Emmanuel manifests himself in me in the form of physical pleasure: I believe it is the elementary way in which my body reacts to the joy of his presence, like a dog can't help but wag its tail at the sight of its owner. So when I woke up, stuffed with sedatives, and felt that unmistakable sensation, I had little doubt about its meaning.
I get dressed immediately and go to the visit I booked yesterday.
We did it, ma'am: congratulations! I won't deny that I wasn't hoping for it, but the treatments worked.
He takes off his latex gloves smiling and throws them into the dustbin.
How many months have you been married?
A month and a half.
So, when she got married, she was already at least three weeks pregnant, do you know?
Are you sure, doctor?
Very sure. However, to be on the safe side, we will do an ultrasound.
The ultrasound confirms the good doctor's assumptions. What the gynecologist cannot know is that Michele, careful as usual, stopped taking precautions only after the wedding.
I leave the studio walking a few meters above the ground.
It's a beautiful day: I venture into the Valentino park and go along the Po. I observe the fishermen, the slow and precise gestures with which they bend the long rods backwards and then cast the lines into the water. I take off my shoes and, being careful not to step on any syringes, I walk across the grass to a group of tanned rowers who are beaching their boats. A naive painter portrays the Hermitage on the opposite hill: I stop to observe her work. Then I go down the bank and clinging to a young willow I let my weight carry me in a circle around its trunk. It's a childhood gesture that I had forgotten. I sit on the lawn, inhale the scent of the grass and place my hands on my belly with a sense of deep well-being: everything is fine, he's here, we're together again, and this time I won't let anyone take him away from me, anyone.
It's over: no more tea at five in the afternoon, no more Sundays of family lunches and card games, no more nights of useless sex, no more pretenses, no more mystifications, no more lies, but only his music inside and out silence. It's his last miracle: it costs me my life, but I won't have a moment's regret.
I close my eyes and fall asleep in the warm late August sun.
...

Michele comes home from work and finds me sitting on a suitcase in the hall, surrounded by my luggage.
Hi love. What are you doing there?
At first he thinks it's a joke, then he realizes that I'm serious; he bends over me.
What is happening?
I know I should cry, but there's not even a tear in my eye. I close all my shutters hermetically. Michele's words barely penetrate the barrier of my mind, reaching my distant and muffled ears. You must be tired, your face is terrible, go and rest.
I look up and from a sidereal distance I tell him the news. A moment of suspension. He falls into a frenetic dissonance of but how but what but why. Then he asks me a stupid question. I answer him with a pale smile:
How Emmanuel who? Your brother, Michele.