Lizzi Bizzi and the Red Witch

by Stefano Pastor

  To die at thirteen it’s something I couldn’t conceive. Yet it happened, even too often.

  I recovered my smile I put away the night before, and I stepped in.

  The bed was really empty, unmade, but Diego was laughing. They were both at the other end of the room, opposite the window and they were playing. I bothered to get him a room with a sea view, there were not many at the Gaslini Pediatric Hospital but it has been a waste. He never looked outside the window.

  The big screen was our but the games were Franco’s. By now we used to share everything.

  Diego’s glossy bold head gave me a feeling of discomfort, though I should have been accustomed by now. It wasn’t the therapy’s side effect, it was his choice. He shaved before entering the hospital, he was sure he would have lost them anyway. In any case they never grew back.

  Franco had still his hair, but who knows how long for. He lost them in strands even though he tried to hide it. They did not look alike, and yet they were identical. They shared the same fate: those two guys would never become adults.

  I didn’t knock on the door, so they didn’t even hear me coming in. «That’s how you do the homework?».

  He snorted. «Oh, mom!».

  The role I impose myself was horrible. Useless and hateful. Homework for what? Diego would never go back to school. I knew it and he knew it also, and yet the acting continued. Wouldn’t be better if he had fun, as long as he had the strength to play?

  He had already lost ten Kilograms, hollow cheek, a ghost. There was nothing left of his beauty. At times he looked like a stranger. In those moments I seemed to loose my mind: I wanted to grab him and shake him hard, ask him to give me my son back, my child.

  «I brought you what you asked me», I said, putting it on the bed.

  He was too busy even to answer me, he was on track to compete in the Formula One Championship.

  He would never get a license, never kiss a girl, he wouldn’t have made me a grandmother.

  I was standing still in the inevitable loop. I didn’t want him to turn around and see me like that. Yet I couldn’t move.

  Enrico thought of interrupting that momentum. He ran in the room screaming and slamming the door open. «Franco! Franco!».

  The game was over, both of them realized. Yet there was no annoyance in their eyes. How could it have been? Enrico was the life, that life they were both dreaming of.

  Seven years, Enrico was a force of nature. He wouldn’t be still for a moment and never stopped talking.

  «Look! Look! I’ve drawn it! I did it for you! You are this one here, you see? And here’s the bed also».

  «How beautiful!», said Franco, even though it was a cobbler. It could be nothing else.

  Sandra still didn’t show up. Perhaps Enrico outran her, running up the stairs, but she was more likely to be pursuing some doctors around. She had not yet given up. But maybe it was an excuse not to come in that room.

  It was too painful.

  We were so similar, me and Sandra, we too shared the same fate. Both widows, twice affected by the same misfortune. We never talked to each other, even that was painful.

  Diego had reached me, he left them alone.

  «Are we going to have a drink?».

  I started searching my bag. «I brought something».

  «No, let’s go to the vending machine. I want something fresh».

  «But…».

  Yes, he was right, he wanted to get out from that room. From the hospital, if it was possible, but it wasn’t.

  My fear was that he couldn’t make it, every day he was weaker. The wheelchair spectrum was getting closer and closer. They already brought it to us, but we hid it in the bathroom.

  «As you wish».

  He clenched my arm, but it was not affection, he too was afraid to fall.

  What can say to whom you are going to lose? Especially when it represents your whole life? I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing at all. I was just a mother, I was immersed in my role as if it was a shell.

  «What a pity», I said, just to make a conversation. «If I had a son like him I would go crazy».

  He understood immediately that I was talking about Franco and Enrico. He smirked. «He couldn’t stand him before».

  I was not sure I understood. «Enrico?».

  «No! Enrico loves his brother. Forever! It’s Franco who couldn’t stand him, he drove him crazy».

  «To see them together I wouldn’t have guessed it».

  «Everything changed. When he realized he was dying… he wanted to leave a good memory of himself. He wants Enrico to remember a better brother. Try to be as he sees him». He sighed and shook his head. «It’s all worthless, Enrico is too young. In a few years he will be forgotten anyway. Whatever he’ll do the memory won’t last. It’ll fade away».

  It hunted me to hear him so cynical, but that’s the way I raised him. I gave him my philosophy.

  My role also made me decide what he could drink and what he couldn’t, but that day I didn’t do it. I let him choose. He noticed it and took advantage.

  «Am I already so severe?».

  I snorted. «As soon as I’ll go away you’ll go back to study, do you understand? You already played enough».

  I badly wanted to know how to cry, but I never did. Not that I remembered, at least. Not even as a child.

  Seated in the kitchen I looked at the empty table. I crashed back into my loop. Diego would not be sitting there anymore. I wouldn’t cook for him, I wouldn’t serve him breakfast anymore. There was no longer a bed to be done, laundry to wash. There was nothing, only an infinite emptiness.

  I heard Indira enter but I didn’t even move. She went to the grocery store. She snorted, maybe the elevator was broken again. I easily pictured all her actions, even without seeing her: lay the coat and the keys, change the shoes, go to the room to leave the purse, bring the bags in the kitchen.

  «Are you already back, ma’am? How is Diego?».

  «You should come and see him sometimes. He always asks for you».

  «I will do it».

  No, she wouldn’t, she was like that. Many people can’t stand the hospitals, especially the sick people. I was one of them.

  Indira was with us for ten years now. Since my husband died I’ve been left with a child to rise and a job that didn’t leave me few seconds to relax. It wasn’t long since she moved to Genova, and at the beginning she spoke a shaky Italian. She raised Diego, practically they studied together. She loved him like a son. Maybe that’s why she didn’t want to see him die.

  She was very well integrated, dressed like western people, though she often carried the veil. But her veils were colorful, cheerful, covering only her head, in the end I liked them too.

  She stoked away the food she bought, but in the meantime she spied on me. She misunderstood my stillness.

  «Are you praying, madam? Do you want me to leave?».

  I flinched, but I was bitter. I never had a conversation about religion with her, but after many years I was surprised to find out she had not yet understood how was I feeling about it.

  «Who should I pray?».

  «Don’t you trust your God?».

  I shook my head. «There is no God».

  Maybe I disappointed her but, tough pity, I played my part enough.

  She understood my weakness and sat down in front of me. She had beautiful eyes, black and big like a fawn. «Yet miracles exist, there have been many. They documented them. Even your God makes miracles».

  That discussion was hateful, it wasn’t what I needed: other illusions. «I don’t believe in any God. Does that hurt you?».

  She said no. «Believe it or not, these things happen».

  It wasn’t the time to talk about the power of suggestion. «Diego is dying. He only has few days left».

  She bowed her head. «Yes, I knew it».

  «No miracle can stop it».

  «It already happened».

  «It might have happened before, I
don’t know. But it won’t happen this time».

  «You must believe it to make it happen».

  I didn’t want to argue with her, but I was too stressed to stand her any longer. «I don’t believe in God. Any God».

  She shrugged. «You may not even believe him, but he exists anyway».

  I blew out. «He doesn’t exist and doesn’t do miracles! He’ll never do it for my son! Do you understand it?».

  «Then it is not the right God».

  No, I couldn’t stand that. Now, right now, she tried to convert me. «I don’t believe in God and I don’t believe in Allah, are you happy now? I don’t care if I hurt you, you should understand that this is the wrong time».

  «What does Allah have to do with it?».

  I was surprised. «Don’t you come from Pakistan?».

  «My husband. I grew up in New Delhi».

  Indian? I had never realized it. Yet it was evident that she didn’t follow the laws of the Koran. «I don’t even believe in Buddha, okay?».

  She surprised me with a smile. «Buddha is not a God. He was a man like you and me».

  «Well, I don’t believe in anything. Neither to reincarnation, nor to other nonsense stuff like that. You die and that’s it, and when you die it’s all over. No heaven or hell, there’s nothing. You don’t come back, no reincarnation, it’s over. That’s what I think, it’s fair that you know it».

  I didn’t even scratched her certainties. «The gods still exist. And they do miracles».

  She was able to confuse me. «What Gods are you talking about?».

  «There are many, but they are not all sympathetic. You need to know where to turn».

  I kept staring at her for a long time. «Are you serious? That’s what’s eating you up? You didn’t know how to tell me?».

  «I beg your pardon madam. I know I shouldn’t interfere. But I love Diego, so much. I don’t want him to die».

  She was able to wipe me out. My hands trembled. «I must beg for your pardon, Indira. I’ve been unfair».

  «If you can’t, I can pray. Does that displease you?».

  It didn’t upset me, I was just exhausted. Why tell her it would be useless? If all she wanted was paying for Diego, she should have done it.

  «You can pray all the gods you want».

  She stood up a lot more relaxed, she won in the end.

  «Only one, ma’am. Only one».

  Later the same day, as the time to came back to the hospital approached, I went looking for her. It was rare that I went into her room, at most I would knock on the door. That day I behaved differently. Perhaps I thought she deserved something more, not just a quick greeting. Indira suffered, just like me. She was desperate, she shouldn’t stay alone.

  I knocked as usual, but then I went in without waiting for an answer.

  There was an idol, and she knelt in front of him. She was really praying. Her hands clenched, the veil, the third eye even appeared, the soul’s mirror.

  I had never seen her like so, even the room was different. A fragrant aroma filled the air, some candles had been lit.

  It was the first time I saw her to pray, I felt embarrassed. Not her. «It’s time already, ma’am?».

  Somehow I had to justify my presence there. «Would you like to come with me?».

  She only shook her head.

  While I was there, it was useless to pretend not to see. So I did it. «Is that your god? I’ve never met him».

  I had no idea that she had some relics, she had never exposed them before. That statue looked very old.

  I looked at it closer. It was about a 40 centimeters tall and represented a sitting woman, surrounded by ten arms, shaped like a crown.

  Wacky reminiscences made me turn my nose up. I couldn’t hold back from commenting. «Are you praying Kalì?».

  Of all Indian Gods she was the only one I knew, although my culture come from literature and movie mostly. Surely it was the most terrifying and bloody God I’d heard about.

  Indira explained me. «This is Durga».

  I was not convinced. «It seems like Kalì to me».

  Indira pointed out. «She is Kalì».

  She hanged about a dozen images on the wall, up to the previous day there were none. She pointed out another goddess, and indeed didn’t look like the other one. Kalì’s skin was as dark as the night and her arms were only four. Her big eyes were disturbing, but much more the long red tongue that protruded from her lips.

  They couldn’t actually be the same goddess. Durga was beautiful, a proud face as a fighter, Kalì looked like a demon.

  «Sorry, I don’t know much about this topic».

  «It happens to many. Durga and Kalì have a lot in common».

  I could have been silent, but I didn’t. «What?».

  «They were both created to fight demons».

  «Ah».

  «Someone also believe that Kalì is an emanation of Durga, her angry version. But they’re wrong».

  I didn’t care much about it, but I made the mistake earlier of mocking her faith. And it was early, a few minutes spent there wouldn’t harm anyone.

  «It’s her who you praying? Can she save Diego?».

  «Durga can defeat any demon, nobody has never defeated her».

  But what afflicted Diego wasn’t a demon. It had a name: fulminant leukemia. Even my spine was useful, his demon could not be defeated.

  I didn’t want to talk about Durga or miracles, I preferred to move the conversation on Kalì. «I know her as a bloody goddess. Is this wrong too?».

  «No, that’s right. For blood she’s been created, and a blood slave she remained».

  Yet there was also her image along with the others. «Do you worship her?».

  «Whether you worship her or not she exists anyway. We can’t live without her».

  «Yes but…». Even Satan exists for Catholics, but it would be unusual to find his image in a church.

  «Long time ago the demon Raktabija tried to destroy all gods. It was powerful and invincible, he couldn’t be stopped. It was useless to hurt him, because if a single drop of his blood touched the ground a new demon was created identical to him. It was then that Durga generated it. Kalì was born from her eyebrow, the supreme night able to devour everything, the destroyer of all worlds. With her mouth she drank every drop of the demon’s blood, preventing him from touching the ground, and finally she cut his head off».

  «Impressive», I said, but I didn’t really follow her story.

  «Then she couldn’t stop», Indira continued. «The desire for blood dominated her. Violence and death were her obsession and she could no longer do without. She brought terror into the world».

  I sighed. «I remembered well, then».

  «Only her groom succeeded. Shiva was the only one who faced her. Only when she was about to kill him, Kalì recognized him. She remembered. She managed to hold her thirst».

  I raised an eyebrow. «Groom? But wasn’t she just been created?».

  «Don’t make fun of me».

  «It wasn’t my intention».

  «You understood the meaning of the story. Love can beat everything, any demon».

  Unfortunately in reality it didn’t happen, but it was useless to remind it to her.

  I looked at the watch to find an alibi. «It’s really late! Diego is waiting for me. We’ll talk later, okay?».

  She kept staring at me until I was gone.

  Indira woke me up at six in the morning. It was the first time it happened. I was exhausted, I fall asleep very late. A night of nightmares.

  «Is it time to get up? Do I have to go?».

  It couldn’t be time to get up, outside was still dark.

  «I did it, ma’am. I’ve done it! Durga wept for me».

  I didn’t understand anything, I tried to raise myself on one arm. «What time is it?».

  «She understood how important this was. She granted me this privilege».

  I started to focus, even on her words. «Are you talking
about the goddess?».

  «It’s rare that they listen to us, but she did».

  I made an immense effort to hold back. It was not the right hour and, above all, I wasn’t in the right a state of mind to stand that.

  I spelled the words carefully. «Did the statue weep?».

  «All night long. I picked up every single drop, no one got lost».

  Weeping Madonnas, weeping saints, why not a weeping Durga? I had a hysterical need to laugh. Even if I didn’t, I felt guilty anyway. «Sorry».

  She showed me the flask, as if it was her most precious asset. «Durga’s tears».

  I cleared my voice. «And what… what should I do with it?».

  «They can save Diego».

  It was a painful moment, a compulsory choice. Indira had tried, she didn’t want to give up. She wanted to fight, just like her goddess. Why crush her?

  «Leave them… Leave them on the bedside table. I’ll take them with me when I’ll go to the hospital».

  She didn’t take it well, she looked at me for a long time, then took the flask back. «No, it’s pointless. You don’t believe it».

  I tried, I was willing to do anything to not disappoint her. By now I could declare defeat. «That a statue wept? Yes, it’s hard to believe. And don’t say it happens every day, please!».

  She was offended, but not for that. «Of course it doesn’t happen every day, it’s a rare event. Extremely rare! Durga never answers the prayers».

  «But you made it», I added, but it was difficult to hide my skepticism.

  «She read in my heart! She understood how important it was!».

  «Tell me, you know…».

  I had made the worst mistake. She turned back, turned around, not to be seen again. Maybe she even started crying. She too.

  «Indira, you can’t ask me to… You come here at night time, you say… things. How can I…».

  «Enough. Enough! Shut up!».

  I couldn’t, I was upset now. It didn’t want to worry about her feelings anymore, that needed to come to an end. «Your husband is dead, right? It was a long illness, you said. If you really have this power, if you can talk to gods, why didn’t you save him?».