The Hole - The Trilogy of Windows and Idleness

Eleven months and twenty-two days had passed since the works started. Forty-nine months and nineteen days since they started planning it. One hundred and twelve months and three days passed since I understood what my road would be. Now, for the first time, I am inside her. My creation, my little girl.

First of all I walk around the property, because I want to see it from the outside. The foreman stays near me and respects my obsessive silence. It’s noisy. The property is a house worth twelve million and I, its creator, see it for the first time. I count my paces, slowly, enjoying them, one after the other. The garden and the various external spaces still need to be finished but I can already see them.

I see Dr. Schillipizzi’s family and their friends who walk here and there around my property, happy about its reliability, its amenities, its warm welcoming nature. An endless circular walk, almost as if traced by a pair of compasses, ends by inevitably bringing us back to my machine. I had left it open. Now I consider the project and look at dear Giovanni. “Gianni, it’s time to check: are you ready?” I said. He replied “Certainly sir! We’ve followed instructions for the project to perfection. I’m sure that you’ll like it. The kitchen turned out a bit dark, but the sitting room will have sunlight from morning to...” I interrupted him with a look, invading his personal space and bringing my face close to his. He was threatening me. You wouldn’t expect it of a person just over one meter fifty tall, but I know him like the back of my hand. I saw the spaces. I know I don’t need words when I want communicate, it is sufficient to move around my interlocutor. Inside him. I was concentrating and didn’t want to be interrupted, warned, disturbed, by Giovanni’s words, especially now.

One hundred and fifteen months and six days had passed since I expressed a wish for creation. I feel like God. I step over the threshold of the house and examine every corner, from the majestic hallway that spaciously gives way to the main sitting room. The chimney and the large windows create a grey and intense light near the entrance. Then I walk with a maniacal calm towards the kitchen and search every room with strategic, systematic attention. I have the right and the duty of checking every corner, every door frame, and every little angle of my creature. We go up to the second floor. Three hundred and twenty-three months and two days have passed since my father had bought the first plot. My first creation. I was a maniac even then. Systematic, precise. Every bedroom seemed perfect to me, well-made. I check even the walls and floors with determined knocks. First with my knuckles, to be sure that the columns and the walls are at the right place, then with the heel of my shoe. I need to know that the persons who live here will feel safe.   Supported by its perfection and quality.

I checked the seven bedrooms and the four bathrooms. The ceiling and the first storage room. I open the door of the last room, the second storage room. The satisfaction starts to course through my spine like a chill. I smile as I turn the door-knob. Reckless, stupid. One should never claim victory before the very end. I go into the second storage room and despite its regularity and won’t believe me, and I don’t’ know how to say this, but it’s going to happen and I can’t do anything about it. I have no control over what my eyes are about to see. What was a sweet chill of satisfaction and success transformed into a weakening of my knees. Disappointment: extreme, final, irreparable. And then, anger: inarticulate, deaf, dumb, deep, calculating.

One hundred and twelve minutes and forty-two seconds since the first time that I saw my first creation, my little girl. The dream-house that I always wanted to create. I digress...I entered into the second storage room and despite its regularity and harmony...I entered and found a window that I had never planned. A window that was not part of the plan. It was a window in a storage room, the most ridiculous stupidity that I’ve ever seen, and in a house so perfect, so harmonious. Inside my creature, that I had dreamed up, planned, accompanied, hosted inside my heart. Inside the daughter of my intellect, a most painful hole, fruit of Giovanni and his workmen’s stupidity, was in front of me and was almost looking at me. My anger could not have been more satisfied with that most painful window. Four hundred and thirty-one months and fifteen days had passed since my mother last saw me. Now I know how she must have felt. It’s all because of that most painful hole.   

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