I felt much better.
I was still in my room, finishing packing all my things. Soon Dr. Stevanin would come to greet me and get me to sign the paperwork necessary for my resignation. We would also exchange Christmas greetings.
It was the day before Christmas Eve three months that I had spent in that clinic is notthey were so terrible after all. TOI had healed mine nervous breakdownit seemed. It was time to leave.
"He'll be fine, Mr. Argentieri", Dr. Stevanin said courteously, entering my room.
«Call me Federico, doctor... we spent so much time together in hereor,” I replied smiling at him as I zipped up the bag.
«Agreed, Mr. Argentieri, or rather Federico, please, however... rest and come back here right after the holidays for a checkup visit. Take it easy, no work forr at least a couple of months, okay?”
Dr. Stevenin I pi was happy.
«Promised. Believe me, I am aware of what happened to me. And especially how it happened. I always have to remind you that it was I who had me hospitalized spat your clinic?”
He smiled. «And I don't like always having to remind her how one of the last things she did out there was to rant at a character in one of her books while sitting in the restaurant.»
«Well... Yup... I got a little carried away. But it's part of my writing, my characters they must always seem real to me.”
«This time, Federico, you have crossed the line between reality and fantasy. Anyway, now it has processed this fact and I leave it go with serenity.»
"He's right!" - I said, nodding - «I passed it, monly for a momento. I had worked too much. I'm fine now, Really. It won't happen again."
Dr. Stevanin led the way to the exit.
«Remember, Federico, the percentage that is due to me should you use any of my ideas in your books... otherwise I'll have to sue her!", he said with a wink.
It made me laugh.
«Dear doctor, if you only knew... Round and round behind every dentist, clerk, messenger boy or lawyer lurks a writer with a laughUnlimited supply of fervent ideas!»
«You have a great talent, Federico. But don't go overboard the borderline, okay?” concluded Dr. Stevanin, dismissing me.
It was done. TOjust outside the clinic I met Valeria, the nurse who had taken care of me during my hospitalization.
"Mr. Silversmiths" - he told me, with a slight blush appearing on her cheeks - "since he arrived i never had the courage to ask her una what. Can you give me an autograph?».
He held in his hands, handing it to me, a copy of The pleasure of killing, my latest novel, which was still selling well, even though it had been over a year since its release.
«A wonderful and compelling book, Mr. Argentieri, I've read it twice. By now I know by heart the names of all the characters! And then the protagonist, the ruthless assassin Johnny il Biondo, is formidable, in his literary wickedness, of course. I almost feel like I know him!" continuous Valeria with enthusiasm.
Before I had time to ask, he even gave me a pen.
I smiled at her, took the book and returned it to her signed and with a dedication.
«I met Johnny the Blond. Believe me, Valeria, I don't recommend it!»
She winced. «I'm sorry, Mr. Argentieri, no volive…Then he calmed down. «Ahhh... she always teases me! Merry Christmas eaTake care of her, I will look forward to your next novel!”
During the percorso on the taxi home, I thought about the story I had in mind. She had been pestering me for weeks, begging to be written. The details were taking shape and the pieces of the puzzle were fitting together perfectly, ready to be put on paper. No... No.... I promised Dr. Stevanin: Nno work, pFor the moment everything had to stay there, in my head.
I was returning to my apartment, finally. Daphne had taken care of it during my absence. We had been together for almost five years now. The plants in the conservatory were in bloom. THEThe refrigerator was full. Daphne had also pulled the Christmas tree down from the mezzanine, placed it in a corner of the living room and decorated it with colored balls and silver festoons. A post-it noteto on the pc warned me that she would arrive at eight, bringing dinner. It was wonderful to be home: tEverything was in its place again.
I would have had a thousand things to do, but I could and had to wait. First a shower, then a nap on the sofa. For the first time in a long time, I was leading my own life. That dark period was over, thanks to the caring care of Dr. Stevanin. There was no need to dig it up, ever again.
«È great to have you here again! Like stai?”
«I'm really fine, Daphne, thank you. Believe me, it won't have methey would have resigned if that weren't the case.»
"How was it? Horrible?"
«Mah... let's say this: I could have had more fun. You should know, Daphne, you've always been close to me, you were the only one to come, and your presence gave me a lotstrength while I was in the clinic.”
The oDaphne's eyes opened wide. «That's because you made me promise not to tell anyone where you were! A lot of people have asked me about you! Always and constantly. However, the important thing is that you're back, and I'm happy. Whenor can you get back to work?”
«I shouldn't rush things, but to tell the truth I feel ready. The next book is writing in my head. The doctor said to wait, but I honestly never thought this matter was that serious: sI was just working too much, theMy brain was under pressure. I'll be more careful in the future. You see, daphne, my way of writing..."
«È that's exactly the point! Your way of writing!» – she interrupted me – «You live it too intensely, Federico. Sometimes you make me shiver".
In the days that followed, I took my life back into my own hands. With Daphne things went wonderfully and the magic of Christmas seemed to have united us even more. Pass festivities, I went to do checkups at Dr. Stevanin's clinic, who confirmed that by now fbones in great shape.
In the end, I could no longer put off starting to write the new book: iswe both rave ready. I stocked up on snacks and coffee, mi shut up in the studio.
I wrote quickly. After about a week I felt like I was wrapped in a familiar cocoon. I knew that a world existed outside, I was aware of the ringing phone and Daphne's presence, but the only thing that mattered was the pc keyboard and the sentences that appeared on the screen.
Day gave way to night and then back to day. The pages piled up. That alone made me happy.
«Are you sure it's not too soon? You've started writing again at your crazy pace. I'm a little worried about you...", Daphne told me, in a cold evening in late January, mewhile we were sitting at the table over leftovers from a home-delivered Chinese dinner.
«It's all rightand and I feel wonderful.»
And it was true. I remember how a crucial chapter came to a close on a night so late that even the streetlights looked tired. I felt strong, exalted, immortal.
I don't know exactly how long it took.
One morning, after drinking my usual cup of coffee, I headed for the bathroom.
In the corridor, in a pool of blood, Daphne lay lifeless.
I screamed in desperation.
I was filled with terror.
Who could have done such a thing? The corridor window, the one that opened onto the terrace, was wide open and the glass shattered. Someone had entered the house and killed her, while I, unfortunate, was shut up in the study, isolated from the world, writing!
It was all my fault!
I called the police and within minutes they were at the house. They asked me a lot of questions. They carried out meticulous scientific surveys.
I haven't been able to sleep since that day.
Perhaps, however, I understood who may have killed Daphne. I'll have to tell the judges, even if I don't think they'll believe me.
The trial is near.
Of course I'm afraid. But I also have a book to finish. I'm almost at the end, at the epilogue.
And in the meantime I write.
But I'm not alone.
I always have to keep an eye on my cellmate, Blond Johnny, who is keeping an eye on me.
