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“Solo alla sacra mi inchino![53]”
CHAPTER 18
________
Gabriella Matos
I only realize that I have slept when the sun invades the windows, shining on my face marked by the sisal weave after a whole night lying on the carpet. My body aches from the position in which it spent the night, and I continue to lie down for a while with my eyes glued to the windows and the yellowish light bathing the landscape beyond them.
A clock hanging on the wall tells me it's five in the morning. Apparently, the jet lag was unable to affect my biological clock. I sit on the carpet. One look at myself is enough to realize that the uniform is completely wrinkled, I let out a long exhale as I realize my mistake.
Luigia probably expects me to wear it again today, and I highly doubt she'll be happy to see the state my clothes are in. Both the light blue short-sleeved, knee-length dress and the white apron I'm wearing over it look like they came out of a cow's mouth.
I look at my feet realizing yet another mistake, I slept still wearing the black shoes that were also given to me. I kick them off with the help of my heels before pushing myself up.
I redo the investigation I did last night, letting my eyes sweep the space around me. This morning, however, I notice a door that I hadn't noticed before. I walk towards it, imaginingthat it will also be locked. However, when I turn the handle, the door opens, revealing a bathroom. I blink a few times before being able to move. Does the room have a bathroom?
It's impossible not to remember the cubicle that I spent the last few years using back at home, a square of one meter by one meter served as a shower and space for the toilet that only worked if we put a bucket of water inside.
The room I still don't have the courage to enter, however, is large, bright and has a huge carved wooden piece of furniture under a brown marble sink. There's an oval bathtub in the left corner that I gawk at until I realize it's not the prettiest part of the bathroom.
As soon as I look up, they lock onto a tall, wide window, with a colorful stained-glass window forming the image of a saint I don't know who she is, but with eyes so welcoming that I get goosebumps. Her hands are extended forward, as if offering them for shelter.
The woman with very light skin and long dark hair wears a dark, almost black outfit. I don't think I've ever seen a saint wearing dark clothes. A crucifix hangs from her neck, a red rose in one of her hands and a dagger in the other.
One of her hands is bleeding and, against all expectations, it is not the one with the dagger, but the one with the rose. The thorns are tearing through her skin and spreading crimson red trails across her pale skin, but there is no trace of pain on her face. It's a mesmerizing image.
I gather my courage and go into the bathroom. My fingers search the surfaces, eager to touch them one by one. Their first target is the wood carvings on the cabinet over the sink,it's so pretty. I touch the recesses, discovering the patterns and smoothness of the polished wood.
Then, I discover the smooth, dark marble with irregular veins, I touch the walls and the bathtub, the towels, and the ceramics, but I leave the windows for last. I extend both hands forward, but stop millimeters away, the heat of the glass attracts my palm, but my heart speeds up, as if doing so is wrong. As if touching the saint was wrong, or, perhaps, as if it were too right.
The saint's gaze is not peaceful, it is welcoming in a painful way, in an almost violent way. Pain and violence, parts of me I never really embraced. I take two steps back, moving away and giving up touching the windows. I open the cabinet under the sink and find hygiene items inside: soap, toothpaste and even a new toothbrush.
I turn my back to the closet and look at the bathtub, now noticing that, above it, there is a shower with two registers. I tilt my head slightly, wondering if that's what I'm thinking. The only reason I can think of for the shower to have two valves is even more incredible than every comfort I've ever discovered in this room: hot water.
I open the register on the left, because, generally, in the houses I cleaned, they were the ones responsible for making the magic happen. I leave my hand under the jet, which falls cold for the first few seconds, but after just a bit and it starts to slide warmly across my skin, and the tear that slides down my cheek is the same temperature.
I shake my head at no one in particular, but I don't understand. I don't understand why Vittorio would give me so much. A room, a comfortable bed, hot water, clothes, it's almost as if he knew that by giving me so much, he would hurt me muchmore than if he had kept me with nothing. Nothingness is my natural habitat.
The certainty I had that he had found nothing when he searched my eyes for my secrets begins to collapse like a house of cards. I shouldn't have let him look, because until now, I was sure that apart from Raquel there was nothing Vittorio could do to hurt me, but what if I'm wrong?
***
Luigia is going to kill me.
I look at the dark green armchair with a huge whitish stain.SignoraAnna will probably make Luigia look like an angel when she sees this.
The last time I saw her was seven days ago, when I arrived at this house. Apparently, I couldn't have interpreted her gesture more accurately than I did, she really didn't want to deal with me, but I very much doubt that this stance will continue when the owner of this house finds out that I ruined one of her pieces of furniture because I used the wrong cleaning product. Maybe I'll finally be thrown in a cell after this.
Luigia gave me packages all the same color today and, for the first time, left me alone. I don't know what her words said, but I'm sure the look in her eyes said: "Not even you can be so stupid as to do the same thing wrong that you've been doing for seven days, just because you're unattended."
Well, apparently, she was wrong. I look at the armchair and start pacing the small living room, trying to figure out what to do. I look at the cleaning cart and the same problem as before persists: all the packaging is the same, the only difference between them are labels with the names of the products, labels that I don't know how to read.
The last week has been strangely... ordinary.SignoraAnna wasn't the only one I didn't see, Vittorio wasn't anywhere near my sight either, and that gave me a false sense of tranquility that I clung to with every little ounce of willpower left in my body.
I discovered after my first night that my work schedule starts at six. After taking a hot shower that morning, I was surprised to open the closet to find a small amount of clothes.
Five sets of cleaning uniform and a few pieces. I dressed in the uniform and waited, looking at the distant vines through the window. Luigia seemed disappointed to find me ready for work when she unlocked my door. The woman seemed eager to have another reason to fight me in a language I don't understand, as if the simple fact that I was breathing wasn't enough. She looked at the perfectly stretched bed, exhaled deeply, and turned her back to me, leaving the door open for me to follow.
