by Anna Pettener
They were in their fifties: she was very thin with long messy hair, he had gained some weight and grown a beard but his eyes were still bright. A juvenile couple, getting old very gently, tall and good looking although a bit grayish.
They had been young and happy for many years. There had been holidays in the mountains, summer afternoons on the beach, drinks, parties, skiing, travelling. They had taken care of each other and enjoyed life for a long time. But something was missing.
When just married, many years before, they had bought a bigger car and visited a number of apartments in the city centre:
“There is no room for the children!” she exclaimed. Finally they found a large flat which they renovated and painted, each room its own perfect color: pale yellow for the kitchen, light green for the sleeping room, pink with little light blue elephants for the children’s room.
But no children were born. In order to find the reason why, they had undergone a long series of check ups and medical visits in different cities and different hospitals, had done experimental treatments and taken hormones. They did not want to surrender, they were still young, there certainly was, there had to be, a therapy.
Unfortunately, all her tentative pregnancies had failed mercilessly. The diagnosis was sterility. For different reasons both of them were sterile. Despite the progress of science, there was no cure. No birth was ever going to take place. They were never going to be a proper family.
After months of depression and mourning, a compassionate friend suggested they may adopt. The idea was challenging so after many late-night talks they concluded there was no other chance and decided to start the procedure. Applying for adoption meant another long list of visits, psychological tests, bank account and income inspections, but they underwent them almost enthusiastically. The result was reassuring: they were the best ever potential parents.
They chose a South American country and two children, a boy and a girl, not too young, because of the age gap, not too white because they were told white children were more expensive. They sent letters and presents to Mariana and Juan and learned a lot about their life at the orphanage. When everything was done and they were ready to fly abroad, for no apparent reason, the country suspended adoptions.
The pink room with little light blue elephants remained empty. The couple grew more and more upset and discouraged. He thought it was his fault. She thought it was hers. They gradually reduced their social life. Nobody, not even friends could really understand, and spending the evening blaming this or that was no fun.
Then Covid-19 broke out and the lockdown came. It was almost a blessing. No need to go around town, meet people, explain why the children they expected had not come. Shut indoors, one of the few places they were allowed to go was the local supermarket. To bring their food home, they used cardboard boxes, all the same standard size and color and kept them at home, just in case.
As the pandemic increased, the number of boxes they kept increased too. The content was various: that knitting project she had never finished, his katana and kendo uniform, those party frocks she will never use, the Halloween costumes they were no more to wear, the books they had bought to teach the children Italian.
Gradually, the flat was invaded by heavy cardboard boxes orderly piled, first only in the empty children’s room, then in the dining room too, finally also in the corridor.
“Who cares? Nobody is visiting us” she said to herself.
The months passed by. As many other couples, they had been locked in for a long time. One day the door bell rang. They had ordered two pizzas, one of the few luxuries people could indulge in during the strict lockdown period. When they shut the door they heard a sound from behind the boxes in the corridor.
“Maybe it’s the neighbours upstairs” she thought.
That night she suddenly woke up: a strange noise came from the children’s room. What was it? She got up and ventured in the dark corridor. Here the sound was clearer, like someone rummaging the rubbish bin. But who?
She entered the room and switched on the light: the head of a little black kitten leaned out of one of the boxes looking at her with big glowing eyes. She smiled with no surprise, went to the kitchen, put some milk in a saucer, went back to the children’s room and placed it on the floor. The little fluffy pet looked at her, then hesitantly got closer and lapped the milk up.
She got up late. In the children’s room a little cat was sleeping. A small saucer lied empty on the floor.
“Is it a he or a she?” she asked herself. “In any case, it needs a home”.
