Table of Contents Table of Contents
Previous Page  147 / 194 Next Page
Show Menu
Previous Page 147 / 194 Next Page
Page Background


Then we hear his wife’s cheerful voice explaining to him as

she drains the pasta, “Yes, but that was different; now she

doesn’t care if she dies!” So we book the first deal we can

find and immediately change subjects and start talking

about the spa.

My friend brings out the list of available treatments and

reads them, “Hydrotherapy Immersion Bath. It’s like a

bubble bath with essential oils, but under water.”

“And do they drown you?” I ask.

“Yes, but there’s an extra charge for that,” she replies and

continues. “Eucalyptus bath, petal bath, salt bath; wow—

blood bath, now you might find that one interesting.”

And in this way, the miraculous power of words triumphs

over action. Through the use and abuse of words you

distance yourself from the idea of suicide, and it grows

smaller and smaller. It’s true that it lingers there for a

while, in the background. Protective. But every time the

oven makes an appearance and you haven’t put your head

in it, you have one more reason to laugh at yourself. What

is it that separates the suicides that haven’t been carried

out (always a bit pathetic, even comical) from the ones that

have been (which, in contrast to the first, leave you in a

state of infinite dismay)? What exactly is the distance that

separates them, so small yet so immense? What is that

step? According to my friend the expert, it’s that moment