She followed me.
In the kitchen, she saw her water bowl.
A simple steel bowl.
She froze.
I replaced it with a shallow plate.
She still hasn’t done anything.
I took a little water with my fingers and let two drops fall onto the ground.
She licked them.
That evening, Grazia drank from my hands.
You can’t ask an animal what part of its suffering it remembers.
The cold?
The rope?
Darkness?
The water that covered his muzzle?
For Grazia, anything wet represented a danger.
She refused to go outside when the grass was wet.
She would hide when I turned on the garden tap.
The rain against the windows made her tremble.
When it thundered, she would take refuge in the linen cupboard, behind the towels.
I then sat down in the hallway.
Never in front of the door.
Never close enough to block his path.
« Grazia, I’m here. »
Sometimes we would stay like that for two hours.
I would talk to her about my job, about the neighbor who always parked crookedly, about my tomato plant that only produced leaves, or about Chiara who kept saying I had to replace my old refrigerator.
She was listening.
Then, little by little, its snout appeared.
Then a paw.
And finally, she would lie down, her head resting on my ankle.
A dog that brings an entire neighborhood together.
In the neighborhood, everyone quickly started to get to know her.
There was Mirella, the widow who lived on the ground floor of the building opposite and left a dog biscuit near the gate every morning.
There was Gino, the hardware store owner, who had given me a tarpaulin to cover the fence, because Grazia was afraid when scooters passed by.
There was also Enzo, the truck driver who had helped us get out of the canal. Every now and then, he would arrive with a steak, saying:
« That one’s for the young lady. You’re on your own. »
Even my mother, who had always claimed not to want animals « underfoot », would set aside a piece of roast on Sundays.
« But without sauce, » she specified.
Grazia had transformed our courtyard into a small meeting place.
People who previously only greeted each other from a distance now started chatting.
One of them brought a blanket.
Another woman was dropping off a bag of kibble.
A little girl from the neighboring building had drawn Grazia with a crown on her head and had asked me to hang her drawing on the gate.
I then understood that they weren’t just helping a dog.
They also remembered how to be there for each other.
At my age, it was something I was missing.
When I was a child, the doors were left open.
If your father didn’t come home from work, half the village would know within half an hour.
If your mother was sick, a neighbor would arrive with broth without asking permission.
We had little.
But nobody ate their lasagna alone when their neighbor had nothing.
Over the years, we had gotten into the habit of closing the doors, the gates and the telephones.
Unbeknownst to her, Grazia had begun to reopen them.
Marco facing his own fear.
Almost a year has passed.
Then Chiara came to see me.
She was thirty years old and worked in the field of rehabilitation.
She observed Grazia avoiding all the wet areas of the garden.
Then she saw me, avoiding the old swimming pool.
« Dad, do you realize you’re the same? »
« The dog suffered trauma. »
Chiara looked at me.
« Just the dog? »
I gave him a dark look.
She didn’t insist.
But at lunch the following Sunday, my mother brought out an old photograph.
Paolo and I could be seen near the river.
Two skinny boys, with ridiculous swimsuits and scraped knees.
I barely looked at it.
« That’s enough, Mom. »
She didn’t put the photo away.
« You didn’t kill him. »
Silence fell around the table.
« We’re not going to do that again. »
« You were fifteen years old. »
« I saw my brother sink. »
« You were a child. »
« And I didn’t go into the water. »
My mother looked at me, her eyes shining.
« Marco, I didn’t go in either. »
That sentence stopped me in my tracks.
In thirty-seven years, I had never thought about it.
I had built my whole life around the shame felt by that teenager left on the shore.
I had never looked at my mother.
She took up photography again.
« Paolo is dead. But you, you’ve condemned yourself for the rest of your life. »
Grazia was under the table.
She felt my hand tremble and placed her muzzle on my knee.
Chiara said softly:
« Perhaps you don’t need to learn to love water. »
I watched it.
« So what? »
« You must learn that you can choose. »
That word has stayed with me.
Choose.
In the canal, Grazia had no choice.
And I, for decades, had lived as if I had none either.
Relearning how to approach water
The following week, I bought a small blue plastic swimming pool.
I installed it in the garden.
Empty.
Grazia spotted her and immediately went back into the house.
I didn’t do anything.
For three days, I completely ignored the pool.
I was passing by.
I was reading the newspaper.
I was in charge of the vegetable garden.
On the fourth day, Grazia came out.
On the seventh, she approached to within about ten paces.
Two weeks later, I placed his red ball near the edge.
She took it.
The next day, I placed it on the edge.
Grazia stretched her neck and managed to retrieve it without touching the plastic.
Three more weeks passed before she set foot inside.
The plastic made a noise.
Grazia has run away.
I didn’t follow her.
Five minutes later, she was back.
That was our first real victory.
Not because she had put a paw in the pool.
But because she had chosen to come back.
Two months later, she was allowed to stay inside.
The pool was still empty.
Then I poured a glass of water into it.
Just one.
No pipe.
No splashing.
Each time, I added a very small amount.
Without rushing.
When the water reached her ankles, Grazia froze.
His neck stretched upwards.
His breathing changed.
I went in with her.
The water barely reached above my shoes.
It was almost ridiculous.
Yet, the river came rushing back at me.
The screams.
Paolo.
My mother’s hand.
My legs were trembling.
I sat on the edge.
Grazia could have been published.
But she came towards me.
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