CARDS ON THE TABLE(Francys Wagner) The delicate aroma of her perfume drifts through the house—a house that, for the past six years, has been Marina's living canvas. Nestled on a flat, verdant plot, adorned with small walls that stand more as decorative embellishments than guardians of the yard, the house resonates with Marina's essence. Her presence lingers in every room, every corner, and every surface. Now, stripped bare, the walls echo a quiet emptiness, void of the once-hung paintings, and the rooms carry the echo of her absence, for almost all the furniture has vanished...
She passes you standing in the living room, looking around aimlessly, not knowing what to do or what to say.
Through the window, you can see the weather closing in outside. The sun seems to shine pale, losing its strength in a battle against an army of clouds. As if reproducing what's inside you. You've lost the war…
There's no appeasing it... There's no less painful alternative.
But what really hurts? The pain of regret or the loss of love?
She carries a box out and doesn't look at you—in the middle of the living room, static, hands in pockets, the feeling of emptiness beating stronger in your chest.
“Can I help you?” Your words come out weak. She doesn't reply to you. Because she ignored you or because she didn't listen? But what difference does it make at this point?
You're bothered… Something pokes hard at your chest and screams inside your head. What if there was still time to put things right?
What would you say, then?
Would you put aside your cowardice?
Would you make promises?
She wouldn't believe you anymore. You've made them before, and you haven't fulfilled them. She's had enough. You probably don't even believe in yourself.
What are those in your eyes? Tears?
This perfume of hers is enveloping, isn't it? It brings back memories of moments when there were plans and dreams. Starting with this house, bought by both of you.
The idea was to raise a family, like a TV commercial. You and your children around the table at breakfast, happily smiling as if the world were perfect.
There are no problems out there, but the reality is so different, isn't it? That sounds cliched, but it's true. Let's get to the facts.
In your story, mum Marina is always very busy and perhaps would slow down if she got pregnant. Which never happened. Ottavio couldn’t be a father. You couldn't grant her that wish. But whose wish was it? Yours? Both wanted it? But you two never discussed it. Did you? Deep down, you think a child could have saved something… Perhaps the responsibility of being parents could have strengthened the relationship between you. Anyway, you both ended up lost. She in her silence, and you in nights of gambling. Wouldn't you be a good father, or is it just because you're not that you've become a gambling addict? Or was not being a father an excuse to sink into your addiction?
But there's no point in playing the victim. You're far from it. What's happening now is the consequence of your actions, your negligence, and your numbness in the face of life.
You recall now, one morning, some time ago, at the breakfast table, as your mind started to wake as the steamy liquid was taken. Your eyes had dark circles—denouncing little or no sleep—staring into the emptiness. There was no noise in the room, apart from the cups hitting the saucer, the knife cutting the bread. She looked at you. She knew something was amiss. After agonising minutes, you broke the silence, “This house is no longer ours…”
“What do you mean?”
“I bet and lost it last night…”
Your words were like a spear into her chest.
It was the beginning of the downfall of your relationship.Which, if you're honest, was already on a weak foundation from the start. It could have worked if...
You hadn't hidden your fears
If there had been dialogue...
There were no people against you two. Her parents, relatives, but if your feelings had been strong, you could have overcome any obstacles, but you'd already been in a minefield for some time...
You remember that it all began in such a peculiar way...
To the sound of soft music played by saxophone and piano and the melodic voice of a friend, a singer, Marina walked alone to meet you at the improvised altar in a hotel ballroom. Not many guests, but the few were (some still are) really good friends.
The dress she was wearing wasn’t white. What colour was it? Pale cream? White wine? Dirty white? Does this colour exist? Dirty… You were feeling dirty. Why? What were you doing wrong? You scolded yourself… Had you the right to marry her? Well, you were and still are not a perfect man. But who is it? She loved you, didn’t she? You loved (love) her. You are pretty sure about that. So what was the matter? She was marrying the wrong man, you would say…
You, weak, nearly coward man. You can’t control yourself sometimes. You allowed yourself to become overwhelmed by an irrational need that you couldn't put into words. Risk excites you in some way; it takes you out of your dull life, doesn’t it? You don’t take many initiatives, do you?
She’s strong and determined. So what did she see in you?
Were you good-looking? You think you are not that bad. Acceptable, perhaps, nowadays... Anyway, you never had many complaints about what nature gave you. So what made you unquiet that day? You know the answer, don’t you? Have you told her about your past? Hmmm…
Perhaps your yellow-brown eyes hypnotised her. Possibly not. There were no other women who fell madly in love with you. Wait! There was one in your teenage years. Does it count? Could do… You have fallen more in love, haven’t you? Most of them, platonic. With Marina, everything was so different that it had never happened before…
She was (and still is) gorgeous. That evening, she was even more... She seemed so happy. Shouldn’t she be sad? Her parents were not here. They didn’t agree with your marriage. They keep not liking you, bastard... Marina fought them to marry you. Weren’t you lucky? Hmmm…
It was bizarre the way you met each other. That sultry afternoon, when all the tempers were flaring, she carelessly manoeuvred into the back of your car at the supermarket carpark. Her distinctive car hit your modest one. She apologised profusely and committed to pay for the damage. What damage, Ottavio? A peel on the car’s bodywork—like a scratch on the skin. Ah, it’s true; paint doesn’t grow back, does it?
You two got along, talking and finding out about each other. She, a lawyer. You, an accountant, Any similarities? If you think about that,. Both carry a briefcase, usually with a pile of papers. Both have clients. Timetables and deadlines to be met... You talked and talked, and a few days later, you were on a date in a café.
You remember very well, don’t you? After that, other dates. Lunch… Dinner… The whole thing ended up in her bed… Your bed…
Sex with her was always good. Oh, you liked it a lot. It was the only time you felt safe, free from your other temptation, which you hadn't told her about until recently … What a shame, Ottavio. She loved you, and she loved having sex with you. She told you. You both understood each other so well under the sheets, on the table, on the couch, in the shower... You were another version of yourself. Impetuous, fiery, wild. Only she knew...
You have the power… She sometimes complimented your performance. You swelled up… She liked the immense size of your passion, which filled perfectly the depth of her desire…
Oh, such good days... Unfortunately, they are gone… Your fault, your stupidity, your vice...
The last month has been a nightmare. Your lost the house, your wife, your dignity...
At the office, you sit at your desk, feeling the weight on your shoulders. The fluorescent lights seem harsh and unforgiving, exposing your failing; even the sound of fingers tapping on keyboards sounds like needles piercing your head. A constant headache. You wish sometimes that everything would stop around you, going quiet, but the storm is inside you, raging and resonating louder…
Marina is taking more boxes. You help with the rest of them, even if she hasn't asked for your help.
Look at you now in the hallway mirror. Your unshaven beard shows a few grey hairs that would be charming if the rest of your appearance were not sloppy. What have you done with your life?
Outside, the clouds won. It’s dark grey. Leaden colour…
Marina arranges the boxes in the boot of the car. So many things gathered in six to seven years of marriage. You don't even know where they're going. Donation? Garage sale? The valuables will be sold, taking off what you owe her.
What about you? Where are you going to live?
Ah, you rented a small flat, of a size not enough to house the desolation and regret that come with you…
She says ‘thank you’. You draw a sad smile as your eyes meet…
There is no more connection. The woman in front of you is nearly a stranger. Not the bold woman who went against her parents to marry you in that simple ceremony...
This one now has a coldness in her gaze—or is it defense?—like a gust of the wind that ruffles her hair and gives you a shiver in your body. Worst of all, you are the one responsible for it… You turned her into this block of ice, yet hot blood pulses through her veins…
You know she can finally see the weak man you always were…
You didn’t fulfil her expectations. The weakness of your addiction defeated her vote of confidence. You didn’t have the ability to overcome yourself or master your impulses. It hurts, doesn’t it? To think that everything could have been different.
Well, no love, no kids...  Nothing to tie the two of you anymore... Really? You know it’s not like that... Have you ever wondered what it would have been like if you were a father and had given up addiction?
Can you imagine? Perhaps it was for the best. What kind of father would you be? What would you teach your children?
Would they be like her or like you? Strong or weak?
It's too late now. Why are you thinking about it?
I see. Life is meaningless without her, but you can’t beg her to give you another chance. She gave you many—more than you deserved...
You have no more right to drag her into the abyss you have fallen into… For love, it’s better if she can stay away from you. Out of your miserable life. There is no longer any way to repair what once existed…
Anyway, you no longer recognise this woman  in front of you…
She’s not that vibrant, Marina. This one is emotionless…
Marina organises the last boxes and objects in the car. You are close. She looks around and at you. “Good luck," she says blandly. Her once-sweet voice now has a bitter tone. Friendly but aloof.
You feel pangs in your chest…
She gets in the car. You stand for while watching her leave...
Your eyes are burning... She disappears on the bend. This image will remain in your memory…
You walk along the garden path with your head down.
You step inside the house. Her perfume is there, and it will be for some time until it is no more. Everything will be gone…
You close the door…









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