Fauriel just left the clinic he heard a slight murmur of people waiting their turn sitting on chairs, had no desire to talk so he lowered his gaze and walked quickly down the corridor of the ward after that went down the stairs and always keeping their gaze slid down quickly towards the exit with amazing ease on age.
He held still for a while 'looking down and saw that the ground was still snow fall the last few days.
Only after passing the big sliding doors of the hospital he looked up and glanced at the sky.
The gray clouds that had accompanied him just two hours ago, blacks had become big loads of rain clouds that threatened a big storm, the autumn breeze had been replaced by a nasty that can not promise anything good.
He did not even time to open the umbrella a little timid drops stood on his forehead. It did not take one of those pathetic meteorologists than playing the professoroni Fauriel just left the clinic he heard a slight murmur from the rise in television to understand that the rain would have anticipated a drop of rain. Nevertheless
began to cross the great and crowded square in the hospital with the umbrella closed and kept closed even when a few minutes later the rain began to fall and copiously as he walked and did not care at all what people might think of so seeing him in that moment with her hair wet and plastered on the front, his jacket soaked with rivulets of water ran down from the back, the elbows, arms up to touch the asphalt sidewalk and that umbrella close to hand, tightly closed. At that time not interested in anything just wanted to sit alone with his thoughts free from all external influences and in total freedom.
If he liked to hear the rain falling on the hair and down her cheeks, though he liked to feel the wind on wet skin that turned even colder than it already was, if he did not want to repair but wanted to hear the contact between him and the rain, between him and nature, why should not it? walk in the rain helped him to think and clear his head and even though his doctor strongly advised against it every now and then could not resist, on the other hand to Fauriel was a situation where thinking was necessary, indeed vital.
This curious glances of passers-by not disturbed in any way, Fauriel could certainly not thinking that someone had also recognizing giggled and made some kind of supposition, but seeing how his driver was taking probably a fool and if you have not had certainly did when Fauriel with a clear brief ordered him to leave. Without him. He decided that he would return home on foot, in the rain.
walked and walked again, and while the rain grew in intensity as if he wanted to continue to challenge him, he completely soaked, walked.
The streets were crowded, the passers-by who marched alongside her in the direction opposite to those in the same direction or crossing it past him with all their colorful umbrellas, until at some point just ahead of him he saw a woman standing in the stands motionless, with no umbrella, out in the rain.
was pervaded by a sense of solidarity without seeing her umbrella thinking maybe in a somewhat 'childish that she at that time by sharing his own thoughts, just a few steps to see that he was wrong.
head scarf, clothes that once must have been colored were now faded and torn, his face was covered with folds and wrinkles, the arms were short, the wet hand was tense, a gypsy woman begging in the rain.
Fauriel overcame the momentum of a little 'disappointed. Then suddenly stopped.
. ... wet hair plastered on his forehead, his jacket soaked with rivulets of water ran down from the back, the elbows, arms up to touch the asphalt pavement and close that umbrella in hand, tightly closed ..
He turned and walked towards the Gypsy looked into her eyes, small dark eyes that should have seen who knows how many places, how many people, how many worlds. He handed her the umbrella, the gypsy took it and smiled in that way that only the gypsies in their freedom can do, she smiled, both smiled in the rain.
And as she walked away in his footsteps were accompanied his voice in that language that only God knows how many and which languages \u200b\u200band is the result of which could take only a few words that gradually became more distant and repeated like an echo far
... "a lot of luck, luck, luck ...
now arrived, just behind that broad curve was her home, an impressive nineteenth century building.
But it was just as do those last meters to the house that he noticed something he did resurface one to which the memory for those twenty minutes in the rain was dissolving his life. could not think.
mind was just making those last few yards to the house he saw the snow fall in abundance in recent days was melting under the incessant and relentless blows of the rain of autumn just as the disease at that moment his life was melting.
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