The eye of the lion

A month passed. Marina talked to no one.

The sisters saw her leave in silence each day to look for work, without even eating breakfast, and come back exhausted from her long walks, mute and reserved, eat a mouthful of whatever was there, and retire to her room with an absent expression on her face.

The nuns looked at her without speaking, respecting her sadness, but they also suffered with her as they loved her dearly, and they prayed for her every night.

The final blow came two months later.

She got up a little more cheerfully, as the previous day she had seen a notice outside a café requesting a waitress, and this was the day of the interviews. She ate breakfast with the sisters and talked to them in monosyllables about her intention

of getting the job that same day. They were very happy and they

pooled enough money for her to not have to go there on foot, which Marina really appreciated, because her feet were hurting from so much walking.

She walked to the closest metro station, noticing what a beautiful day it was and thinking that perhaps it was a sign that God would finally forgive her sins and allow her to get a job that day. She went into the metro station, bought a ticket and walked along the platform waiting for the train. That was when she saw it.

Depicted in “Il Mercurio”, a Roman newspaper, was her lawyer’s photo. He was wanted by the law for having defrauded a dozen people and fled abroad with his clients’ money.

That was the end. Marina felt as though the ground were opening up and swallowing her into a dark abyss from which there was no return. She felt as though she were floating amidst clouds of frozen mud and that shrill voices were clamoring in her ear, laughing at her and telling her she was a stupid woman who didn’t deserve to live.

Gasping for breath, she took a few drunken steps towards the edge of the platform and arrived at the ledge that bordered the rails.

She saw the electric rails, three feet below her, and suddenly felt a strange sensation of peace, a vague feeling of

well-being, and an enormous urge to jump.

The train whistled, indicating its approach, and it seemed to Marina that the rails were smiling at her, calling to her sweetly that she should jump and be with them, that she should close her eyes and she would sleep in peaceful rest with them, forever.

She took a step. She closed her senseless eyes out of a mortal need for oblivion and got ready to take another. Just one more small step, and the end of her pain, of her failure; eternal oblivion would receive her in its loving arms, sending her to sleep for ever in the dream of death, with no more pain or remorse. The train was coming, a few more feet. Her foot moved forward.

In that instant, her eyes suddenly opened. She felt a hand touching her shoulder gently, holding her back.

She turned around, startled. Beside her was an elderly man, looking at her. He was a very old man, with completely white hair and a patriarchal beard. His face grooved with deep lines, his thin, crooked body, his aura of great fragility - he was trembling - caused whoever laid eyes on him to think that surely the end of his days was not far off. However, there was

something in his eyes, in that gaze of ancestral wisdom, in the shine of those yellowish eyes full of dignity and unfathomable

tenderness, that would cause anyone who observed him for a moment to ponder the profoundness of the eternal.

He looked at Marina for a few seconds, directly in the eyes, and then smiled. It was the sad, tender smile of an understanding grand-father, and his whole face seemed to smile, full of a timeless calm, of an interior mystic peace which, like the immortal wind of the Egyptian valleys, swept away the cloud of death which surrounded Marina, banishing it for ever.

“No,” he said with a soft, deep voice, without ceasing to smile. “Not there, no, my child.”

Marina looked at him motionless, as though hypnotized. The train was already stopping in front of them, but she was not aware of anything. She could only look at the old man’s face which seemed clearer than normal, as though it were shining as it smiled that smile which was like balm to the aching heart.

The doors of the train opened and the old man very gently took her by the arm.

“Let’s go...” he said, in his gentle, deep voice, looking her in the eye. “We need to carry on... always carry on.”

And leading Marina by the arm, they got in the train. The doors closed behind them, and the train pulled away from the platform, and was lost from sight in the tunnel.