Italian
Summer is a season of gods, demigods, heroes, martyrs, and saints. They are the names we give to the days, the leaves, the flowers. We celebrate the events of great history and small history, anniversaries and birthdays. Because summer is for humans the end of winter, especially where spring is short and uncertain. For two months or a little more, the light explodes and brings back to life what seemed finished forever. Summer loves bear fruit in spring, and thus are born those conceived in summer, bold and tenacious rams.
That summer, as I left the chemistry faculty, I crossed paths for the last time with her, whom I still loved. She looked at me with an arrogant air, having received a better grade on the exam than I did, and her eyes sparkled with joy. I didn’t stop or say anything to her, like a compliment. The removal of pain was completing its last good deed.
After that, everything had been removed, my illusion like my pain. Great is the removal that psychologists call defense to dismantle in order to process what cannot be processed. Because behind the pain, there is nothing but pain. And the more you dig and remove that hard ground that tried to bury what had been and its pain, the more you only find more pain, with no more tears, that you do not remember. Fears, anxieties, physical ailments, sleepless nights, and depressions of every kind, from regret to sadness, to the desire not to live are the signs of that pain that has been removed and has etched itself on the body like a tattoo that will never leave you.
But that day, which started in indifference, was also leading me towards something, the final exam. I entered the chemistry classroom, detached from that senseless encounter, and sat in the front rows; there were few students ready for the exam, maybe a dozen, because usually those difficult exams are held in the autumn or winter sessions. Those who show up in June are either very prepared or very reckless, or like me, not afraid, and although insecure in life, I always gave my best in exams.
I knew how to carry on the role of the good and prepared student spontaneously, and no teacher ever suspected that my confidence was just an appearance; there was little substance apart from a few readings memorized quickly and extraordinarily retained for a few hours. That was enough to close the exam quickly and with undeserved success.
The professor entered with his faithful “Tigellino” by his side. The professor, still appearing youthful, was not gruff, kind, and easy to deceive with a good line. A high grade was guaranteed, and not just for me.
“Dear gentlemen, today is your last exam, and for me, it is also the last day of teaching. When you leave here, you will have the relief of someone who has finished a war and will embrace those you love, or perhaps no one, but in any case, you will go to sleep happy. I am not granted this; I return home with much bitterness. For you, the war is over; for me, it truly begins now, and it is one in which I will naturally be the loser. The days that remain are far fewer than those lived; this is mathematics, and there is no escaping it. But that is not what I want to talk about.
I would like to tell you about my life, and I really need to, but for you it would just be boring and pathetic. I don’t ask for understanding, just a little listening. Just a few minutes because this is my last chance to be heard.
I want you to pay attention to this theorem. It goes like this: the before is now – the after is never again – the later is still. Anticipate the stages to be taken, live them as if they were now. This leads to giving up expectations. Because what is awaited arrives. But when it arrives, it is just a moment. Then we wouldn’t want it to come back.
I don’t think I would want to go back, even if they promised me what I never had, what I lost, or what I had to give up. I rejected those who loved me and I didn’t have the strength to wait and to hope. My restlessness led me to flee, accepting only what I could not have and rejecting what was just a step away from me, which would have filled me with joy, health, and confidence.
So I lived in the wrong places and with the wrong people, and I felt bad because my never again became, despite everything, an anchor like this, I can’t do without it. I never pondered and planned my existence, but as a stray I sought relief where there was only pain, joy where there was despair, safety where there was danger.
When I was little, I wanted to take part in a great battle; I would have been the first to charge against the enemy and the first to fall. It would all end like that with a heroic act, but at least it would end quickly and for something.
But now that I am about to leave, I mean of course because suicide is a violence that I do not accept for others or for myself, I do not fear death, but the transition I do. I envy those who have crossed that wall. They say that those who die have so much serenity in their last moments. This is what I hope for.
Do not flee, live close to your securities, do not step outside the perimeter of your affections to seek others, unite with those who are promised to you, never with those you do not know. The stranger attracts but hides the harm they will cause you. Evaluate and seek help from those who care for you.
Work hard, it’s the best medicine. In the end, it will bring you some satisfaction. And when you look back and see the work and sacrifice, you can be proud of it. The brave soldiers are those who bear many wounds. The medals you find along the way will be the recognition of what you have done and given.
Now, one last thing. You ten, before you leave at the end of the exam, stop to talk, exchange phone numbers and addresses. Keep the memory of you together and after years, look for each other. When you find yourselves together again, you will remember this day, the last exam in the last summer of study. Because this day will not happen again and it is not just another day.
Even if you don’t celebrate tonight, it doesn’t matter. In fact, I would like to give you a piece of advice. Tonight, go out together, just the two of you, without any other friends or relatives. This is to not forget this last exam and also your last professor.
The professor walked away, advising “Tigellino” not to be too mean. When he entered the adjacent room bathed in the noon sun, it seemed as if he had stepped into a bubble of light, like a ghost or a good fairy that would never leave you again.
Now that I am living my last day at work, I thought about what had happened many years before. That haughty and smiling face outside the chemistry classroom had returned, and this time the removal had broken the dam, and a river of tears had finally brought the pain back to where it belonged.
