Eugenio “… a foil wrapper” by Ida Renzicchi (Translated from Italian by the author)
Eugenio “… a foil wrapper”
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Voce narrante Giuliana Poleggi Quaranta
The abandonment from the mother is a very painful detachment. It is difficult to fully understand and approach a child who suffers from this separation. The complicated relationship with him must be measured with patience and love ... like clay, which must be molded to make it something wonderfully precious.
The apartment on the lower floor, opposite the one where I live, is a more than dignified home.
I have not yet had the opportunity to meet the new tenants who have recently moved there … certainly our departure times do not coincide.
It was my husband who accepted and transferred to me the request from the new owner to have a meeting regarding my willingness to accompany his son on his school path.
The dining room where I am welcomed is spacious and very bright. The large window overlooking the balcony allows the sunlight to come in forcefully, scarcely filtered by the beautiful white, very thin curtains.
The man who opens the door for me, in his forties, with clear and intense eyes, offers me a chair, asks for permission and goes to the kitchen. He soon returns with a tray on which the bottle of a famous drink and three glasses clink, precariously.
A handsome boy is the one who comes out of a door in the sleeping area and sits on the side of the table opposite mine. I deduce that this is his son, whose schooling I should follow, because he looks a lot like him: the same identical blue eyes. I say boy, but I should say child because he has not turned ten yet, he is in fourth grade. He is tall for his age, definitely above average. Of solid build, short blond hair that verges on red, light eyes. It strikes me how neat and tidy he is in his attire.
The day and the night (drawing by Lorenzo Ravaglia – 11 years old)
Everything about his school kit contrasts sharply with the context that surrounds me. The notebooks are a heap of scribbled paper, the case, one of the most beautiful and complete I’ve ever seen, is unwatchable, the books just don’t exist and the top brand backpack, resting on a trolley, is in bad shape.
My gaze inevitably falls on a brand new and very powerful computer. I should change mine and in the last few weeks I have been updating on prices and models. This is one of the most expensive … the father, who has noticed my glance, tells me that he bought it for his son.
The man is a bit awkward in asking me if it is possible that I am the one who moves to their apartment and not the boy who comes up to mine. He already knows that I never go to anyone’s house because my husband told him that are the boys who move, after having, by mutual agreement, established a schedule based on my and their needs. I have never had such young disciples: high school teenagers, college students or adults, never children … I have always feared their carelessness.
The request, however, is made to me with such kindness that I am unable to refuse. I perceive such a great expectation in the voice of the man in front of me that I even doubt to be able to carry out my task.
The boy, who lives with his father, is very intelligent. He wouldn’t need any extra lessons. He’s just going through a period …
He has suffered and still suffers a lot from his parents’ separation. The situation of abandonment from his mother who has gone … and has moved to another village, where she lives with another man from whom she has had another child, has deeply destabilized him. In his eyes, which look at me curious and grumpy at the same time, I read a clear distrust towards me …
Stop the war (drawing by Lorenzo Ravaglia – 11 years old)
The boy, who lives with his father, is very intelligent. He wouldn’t need any extra lessons. He’s just going through a period … He has suffered and still suffers a lot from his parents’ separation. The situation of abandonment from his mother who has gone … and has moved to another village, where she lives with another man from whom she has had another child, has deeply destabilized him. In his eyes, which look at me curious and grumpy at the same time, I read a clear distrust towards me …
The father made a photocopy of a school friend’s books and bought him back everything: notebooks, pencil case, albums …
It was not easy to capture the attention of this new student of mine. Even more complicated, gaining his trust. There have been days when, determined to give up, I told myself that I would have waited for the arrival of his father to communicate him my renunciation to take care of his child. Hours during which I, sitting at the dining room table, tried to explain the lesson to him while he, still with his cell phone in hand, did everything but listen to me.
I repeated to myself that I had done well up to then to take care of older kids … that I would never again accept students of that age …
Then, one day, returning home, I meet him on the stairs. “It’s your fault!” he tells me without even saying me goodbye but touching my side with his hand while he clumsily tries to overtake me. “But… can’t you see that we don’t go through it in two? And even with your backpack … Are you in a hurry? Can’t you wait until we get to the landing? … My fault? And what about?.”
I look at him in amazement wondering what I have ever done to him. He, who in the meantime completely not giving a damn about my grievances, has overtaken me forcing me with difficulty against the wall, is in front of his apartment. He has his head down. “If I got nine in History …” I stop on the step before the landing … I take a deep breath: “Nine?” “Nine.” He walks into his house and literally slams the door in my face before I can say a word… and thank goodness… because I have a lump in my throat.
The sky (drawing by Lorenzo Ravaglia – made at the age of 7)
After a few weeks, a lady who takes care of the house, a maid, opens the door for me.
Now, while I am struggling to explain the concepts to him, his cell phone rings continuously and he rushes into his bedroom to answer.
“Who is calling you? But can’t you just sit still… here? You can’t always be with the phone in your hand while I’m talking to you! I have to tell your father to take it off from you. I’m sorry, but if you don’t put a stop to it, I’ll wait for him and tell him. For real. Indeed, do you know what am I going to do? I will not come anymore! That’s enough! ”
He feels me being impatient and looks at me in wonder. “It’s my mother.” “So what? Can’t you talk to her later? Why is she calling you? What does she want?”
I learn that his mother, who phones him constantly, tells him to call a slave their maid… whom she suspects to be her ex-husband’s partner.
We are studying the Assyrians and Babylonians and the hierarchy of that society. “Did you understand who the slaves are?”
He nods his head to me. “Now, in your opinion, does it seem right to you to call the lady who comes to do the housework a slave?”
Always with his head he nods to me no. Five minutes and his phone still rings. He runs to his room and returns without it. “It was time!”
I tell him seeing him return without his cell phone in hand. “I threw it out of the window! … she keeps calling me … I told her that slaves no longer exist …”. “It would have been enough just to turn it off.”
I can barely reply.
He looks at me seriously as I change the subject and start explaining to him a mathematical rule.
Last weekend his father took him to visit his mother.
Cubist portrait (drawing by Lorenzo Ravaglia – 11 years old)
On Monday he tells me that she didn’t even look at him, that she only had her eyes for his little brother … he talks to me with his head down, humiliated, as if he felt guilty about something …
I feel bitterness in his words. She doesn’t care about him and this hurts him deeply. “So, what is this face? You won’t tell me you’re jealous! Obviously, your mother pays more attention to your little brother than to you … he is little … when you were little, she did the same with you … come on, come on … it seemed to me who knows what had happened to you … “. He looks up, looks at me amazed and … finally, he follows the whole lesson calmly, carefully.
Study of letters (drawing by Lorenzo Ravaglia – 11 years old)
When, three days later, I go to his house there is no one but me and him. I notice a gigantic chocolate egg wrapped in a glittering paper of a thousand colors closed by a large bow of golden satin. There are still fifteen days to Easter.
I have decided that, taking advantage of the upcoming festivities, I will spend a few days at my son’s house. “But then you will not be here at Easter?” “No, I won’t. I’m leaving in a week. But I’ll come back … try to study eh … I’ll be back … “.
The following day, in the middle of the dining room table where we are studying, I see a foil wrapper and a tiny bunch of withered daisies whose stems are also wrapped in the same foil … just five stunted little flowers …
He takes them both and hands them to me. “Thank you. What is it?” I ask him as I slowly unwrap the package. Irregular pieces of dark chocolate come out … “You told me you will not be here at Easter … so I broke the Easter egg … for you!” He tells me with his head down, almost ashamed.
... in the middle of the dining room table where we are studying, I see a foil wrapper and a tiny bunch of withered daisies whose stems are also wrapped in the same foil … just five stunted little flowers … He takes them both and hands them to me. “Thank you. What is it?” I ask him as I slowly unwrap the package. Irregular pieces of dark chocolate come out … “You told me you will not be here at Easter … so I broke the Easter egg … for you!”
Hit! And sunk! Other than naval battle …
Before our class time ends, his father returns.
“He did not want to hear any reasons … he wanted to break the chocolate egg at all costs. He said you were leaving and he wanted to open it for you first! ” Without speaking, I show him the silver wrapping and the tiny bunch of flabby flowers now hopelessly bent towards the tinfoil.
We look at each other in silence. His father is also moved.
Now my former student works.
He brilliantly attended Middle and High Schools.
Thanks to the excellent results he obtained, a large Italian company has hired him as soon as he graduated. I’m really happy with that.
He no longer lives in my building. He lives alone in another neighborhood.
Happiness (drawing by Lorenzo Ravaglia – 11 years old)
I met him days ago. He was in his car… maybe he was waiting for someone. When he saw me he immediately got out. A big boy over six feet tall. If he hadn’t greeted me with that gruff way of his, always with his head down, maybe I wouldn’t have even recognized him. A small bow with his head and a few timid words that, for me, have said everything.
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