THERE IS NOTHING IMPOSSIBLE

The main square was filled with a murmur of voices and languid figures in a circle pointing to a child lying in the mud. The jet color of the soot-pigmented mud had enveloped the face of the little boy who, without moving, seemed to be engulfed by the ground. Between voices, that of a mother. A mother sobbing like a dog for the loss of her son. Among the other voices, curious chatter that faded away with the factory's horn marking a new day. The mother, her hands stained black, was grooming her son's face. From the west side of the square an ebony carriage appeared and from it emerged a man with a feline body, slender arms, long legs, greasy white hair and marked cheekbones. It was the village priest accompanied by two men. He curved his body to look closely at the child, then looked into the mother's crying eyes. "Mulier ecce filius tuus... ecce mater tua". The two men pulled the child out of the mud and carried the corpse away in the carriage. With the surplus of population in the cities and in the villages near them, the dead often ended up in the canal or in mass graves, especially those of the lower classes. The mother wept at not being able to give her son a decent place to rest.

 

Smoke rose from the chimneys, staining the blue that covered the town. "Madam, your son's case has already been closed, the expert report confirms an accidental asphyxiation according to the evidence of the event. Please turn the page. We are very busy around here and everyone has their own problems," said the guard at the police station as he signed some papers. To which she replied: "I beg you for God's sake to try to reopen the case. My child was very smart, I don't believe it was a stupid accident. You know how cruel children can be... Have you talked to the other mothers in the neighborhood?" With a clenched fist she wiped away the tears streaming down her white cheeks. "Go away." The mother left the premises. She walked straight, analyzing her surroundings. She felt that everyone was looking at her, that everyone felt sorry for her. She gritted her teeth. She reached the square, she had to cross it to get home, but a crowd was blocking her way. She made her way through the crowd and discovered another body lying face down in the mud. This time it was a girl, specifically the youngest daughter of the Ramirez family, the family that owned the factories. There were as many as three men trying to revive her but she had been dead for hours. The people began to talk and conspire. "Surely it must have been the gypsies", "What about that mother who lost her life? And the mother who lost her child in the same way? She looks suspicious to me...". Since that day, the image was repeating itself, more than four children had drowned in the mud. Police groups watched the area, saw the half-stunned children coming and saw them suddenly collapse. Many parents locked their children inside their homes in fear that they would be engulfed by the mud. 

 

On Sunday of that same week the mass was crowded with people, parents and children, rich and poor, everyone needed an answer. "Gentlemen, calm down, everything is under control. The police are doing their job, I can assure you that God is protecting us and He has nothing to do with what happened". The hysteria and the screams grew and grew. The mother in the crowd was kissing a wooden rosary. Her lips froze as she heard a voice passing by her ear like a cold winter breeze. A voice that seemed to be heard only by her and that had made the noise of the church disappear. Driven by an inexplicable impulse, she left the premises in the direction of the square. Behind her some policemen were chasing her, but they could not keep up with her speed. She reached the square. She stood in the center and, like a dog looking for a squirrel, turned her head to find that voice. She looked at her feet. Mud. He knelt down and his thin hands began to dig.  From the west came the policemen, among them the police station guard who shouted : "Madam , get out of there immediately!" The mother ceased, under the layers of mud and worms she had found an unlocked door. "What's going on ?" The feline priest and the whole village had followed in the footsteps of the policemen. "My son, he's behind that door!" the mother shouted a couple of times. "That's impossible , for God's sake. Come out of there , it can be dangerous." The guard pulled the mother away from the door and added: "Everyone go home. We'll take care of it." The chaplain took a few steps. "Do you really listen to your son?" The mother swore, crying like a child. "Then let her in" The guard replied, "But sir, we don't know if it's safe, it may just be an old war shelter. It's dangerous for her." The priest insisted. The mother was trembling. He opened the door. Gray stairs descended in a spiral shape and from inside came a heavenly light. As she descended the steps she began to lose her breath and to feel more and more dazed. Now she was lying in the center of the square, engulfed by the mud of the black city.