The Silence of the Wave by Gianrico Carofiglio Page A

vaguely embarrassed, almost apologetic tone. They stood there without saying anything else. The arrival of that woman had disturbed the balance. In the end the journalist-writer broke the silence, said good-bye—nice to meet you—and headed, as rapidly as his bulk allowed, toward another part of the shop.
    Roberto looked at the cover of the book he was holding in his hand and then headed for the cashier.
    He felt like a fish out of water, but pleasantly so. In fact, he felt quite light-headed.

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    The light-headedness did not last long and soon gave way to anguish and a sense of emptiness. An alternation of excitement and depression. He and the doctor had talked about that some time earlier. For a few weeks or a few months the two states might well alternate as the situation improved.
    But was it really improving?
    By the time he went to see the doctor, on Thursday afternoon, his thoughts were mostly grim ones.
    “Did you go to a bookstore?”
    “Yes, I went as soon as I left here.”
    “And was it a positive experience?”
    Roberto hesitated for a few seconds. Positive. Yes, it had been, even though he was in a bad mood today. But those were two distinct things.
    “Yes, I’d say it was. I met a journalist. Actually, I then discovered that he’s also a writer.”
    “A writer? What’s his name?”
    Roberto told him about his trip to the bookstore and the encounter with the journalist-writer whose name he couldn’t remember—from the description the doctor seemed to figure out who he was, but said nothing—and the only time he hesitated was before replying to the question about what he had bought.
    “A biography of Shakespeare.”
    If the mention of Shakespeare had any effect on the doctor, he didn’t let it show.
    “So all in all, you liked your visit to the bookstore?”
    “Yes, and I went back home in a good mood. It lasted one day and then yesterday I woke up early in the morning with an unpleasant feeling.”
    “What kind of feeling?”
    “Sadness and fear. Almost as strong as the first few times I came here. And from yesterday morning until today, my mood has only gotten worse. I thought I was getting better, but now I’m scared. I feel as if I don’t have any control over what’s happening inside here.” He gave himself quite a hard tap with his hand on his forehead.
    The doctor took a deep breath, rolled up the sleeves of his dark cotton shirt over his slim, muscular forearms, and cleared his throat.
    “We’ve already talked about that, and I’m sure you remember. These things never have a linear progression. You take three or four steps forward, then two back, then a few more forward, and so on. The backward steps derive from a fear of change. If we live withsuffering for a long time, it ends up becoming somehow part of us. When we start to feel better, when we start to detach ourselves from the suffering, we experience contradictory states of mind. On the one hand we’re pleased, on the other we feel uneasy, because we’re missing something that was part of our identity and guaranteed us a kind of balance. That’s the reason for this fluctuation between euphoria and sadness. It’s normal, there’s nothing to be scared of. No more than there is in the fact that you’re alive and in this world, of course.”
    “Maybe that’s the problem. I’m scared of living in this world.”
    “I think you need to be more trusting. When a situation gets better, in other words changes, we feel the jolts. It’s normal for a few days of genuine euphoria to be followed by moments that are less euphoric. In our jargon, we call them dysphoric moments. When they arrive it’s a bit like ending up under a wave. The basic rule is not to panic, not to resist, because it’s pointless, and wait for it to pass.”
    “Does it pass?”
    “Almost always. Anyway, you of all people should know what it’s like, ending up under a big wave.”
    “You completely lose the sense of your position. You don’t know