The weather was still bad. "February this year is really short and cursed," said Maria watching the snow fall over the windows steamed up. Paola nell'arancia sank his thumb and cut in half, the sharp smell of the rind is popular in the small kitchen. "Contains many vitamins you should eat one too," said Mary, who looked quizzically.
The girls were young teachers, had rented the house recently. Without the math, they had decided to live under the same roof because of cost, but also for the company: that mountain village did not offer many leisure and the evening was pleasant to talk to someone. "He called Andrea," asked Paula. "Not yet." Andrew was the boyfriend of Mary, a doctor who was doing his military service as second lieutenant in Merano health service. They had been to visit him in August, the city was celebrating and the two girls immediately fell in love and flowers and romantic atmosphere of the Belle Epoque that you breathe. It was only two months to leave, then Andrew would return to the country. Mary had known him there, had also tried to convince him of the advantages of a big city, but he was still his opinion. And how he's wrong? Paola feared a bit 'the day that Andrew would be back: his evenings were those of old, lonely and sad.
Paola often thought to his only love, intense but short, a love that was never finished as an undeclared truce, but no more. He wondered from time to time if he was in that condition, still hoped that a new spark riaccendesse the engine. The phone rang. It was Andrea. Mary was a long talk with her boyfriend. Paola looked outside: the snow falling softly now for hours. He took a book from the shelf and began reading. The thought was in his heart of his incurable loneliness as a disease, such as the blanket of snow so heavy that enveloped the country for most of the year. Look at the pages but did not read: Fantastic. He dreamed of being called by Mary, "Do you want the phone, is a male voice" and she slowly approached the phone, the appeal almost in slow motion, and it was his love.
"On Saturday, Andrea returns to license ... Paola, but you're listening to? "The dream with open eyes faded like a soap bubble. "Yes, that beauty," said Paola and felt it was about to cry. The solitude weighed more, as if he really had phoned.
Jack Vettriano, "Winter White and lavender"
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