by Rita Siligato
She is dressing up for her sister, in a red linen dress with matching sandals. Ondina has been in a retirement home for three years now, and the pandemic made everything more difficult: Redenta had to call and make an appointment – an appointment! – in order to see her sister for half an hour every Monday.
For more than a year, every single Monday, rain or shine, she embarks on a bus, than on another bus, and after that she climbs the two flights of stairs to her sister’s residence.
Ondina is now the elder sister. She aged badly: she could not walk anymore, and her famous wit is almost gone.
“Ouf!” says Redenta, approaching the hug room, an unadorned closed area with a couple of chairs and a table, all white, separated by a plexiglass screen. She is but a spot of red on an entirely white canvas. The stale smell of the building is overpowering.
Ondina is already there, sitting in her wheelchair, that she calls “my throne”. Someone – a nurse? – put a beaded necklace around her neck and combed her hair in a flat greasy pompadour. Her eyes are shut, and she is snoring.
“Aren’t you hot? I am all sweaty,” Redenta tells her sister. Ondina opens her eyes to see who is talking.
“A man came yesterday,” she informs Redenta. “He was very kind. He showed me some pictures of a nice baby. Do you know him?”
“I am sure he was your grandson, Kevin. The baby must be you great granddaughter, Eliza. You are a great grandma now.”
“He told me the baby was a girl. Do I have a daughter?”
“Dear me! You have two sons, Arturo and Antonio. Antonio has a son, Kevin. And Kevin is married now, and has a daughter, Eliza.”
“A nice girl! With a lot of hair! My children had no hair when they were born. I had twins; did I tell you?”
“I know you have twins, Ondina. Do you know me?”
“But of course I know you, you are my baby sister! But tell me, how is Dario?”
“Oh, you know how he is. He has his ups and downs. He went back to living by himself for the summer, did I tell you?”
They slip easily in their usual pattern: the brilliance in Ondina’s eyes returns as she listens to her sister’s chatter.
“Didn’t he! Well done, sister! And has he to cook for himself, now?”
“Of course not. He comes to my house twice a day to eat, and sometimes he stays for the night…”
“Naughty girl! If mama was alive, she would scold you.”
“But Dario and I are married now.”
Ondina snorts.
“What a marriage! You were both old when you got married. No children. It is an association, not a marriage.”
For Redenta, this is the hint to snort in turn: “And what do you know? We are happy, we meet every morning for a coffee outside, it is like being engaged, it is not boring…”
“Not boring! Marriage is not boring. I had no time to be bored; I had the twins and Rudy to look for. I had to cook for four.”
Redenta smiles. She recognizes her sister’s temper. She is fully awake now.
“Do you remember our trips to via Commerciale? With the children? The time you came later with Dario on a Vespa?”
“Of course I do!”
“Does he still own the Vespa?”
“No, he is almost ninety now. He prefers to ride on a bus.”
“Does he own a bus?”
Redenta knowns her sister is getting deafer every day, and she repeats, slowly and louder: “He prefers to ride on a bus! He is not a bus driver!”
“Go figure! Dario the musician, a bus driver!”
They laugh together.
“And tell me, why is everyone wearing a face mask? Is it a new fashion?”
Ondina asks the same question every time they meet, at the same time, when Redenta picks up her handbag and prepares to leave. And Redenta has no heart to explain it again and again, for more than a year, every single Monday.
“There is a bad virus going around. We must stop the spreading.”
“Is it catchy? But we are sisters! Will you hug me?”
“Next time, sister. Now be good, and I will come next Monday. And we will talk about your great granddaughter.”
“Eliza!”
Che bello avere una sorella! Magari in una prossima vita capiterà anche a me…