materiali: Marmi Verde-Alpi, Bianco Industriale di Massa e Giallo di Siena, h. 80x80x50 cm.

That afternoon his attention had been attracted by a young man, in his early thirties, who accompanied up the long staircase that led to the entrance of the holy place, a rather elderly lady. Edgar had stopped on the sidewalk to observe that scene which was nothing exceptional at all. The woman held onto a handrail with her right hand while she was supported on the left by that young man who adapted his movements to the slow ones of her. When they reached the top, before entering the open door, she made the gesture of taking something from her bag, perhaps a small tip, but the man blocked her with his hand, waited for the lady to go inside and, after turning, entered as well.

Edgar, from the street, was sure that the man had looked at him and smiled at him.

Without knowing the reason, he had also climbed those stairs and entered the church.

The environment was in dim light. He had searched, with his eyes that were getting used to the darkness, for the presence of other people. Nobody. Yet the two had entered… Then, walking along the central nave, in one of the chapels that flanked it on both sides, he had noticed the reassuring figure of the lady in front of a statue of the Madonna. The old woman was sitting on a small bench placed inside, to the side.

Of the young man, no trace.

He stopped for a few minutes then, determined to return home, he headed not for the main entrance but towards a half-open side door through which light filtered in from outside. Once out, he discovered that it led to a garden which, narrower on both sides, widened at the back almost to embrace the church.

Along the entire perimeter, that green oasis was closed by a railing on which three gates opened, two on the sides and one on the back. The artistic fence, in excellently forged wrought iron, could just be glimpsed through the thick barrier created by the hedges and the beautiful, young and lush plants which completely hid the view of the enormous surrounding buildings. A small paradise on earth in the heart of the city where the noise of the chaotic traffic could barely be heard, almost as if it were the buzz of bees. The garden was located at the top of the staircase, much higher than the road and, since the lower part of the side gates was blind, it was also impossible to see the inside of it.

The young man was there, sitting on a wooden bench.

He seemed to be waiting for him. “Good evening!” Edgar waved and smiled back. “Beautiful here. It doesn’t even feel like being in the heart of the city.” “Yes, a nice place to refresh your body and soul… sit down for a moment… if you have time…” Time? He was returning from work… Since he was doing the new job and no longer had hours, he no longer even had the thought of his wife who was waiting for him…. He was very tired, once home he would have had a quick snack and gone to bed but that bench and that quiet place invited him to stay for a while.

How long had he been there? It had gotten dark and he was alone. Maybe he had fallen asleep…

Where was the man?

He waited for his eyes to get used to the darkness, then turned on the flashlight on his cell phone and, having located the gate, opened it and left the garden. As he quickly descended the staircase he asked himself: “But what did we say to each other?”

Once he reached street level he turned upwards. The darkness prevented him from seeing but he heard the metallic sound of the gate being closed before he had time to turn on the flashlight of his cell phone again and point it upwards.

He just had to cross the street and he was home. He was no longer tired and he felt a peace and tranquility that he hadn’t felt in a long time. He found himself thinking about how much the short time spent dozing on that bench had benefited him and that, sometimes, it was actually healthy to break away from everything and everyone and give himself even just a short rest.

He returned to that church but never met that young man again. None of those to whom he had asked for information seemed to know him… not even the parish priest… yet it seemed to him that the man was familiar with the environment… When he mentioned the side door and the garden, they replied that he was wrong because in the church it was possible to enter and exit only through the main door and that, for many years, after some thefts, the accesses to the sides that actually gave onto the garden of the church, by order of the Bishop had been closed and that no one had opened them again.

They also told him that the care of the garden, which bordered on the back with a very ancient cloistered convent, was entrusted exclusively to the nuns of the monastery who had permission to enter through the back gate and that the nuns, precisely because of their condition that wanted them outside of the things of the world, took care of it only at dawn. Yet he was sure that he had passed through one of those doors in the afternoon, that he had entered the garden where the man was sitting on the bench, that he had stopped there and that he had exited through one of the side gates.

The parish priest accompanied him to check.

In practice, it was impossible to see either side doors and anyone who did not know would not even suspect their existence. They were effectively closed and it was clear that they had been for a long time because on both sides they were blocked by two solemn confessionals which, precisely because the two exits were no longer used, had been placed right against the doors themselves, completely covering them from view. Outside the church he also took him to the gate he said he had exited through and pointed out to Edgar that in addition to the fact that it was quite rusty, clods of grass were blocking the opening both inside and outside, a clear sign that it had not been used for a long time. He also accompanied him to the opposite side where the conditions were the same.

In the end he convinced himself to have dreamed…

Or what else? What was happening to him lately made him uneasy… sometimes, he happened to see the likeness of that young man in men or women who, when he approached, he discovered were completely different from the beautiful person he met in the church garden. Other times, however, he saw horrible beings and then realized that they were good-looking women or men, in any case, ordinary people…

It all started one evening at his house. He had been called by the phone ringing and, having gone to inform his wife, he had gone to the main bathroom reserved for her where, with the door open, in front of the mirror, she was busy putting on make-up because she was supposed to go out with a friend… at least that’s what she had told him. He hadn’t entered. On the doorstep, he had looked at her while she, fully dressed and wearing high heels, was putting lipstick on her lips. By now he was an expert in make-up and was convinced that he could do better than her… Having sensed his presence, the woman had just turned towards him and he had almost fainted at the sight of a horrible being with long nails lacquered in red and the drooping lips the same color. She couldn’t be his wife… she was beautiful… even though she wore too much makeup and the first signs of imminent maturity were beginning to show. Sometimes, when he observed her moving around the house, he saw her a little weighed down by a few extra kilos and changed by what seemed like an incipient premature senescence, but it certainly couldn’t be said that his wife, who was ten years younger than him, was an ugly woman… not that repulsive being with that red mouth….

Then she answered him and everything went back to normal. He had made himself a coffee to keep himself awake during the night and had sat in the kitchen to recover while he waited for the infusion to be ready.

Having come out of the front door of the house, he even seemed to recognize Mr. Ferri in the elegant man who, as soon as he had seen him, had stopped, as if to observe something, in front of the external display case of a pharmacy, one of those that can be put on or taken off. He had had the clear impression that the man wanted to avoid him, but when he had almost gotten close to him, the individual had turned and looked him straight in the eyes. But where had he seen the resemblance to Mr. Ferri? He had to get checked out! The person that Edgar, at the risk of appearing rude, had carefully observed, had, in the most absolute way, nothing in common with the young and handsome man he knew… this was an old man with a coarse and wrinkled face, conspicuously ruined by youthful acne that had ravaged his features. Edgar, thinking of that person’s discomfort, felt a kind of remorse for the disgust he felt when looking at him. Passing by him, he had noticed that the pharmacy window, towards which the individual had initially turned and which in itself could not have been so attractive, was actually empty and its light was turned off.

That evening he had been called to the hospital where, in the last few hours, several deaths had occurred and it had taken him all night to carry out his service.

Moved by compassion for both the deceased and their relatives, Edgar carried out his work with meticulous care and with the utmost respect.

During that night spent in the morgue he had been somewhat disturbed by the speeches of two undertakers from an additional team called to take care of other people who had died due to a bad accident. Listening to them chatter among themselves, it seemed that the Company, the same one for which he also worked, also dealt with autopsies and that, in the basement of the building, there was an operating room super-equipped with the most modern machinery where, in secret, surgeons carried out dissections but also removals and organ transplants and that, after having given them a course and a short internal training, in that special place, a couple of thanatopractors, particularly skilled in the recomposition of corpses, had also been admitted. The two spoke convinced that Edgar, who was on the other side of the large room, could not hear them. Both in their sixties, they did not realize that the tone of their voice, which they thought was low, was actually perceptible to a young person without hearing problems. Those men discussed some tasks related to the activity that took place underground as if it was a career advancement granted to very few people and spoke with clear envy of the considerable sums received by the authorized staff working in the underground. It was the first time Edgar had heard of it.

Then, he remembered the day he had come in to ask for information about the sign posted looking for workers and the man dressed like a surgeon, that he had glimpsed only for an instant. He remembered that he had seemed disturbed by his presence and that, without much ceremony, he had literally ordered him to knock on the right door. That day he had mistaken the man’s abrupt and peremptory tone for that of a very busy person but now, he realized that this was more likely the attitude of someone who wanted to get rid of the intruder who had entered without warning… In fact, what was the point of a man dressed as a surgeon in the storage shed of a funeral home?

When he returned home early in the morning, he found his wife sleeping soundly. For fear of waking her by entering the toilet in the bedroom, he had thought that, for once, he could use the other bathroom, the one that she considered her absolute domain. Looking for a towel, he had opened a wardrobe in the room, sure of finding it.

The make-up case was on a shelf, somewhat hidden by a box where, arranged vertically, there were a whole series of brushes and combs of all kinds. Slowly, with wet hands that trembled, he took out, first the container of brushes, and then the package of cosmetics.

Riccardo Sanna, L’angelo della vita. Olio su tela – dim. 25 x 25 – anno 2024

How had it ended up at his house? How long had it been there? Where had his wife got it?

His heart was beating wildly. He was more than certain… Mr. Ferri had told him that those packages were not for sale… How had his wife come into possession of it? Had she perhaps stolen it from the trunk of the second-hand car that only he used after she had appropriated the newer one with a larger engine capacity? But was it possible that he didn’t remember leaving it there? Had she discovered his work? And why hadn’t she told him about it?

But he didn’t keep anything in his car. Everything that was needed for his work was neatly placed in the locker available to him, in the shed… With trembling hands, he put everything back in order.

He looked out of the bedroom door.

He had to hold on to the door jamb… lying on his bed was once again the monstrous being from the night before.

Certainly he had made a noise, because the monster had woken up… but now it was again his wife talking to him: “Hello. What are you doing there at the door? When did you come back? Are you OK? You have a face…”

A barrage of questions that didn’t expect an answer and didn’t get one. “Sorry, I have to get back to work again. See you later.”.

As if in a trance he had left the apartment, he had gotten into the car, headed to the warehouse and entered, like a fury, into Mr. Ferri’s office.

“Good morning Edgar, great night we had… Do you need any other material?”

Mr Ferri had gotten up from his armchair, turned around and, from the shelf behind him, had taken a pack of cosmetics identical to that of his wife.

Suddenly it was as if a veil had been torn before his eyes… the box… Mr. Ferri… his wife…

Now the person, standing in front of him with the box in his hand, looked like, indeed certainly was, the old man with the acne-pitted face he had met under his house. Then, as Edgar stared at him dumbfounded, he saw him take on the form of a monster, a huge and hideous demon, a being who, from across the desk, towered over him completely speaking to him in a persuasive, deep voice and smiling at him as he looked down at him with a malignant and terrible gaze. A feeling of coldness mixed with terror made him shiver. Without knowing why, with an instinctive gesture, Edgar made the sign of the cross.

“Something wrong?” The monstrous being had disappeared and in his place there was again Lucio Ferri who looked him straight in the eyes and had his usual captivating smile. “It seems like you have seen the Devil… Maybe we have given you an excessive workload this last period… You probably need a few days off…”

He had taken the box and stormed out with the intention of running home. As he got into the car, he turned towards the warehouse… the hideous being was on the threshold of the large iron door… he was staring at him and laughing… he rushed to start the car and leave.

He had seen the garbage truck at the last minute.

The ambulance, the rush to the hospital… the doctors… “You were miraculously saved! A similar crash…”

It was true. He had to thank God!

So why was he in that clinic?

Edgar remembered everything… his wife had arrived at the hospital… then, in the corridor, he had glimpsed Mr. Ferri… and had heard a doctor talking to him, outside the door of the room. The two discussed about empty cold storage rooms, a pressing request for “spare parts”… an immediate transfer of the patient to the “facility”. Edgar struggled to connect what the two men said to each other, but he managed to understand that, in some way, their conversations concerned him. Why was the doctor making arrangements with Mr. Ferri? Which structure? And why if he hadn’t suffered any damage or serious injuries? At that point the suspicion, that had crept into Edgar the previous night  when he listened to the two undertakers, had taken shape… The basement… the autopsies… the explants… the transplants… Suddenly he remembered perfectly that he had also heard about secret refrigerated rooms where the spare parts were removed… He was alone in the room and he perceived a serious sensation of danger. Two male nurses had entered with a stretcher. “What do you want? Where are you taking me? Help! Somebody help me for the love of God!” “Keep quiet! Why are you shouting?” “Where are you taking me?” “You are too agitated. Calm down!” Now Mr. Ferri and the doctor were at the sides of his bed trying to silence him… they looked monstrous. Edgar continued to scream as he wriggled out of the four’s grip. Mr Ferri and the doctor, in very low voices, had also started to argue animatedly with each other… “The patient should have been ready already! A sedative injection… did it take that much?” Another doctor who looked strikingly similar to the man in the church garden had come running. He was much younger than the others but his severe and peremptory tone allowed no replies. “What’s happening here?” “The patient must be sedated. He has to do some tests in another facility…” “Sedated? And why? The patient is calm… he had a bad accident and just needs rest. He does not need to undergo further tests… And then, in which facility? I’ll handle that. What I saw is a very serious fact. I will report this to the management.” After a heated discussion, Mr. Ferri and the first doctor left in a fury, followed by the two paramedics with the empty stretcher.

Then the new arrival had approached Edgar’s bed. He hadn’t spoken, he had just stroked his hair and he had immediately felt safe.

He had read the diagnosis himself in his medical record left by the nurse on the small table at the end of his bed available to visiting doctors… MYSTIC DELIRIUM… but if he had been hospitalized for an accident…

The stay that had followed in the nursing home had been a relief…

Now he wanted to get out of there. He was fine. Outside he would have started a new life… he would have looked for another job and a place to live in peacefully… that young doctor had also told him so… the one who had come to his aid in the hospital and who resembled like a drop of water the man met in the church garden, the same one who, since he was in that clinic, came to visit him in his room every evening, approached his bed, took his hand and reassured him… the good doctor, as he called him, who, when he asked about him, no one seemed to know. The one who one evening, after having told him that they would let him out the following day, had given him a business card telling him not to worry.

And in fact, he had been discharged. There was not his wife waiting for him. In reality he had not even phoned to warn her. To what end?

Edgar had taken a taxi and had a ride to the address on the card. A gate opened immediately as soon as he pressed the bell on a side column.

The woman who welcomed him was calm and confident as if she had known him for some time. She had accompanied him inside a large white building, to a bedroom with bathroom.

It was a university boarding school run by religious people. “The doctor told us about you. We’re happy you’re here. You will see… you will be fine here.”

“The doctor? Finally someone who knows him! I was starting to fear I had dreamed him…”

“Of course I know him! Everyone knows him…”

Some time had passed. Edgar had started teaching at the school in the Institute where he lived. He had withdrawn from the funeral home and had reported his suspicions to the authorities. He had also separated from his wife. Determined to sever all ties with the past, despite the contrary opinion of his lawyer, he had granted her much more than she would have been entitled to. The salary he received was enough for him and he asked for nothing more than the simple life he was living. He had given the money from his postal account, the only one on which, not being aware of it, his wife had not put her hands, to the doctor so that he could donate it to whomever he deemed appropriate or he could use it for the college that had taken him in. He was certain that it would be spent in the best possible way.

For his part, he had turned over a new leaf.

Now he spent peaceful days punctuated by mornings busy in the classroom with his students and afternoons helping wherever there was a need. When possible, he took care of the garden, the kitchen, small bricklaying jobs… manual activities that he had never done in his life and which gave him infinite satisfaction.

The cell phone, an indispensable tool for his previous work, had stopped tormenting him. He had given his students his phone number and now it rarely rang, only when some student needed clarification. Finally at night he rested peacefully in his bed. Every now and then he thought back to that period of his life and how easy it had been to suddenly find himself in a situation that he would never have imagined.

One day or another he would also find the courage to go out, to face the outside world again without the fear of being overwhelmed by the evil that inevitably surrounds every human being. For the moment he was fine with that.

He was very surprised seeing that his lawyer had looked for him. Everything had been defined, and for long time.

The lawyer had called him again because of his wife… she had been found, dead, in a public park.

Since he had been admitted to the clinic, he had never seen her again and after their divorce, he had no longer heard from her…

Whoever had taken her life must have first had an interaction with her because dirty paper handkerchiefs, cigarette butts and a couple of empty bottles were found next to her dead body.

Entering the morgue had a strange effect on him. The investigations into the case had been completed and the funeral home workers were only waiting until all those present had left to intervene on her body. Edgar didn’t know any of those who were there, ready to do the job that he too had done until recently. When the men approached, he told them that he would be the only one to take care of his wife’s body personally. Those, after going out to ask someone’s permission, had returned telling him that they had the authorization to agree to his request and had given him what he needed by placing it on the glass shelf of a white painted metal trolley.

Left alone with her in the room, folded the funeral sheet that covered her from head to toe, with his eyes full of tears, he remained for a few seconds observing her. Completely naked you would have thought she was asleep. Yet she had died a violent death… a deep cut to her throat had been the cause of her death, but her entire body was full of bruises and wounds.

Having put on an overall, he had washed her slowly and carefully, then, under the eyes of the funeral home employees amazed by such expertise, he had implemented all the procedures for preserving the body and finally, after having dressed her, he had started and completed the aesthetic treatment on her face. Once the job was finished he took a step away and contemplated his work. She was beautiful! Perhaps, she had never looked so beautiful! He couldn’t help crying.

Then, feeling a gust of cold air behind him that made him shiver, he turned towards the door. Lucio Ferri was in the doorway. They looked into each other’s eyes then the man approached him and said: “Congratulations Edgar! This performance of you is truly a work of art! What a pity… I had big plans for you… why did you ruin everything?…”

He hadn’t answered anything… he was strangely calm. Taking a rosary that he always kept in his pocket, he turned his back to that individual and placed it delicately in the woman’s hands.

One step back and Mr. Ferri was no longer there. In his place, the man met in the church, the doctor. “You did a good job Edgar… but now come with me… let’s go out of here…

Luigi Fondi, 1990) RICERCANDO LA PACE. Marmo bianco industriale di Carrara e legno di abete patinato di verde: h. 189x51x26 cm.

ASCOLTA il racconto su file audio o su Youtube.

Voce narrante Christian RENZICCHI

.

EDUCARE È NARRARE… RACCONTI IN CIRCOLO  (torna alla pagina iniziale)

IDA’S  STORIES  by Ida Renzicchi