I SPOKE OF LOVE : THE SECRET OF THE PENDANT

NEW ERA

On the bed, I find my pendant on the pillow and clutch it to my chest. Amalia must have left it for me. It still emits that strong gleam that makes my heart tremble, but this time the light is more intense, almost blinding. I can't understand; it's not just about seeing my Michael. No, God! I rub my eyes. I see myself with Michael in clothes I've never seen before. We're embraced among others and we're smiling. A whirlwind of light envelops me, making everything clearer and more real. I feel dizzy, as if I'd taken opium, but also extraordinarily alive. Embraced and happy in the crowd. God, how happy we are in that place! I've never felt such beauty in my soul in my entire life.

I wake up suddenly, sweating. Amalia's voice reaches me muffled, filtered through a child's laughter. The door opens and that little creature jumps onto the bed saying, "Ale, will you take me to Monza? You promised!"
"Alessandro will take you to Monza, or else Uncle Michael will do it as usual."
"No, I only want Ale!"
"Sister!" I exclaim in the reflection of the light hitting her face, outlining threads of dust on her masculine hairstyle. I glance at the trousers she is wearing and the white shirt fastened slightly with a gold pin.

I remain motionless, speechless. My heart is pounding. I feel as though I might have smoked opium or something similar last night. I hadn't even washed; the journey to London had exhausted me, I just wanted to lie down. Yes, I definitely smoked opium, I repeat to myself as I lift my torso against the wooden headboard.

"What's the matter with you this morning, Alessandro? You seem, how shall I say, odd. Did you drink last night? Michael left early and told me to tell you he managed to secure a good price for that cottage in London. Fortunately, the Marquises are too old to spend holidays in England," she says, opening the curtains and smiling at me.

"Sister, but how are you dressed? I don't understand anything you're saying to me!"

"Oh, for heaven's sake, not again! Go take a bath, you smell of manure. I'd like to know where you got to last night. And those clothes on the floor, where did you find them?" Then she adds with a tone that leaves me breathless: "You and your obsession with halving the staff. Your clothes are in the wardrobe in front of you, the bathroom is to the right, outside the door. This morning it looks like I'll have to bathe Alessandro, won't I, love?"

Then she resumes speaking with a smile: "Thank you for keeping us here with you after father's death and my misfortune with his real father. Our mother only thinks about the family's good name, but you have been an angel to my son."

I try to grasp some words and impulsively say, "Does the child have a name? And how old is he, three?"

"Alessandro." My sister says, sighing.

"And what's your father's name, little one?"

"It's you."

"Me?" I say, starting and swallowing bits of saliva.

"And can you tell me how old you are?"

He makes a gesture with his little hand and says, "Four."

The child has my same eyes and has that liveliness I had as a child when I used to wake my nanny in the middle of the night. I caress him and tenderly say, "Ale, I need to recover from a bad night. I'll come down soon and we'll have breakfast together, then if I'm not feeling too ill, I'll take you to Monza, okay, little one?"

The house has remained practically the same as it was eight days ago. Some furniture has changed, the living room has a round table instead of a square one and the curtains are thinner, no longer brocade. My father's study remains suspended in an old bubble. I washed as best as I could, unable to understand any of those gadgets they've put in this house and those strange candles on the chandeliers that make my sight tingle. A servant noticed my embarrassment and ran water into a basin fixed to the wall, similar to a laundry trough I've always seen in kitchens. I didn't dare enter the marble tub.