Minichì
Available to be published
Part 4
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Benjamin was looking out the window of a big building in the center of St. Louis. He was on time for the beer producers’ convention. Like every year he felt himself out of place. He would never want to go down to the big hall to meet the directors and discuss the latest production techniques or sales lines. This was never the life he felt for himself. After twenty years of work in that field he had always felt a precarious—a sort of intruder.
He was leaning against the window, trying to get a full account of his life. It had happened many other times while he kept his promise to Haseya many years ago. He had met many characters helping them recover from the disease.
The pain of those terrible projections passed before him without hurting him more. But now he felt tired and afflicted to see the sick heal and, happily, flee with their freedom in their arms, leaving the place to others with the same problems. They would heal and then disappear without leaving a trace.
None of them had ever returned to show any form of gratitude. Why else would they do that? He was only a little man with a life far less interesting than theirs. He should have been grateful and proud for having had such an honor.
Since Haseya broke his heart, he hasn’t had any other attachments. He had so many opportunities but the desire—the wish to start loving again, that was lost forever up there along with the flood.
He knew he’d never been alone on the long road. Someone stood by in fear he might make some mistakes. But there were few corrections. He had done very well. They should have been pleased to see the people entrusted to him, one by one, returning home.

                                      ***

Someone knocked on his door warning him of the beginning of the event. He closed the window, put on his jacket, the one worn only during such events and came down to the great hall. As always, it was decorated for the party. People ran from side to side. There were new faces, excited at least as much as their enthusiasm. Others showed calmness as their advanced age. Many others were no longer there. Their faces remained imprinted in bright brochures with the task of narrating the long history of the event.

After sitting at the table reserved for the elderly participants, he found in his hand a glass of sparkling wine. As always, he could not understand why sparkling wine was offered at a beer party.

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