The air had become colder and was filled with division. Every thought that clouded over the room was slowly detaching and was starting to shrivel up, to parch and to melt.
There was no clear direction. The shout of a male voice from the upper floor passed through the ceiling together with the resentful and slightly scared replies of a woman and the noise of her heels, but it was still possible to listen distinctly to the background silence.
Silent sounds have different duration and depth; they’re molten together with the matter that produces them: they were born at the same time but they choose to reveal themselves later, at a very specific time. Their tail doesn’t really end but at some point it hides from the ear under the audibility threshold.
Peace had come absolute and unexpected. Who knows if it was the same everywhere, even out there. That closing door had moved something; initially he heard a pottery trail noise on a hard and smooth plane, a glass perhaps. Then it started feeling like a gypsum stick creaking on a blackboard but at some point it became louder and duller, as if that something was approaching a border, and finally nothing could be heard anymore.
When the lock clacked, a vase filled with liquids touched the ground and it was still smashing and letting the whole content spread. They were transparent and clear like water, yet he could tell them apart; they were moving forward on their own front, climbing over each other and embracing the ground with a shapeless weak and soft touch, inch after inch.
In spite of everything, that time-lapse screw-up that was taking place after his eyes had something beautiful, like a sharp and sudden rain quenching a ground that had been dry for too long. He stood and watched the slow and silent flooding of the house, possessed and immobilized by a mixture of nostalgia and fondness. In those waters he could find resignation, consternation, mourning and rage but there were relaxation, relief and calm as well.
From the table to the front door, the scented trail of her skin was still floating and he could see it: colorless, evanescent and light like the warm and aspen air over the asphalt when the summer becomes sultry. He stood but followed with the eyes the trail to the door; when they had arrived there, he felt a sudden ache that made him breathless and sensed an intense iron smell of torn flesh and blood; he couldn’t understand which part of his body it was coming from, so he went in a panic and started hunting high and low for it; finally he found he was still in one piece.
“Emotions start in the body” he remembered at that point.