Shadows from the past and fragments of memory. A letter from an evening with Apache

Late afternoon. It is already dark outside. Autumn nights are significantly longer than they were just two months ago, when the sun over the sea seemed as though it would never set.

At home alone, I am reading. There are only the cats: they are all asleep, except for one – a Sardinian, a giant grey one.

I am sitting in the living room, with the hall behind me. The light is off. The 20th-century house lies motionless in the darkness, like a ship at anchor that no longer knows where to set sail. Every now and then, the metallic hiccup of the old lift.

Apache approaches and lies at my feet. He appears to be focusing on something: he raises his emerald eyes and stares upwards, behind the armchair. At first, I do not pay it any mind. However, he does not cease shifting his gaze, as if following something. His fellow cats are asleep on the sofas. It must be a fly, or perhaps a mosquito, I tell myself – but I cannot hear any buzzing.

I return to reading. The large cat, however, widens his eyes as he attempts to discern the darkness. With the shutters closed, it cannot be a reflection of light from the street. “Apache, stop it! You’re scaring me,” I say, trying to distract him with a stroke. His massive, bearded cat’s body does not move. He stares stubbornly into the darkness.

I rise and switch on the light. The cat lies down on the floor. I switch it off, and there he is again, on the lookout. Apache, what do you see?

Shadows. Shadows that he sees, but I don’t? I think of all those who have lived in this house, which is over a century old. The first owners, whose deed of sale dates from 1909. Did their children set off for the Piave, their boots clattering on the marble staircase? Did their grandchildren, those sweet little children, perhaps go to the Don?

So many who never returned. What if, taking advantage of a quiet autumn night, they were to revisit the rooms where their mother used to tuck them into bed at night? The stairs they used to race down as children? (And what if, one day, someone were to leave here again for the front line?).

However, such statements are considered inappropriate in professional contexts; uttering them is generally viewed as irresponsible.

Apache continues to stare at me from behind: without a hint of fear. Lucky cats: free to see the invisible.