Dad and I enter the hospital where Beatrice has been admitted. They check my blood type. It’s the same as Beatrice’s. I was sure of it; we have the same blood type, we live from the same blood. There are things that you just feel. My life is bound to that of Beatrice’s by blood. They ask me if I use drugs. I say no. I say no because Dad is there and he would incinerate me and shout his favorite threat: “I’ll ground you into the dust of your shadow.” You’ve got to give him credit, as a phrase, it isn’t bad.
Later, however, when I am with the nurse, I tell her that a month ago I smoked some weed. But only one joint, just to experiment. There was a group of us. I didn’t want to look like a dork. And, besides, it was just to try it out. The nurse calms me down. One joint doesn’t count. But if I were a regular user, I couldn’t donate. My blood wouldn’t be of any use.
The chapter on weed is finished. If Beatrice should still need it, my blood must be perfect, pure, immaculate. It must be as red as the love I have for her.
They draw quite a bit. It is much darker than I thought. It is a reddish-purple and dense, like my love for Beatrice. The sight of blood gushing from my arm makes me lightheaded, and for a moment I fear I’ll pass out, but I fight it. Blood, like love, makes you lose your head, but it also gives you the strength to go beyond your limitations. … I feel like I’ve given my life for Beatrice, but in actuality, I’m half dead and pale like a vampire: instead of sucking blood, I’ve given it for the living.
Dad takes me to breakfast.
“You’re as pale as the foam on your cappuccino. I’ll get you another croissant. What kind do you want?”
“What a question … with chocolate.”
Dad goes to the bar and gets a croissant dripping with Nutella. He sits down in front of me again and smiles, as he does so well in the morning. In the evening, he is too tired to smile after a day’s work.
“Does it hurt?” he asks, pointing to the arm from which they extracted the blood.
“It burns a little, but it’s okay.”
“Tell me about this young lady, what’s her name … Angelica?”
I’ve always said that in our family, memory is not our strong point.
“Beatrice, Dad, her name is Beatrice, like the beloved of Dante.”
“Is she a special girl for you?”
I don’t feel like talking to him about Beatrice and sidetrack the question.
“Who is special for you?”
“Mom.”
“When did you know?”
“When I saw her for the first time, during a cruise that my parents had given to me as a gift for graduation. She had a special way of moving, of tilting her head when she smiled, and when she fixed her long hair that covered her eyes … ”
Dad appears to be daydreaming, with a lost look, dreaming of a past that passes in front of his eyes like the beginning of a romantic film, one of those I can’t stand.
“And, then?”
“Then, I approached her and asked, ‘So, you’re on this ship, too, Miss?’ realizing by the end of my question that it didn’t make any sense and was actually rather ridiculous, since I had just seen her for the first time.”
“What about her?”
“She smiled and answered, looking around, pretending she was trying to find someone, ‘So it seems. … ’ and she laughed.”
“And then, what happened?”
“Then we talked and talked and talked.”
“Back in your day, you didn’t do anything else but talk. … ”
“Hey, boy, don’t show a lack of respect for your father!”
“And what did you speak about?”
“About the stars.”
“About the stars? And did she listen to you?”
“Yes, I was passionate about stars. I had bought my first telescope during the first year of high school, and I knew how to identify the constellations. So I told her the stories of the stars, and from the bridge of the ship, in that cool, clear night, there was no need of a telescope to see them clearly. And she, unlike other girls, listened and asked questions.”
He pauses for a bit, as if the first segment of his romantic film had ended. At that moment, I wake him.
“And then?”
Dad takes a deep breath and answers in a single breath, scratching a cheek in order to somewhat hide his face behind his hands.
“Afterward, I gave her a star as a gift.”
“You did what?”
“Yes, I gave her a star, the most luminous in that moonless night: Sirius, the only star visible from any inhabited place on Earth and able, in a night without a moon, to project shadows of bodies. We promised each other that we would each look at it every night, wherever we found ourselves, and we would think about each other.”
I start laughing. Dad, the man who gives Sirius to Mom as a gift. … I give him a pat on the back.
“So romantic … And what about her?”
“She smiled.”
“And you?”
“I would have given anything to have such a woman really exist in my life, not just on a cruise.”
Dad is silent. He doesn’t seem to want to add anything more. I have the impression that he is about to blush, so he wipes the crumbs of the croissant from his mouth in order to hide this. Then he looks at me and says, “I am proud of you, Leo, for what you have done.”
My ears open up, as if until this moment I have been deaf.
“I believe that today you have begun to become a man: you did something that nobody suggested to you or decided for you. You chose to do it.”
I remain silent and take advantage of the situation, “Well, then, can I choose another pastry?”
Dad shakes his head with knowing resignation and smiles at me.
“You are your father’s son. … ”
It has been centuries since I had spent so much time with my father. “I am proud of you” is today’s motto. For all the rest of the day, I rest. I have to renew my strength. I am extremely tired but equally happy.
I didn’t see Beatrice again. She is no longer recovering in the hospital. She went back home. She has completed her first round of chemotherapy. A sort of antibiotic against the cancer. I’m sure that it’ll help her. Beatrice is strong and too young and full of beauty not to make it. I would like to go see her, but Silvia says that Beatrice doesn’t feel up to seeing anybody. She is worn out by her illness and doesn’t feel like talking. But I would still like to see her. Anyhow, she has my blood, and it will be like keeping her company closer than ever. From inside. United. I hope my blood will do her good.
I feel happy and tired. Such is love.