“My daughter saw me crying. For the first time. I don’t know if she was scared or just disoriented.”
Robert turned up the volume. The sound of old rock music, songs of his youth, songs of her early childhood, covered everything else, the noise of the street, the noise of her thoughts, the noise of his sadness.
“He died, did you hear about it?”
Yes, Amalia had heard. She nodded her head, as in a moment of silence for the departed. It’s strange how silent sound can be, she thought. Yes, she had heard, but she hadn’t paid too much attention to the piece of news until he seemed to make such a great deal of it. The lead singer of an old, local group had died the previous evening. All the news programmes were featuring their greatest hits, people were sending flowers to unknown places and to strange persons, trying to express their regret; but the fact that he died a natural death was probably what shocked everybody the most. She liked their music, but not enough to see the point in a nation dramatically mourning his death. He wasn’t exactly in his prime, she was about to reply sarcastically, but she bit her tongue and stopped just in time. It wasn’t about the death of the old rocker. Robert was mourning his own death, his own mortality, and this had brought it all to surface.
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