The Siblings

They were both stopped at the end of the long hallway. He stood looking at her. So much of life they had experienced together.

When she noticed his studying gaze, she waved it away with her trembling hands. Her eyes, before sweet like a cloudless sky, had become dark and cold. Straining, she turned her wheelchair and rolled away. Without a word.

She was ninety-years-old, and he only a little less. Of children and grandchildren, some had died, a few were sick, and others had all but forgotten them. For quite some time, both siblings knew that, for them, the future was already in the past.

He had a hard time wrapping her head with duct tape. That body, so puny and lifeless, fought him like a wild animal struggling for its last breath. It took a long time before she went still. Her blue eyes open and clear again. She had always been so pretty. When he tried to wrap himself, he realized he had no strength left. But it was time to end it. The open window appeared like a smiling mouth in the gray morning light. As he was falling, all the fear of the last eighty years disappeared, as if by magic. 

Translated by Lina Strenio