As usual, he’d slept little and in spurts, like a lamp turning on and off continuously. When he woke up to stay up, there remained in him clear images of some fragments from his dreams. He was moved and felt the run of a long tear down his cheek.
Every time he’d fallen asleep that night, Andrea had seen Diamante hang in the limbo between life and death, showing she was suffering. She seemed to be inert, like debris carried by water and then, like a feather carried in the wind. He only perceived her as a body throbbing, incapable of thinking or of feeling either joy or pain, immersed in the mysterious deep sleep of a coma, from which one sometimes doesn’t return. Some do return, but no longer as they were. She’s been this way for over a fortnight, even if some indications were making
