Chapter 1
I had a vivid and intense dream in which I was standing in front of a house I knew well: the Cardone family home in Valle di Luminia. For a year and a half I had worked with Mrs. Laura and Mr. Marco, so every corner of that place was familiar to me. Yet, in the dream, everything looked different, almost surreal.
The scene had a fairy-tale aura, and the detail that struck me most was Mrs. Cardone. She was not wearing the usual everyday clothes, but a magnificent princess dress, as if she had stepped out of an ancient painting or a forgotten story. The dress was an ethereal blue, decorated with silver threads that seemed to catch the light with every movement. The finely embroidered bodice enhanced her figure with elegance, while the skirt flowed in soft waves of silk, grazing the floor gracefully.
Her every step was accompanied by a faint rustling of the fabric, an almost hypnotic sound that gave the dream a sense of magic and mystery. The soft light in the room refracted off the shimmering details of the dress, creating a play of reflections that made her appear almost unreal, as if she were an apparition suspended between dream and reality.
But in that dream world, everything seemed perfectly normal. This was how people dressed, as if time had stopped in a distant era where elegance reigned supreme. No one seemed surprised by those details, and I myself felt no astonishment: it was simply the reality of that dream.
I was with my mother, but even she was different from how I had always known her in real life. Her face had a more serene, almost regal expression, and her bearing exuded an aura of confidence and grace that did not belong to her in my memories. She looked like a woman belonging to that enchanted world, perfectly at ease among those elegant figures and that atmosphere suspended between fairy tale and reality.
The situation was shrouded in a sense of mystery: my father had somehow met Mrs. Cardone. I did not know exactly how it had happened, nor under what circumstances their destinies had intertwined. Perhaps it had been chance, perhaps an encounter written in the invisible plots of the dream. But in that moment, everything seemed to make sense, even if the logic of the day could not explain it.
The dream continued, unveiling new events, and this is where things got really interesting.
Mrs. Cardone had met my father-and perhaps fallen in love with him. They had lived together for a long time, sharing their existence as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Yet, inside, I felt no disturbance. In the dream, everything appeared normal, as if that relationship was part of a predetermined balance, something that aroused neither surprise nor emotion.
But then something happened. My mother, in that dream reality, was not the woman I remembered. She was young, mature and strong, with a firm bearing and an aura of confidence that commanded respect. When she learned of the affair, she wasted no time: she took the initiative and took me with her. But there was no anger in her gestures, only determination.
It was she who confronted Mrs. Cardone, and their meeting was charged with tension, but also with awareness. Laura, with a look veiled in sadness, admitted that she had taken a wrong turn. She knew she had to end that relationship, and although she was sorry, she accepted the reality with dignity. It was an unavoidable choice, the necessary step to restore an order that, in the dream, seemed to have been written all along.
Suddenly, the dream changed scenery. Something was happening elsewhere, far from my gaze, as I stood still and observed the house. But it was no longer the same dwelling I knew in reality: its appearance was transformed, almost unreal.
The ground floor opened into a single, vast room without divisions, spacious and bright. Where in reality was the entrance hall, there now stood an unusually shaped, curvy and elegant red sofa, stretching out to form a perfect letter "C." It seemed to invite conversation, recollection, as if it were a symbol of welcome and intimacy.
Around it was a short corridor, almost a secret passageway, leading to an outdoor terrace. The air seemed rarefied, as if that place were suspended in time, a refuge hidden in the folds of dreams.
But the heart of the house was dominated by another imposing presence: a gigantic sofa, an island of softness that expanded into the center of the room, surrounding the entire space. It was a deep green, velvety to the touch, with cushions so soft they looked like clouds resting on the floor. Its enveloping shape seemed to create an invisible boundary, a place where everything else in the world disappeared, leaving room only for silence and stillness.
In the dream, reality had been completely rewritten. Nothing that exists today was present. The large masonry kitchen that in reality occupies this space had disappeared, dissolved in dream time, replaced by a large and refined room, perfect for a wealthy family, owners of an immense house surrounded by a garden as vast as two soccer fields.
I knew that garden well; I had tended it with my own hands for a year and a half. Every tree, every shrub and bush had a story. The long hedges, woven into a green mosaic, alternated with rows of fruit trees, whose foliage offered shelter and sweet promises of harvests. I had loved them, and in the dream they seemed even more alive, almost pulsing with primal beauty.
Inside the house, the hallway continued next to the kitchen, leading to a room with old-world charm. To the right was a period sofa, with a carved wooden frame and covered in wine-colored velvet, a silent witness to past conversations. Opposite, an antique piece of furniture dominated the scene, massive and inlaid with floral motifs, as if its surfaces told stories of a distant time.
But what really made that room special were the carefully scattered objects, relics of a forgotten era:
An ivory and mother-of-pearl music box, whose melody, though silent in the dream, still seemed to resonate in the air, evoking a sense of nostalgia and mystery.
A wood and brass globe with hand-drawn maps that showed an ancient world of uncharted lands and sea routes marked by faded ink.
A gilded mirror with a baroque frame, so large that it reflected not only the room, but almost another dimension, as if the person reflected in it could see something beyond reality.
An hourglass of crystal and black sand flowed unnaturally slow and hypnotic, almost as if time itself was trapped within it.
A leather-bound book with symbols engraved on the cover, old and yellowed pages that seemed to hide secrets, perhaps memories of a past life.
A wrought-iron candelabra with intact candles, which, although they had never been lit, seemed to give off a faint glow, as if they guarded an eternal light.
Each object carried with it a special energy, a fragment of history that in the dream seemed suspended between past and present, reality and imagination.
In reality, everything was different.
The dream had transformed the spaces, but in the real Cardone family home, the environment was concrete, solid, the result of thoughtful, lived-in choices. To the left of the room, the wall was not linear, but curved gently, forming a perfect arch. That curvature was not accidental: it was built precisely to accommodate an arched bench and a long table, the heart of the dining area, where the family gathered to share meals.
Opposite, the sofa was not just another element, but a star of the room. Above the dining room bench an imposing arch of windows opened onto the estate, giving a magnificent view. From there one could see the entrance to the house, the meticulously manicured garden, the vast and lush grounds, the flower beds full of life and color. Every element seemed in its place, in perfect balance between nature and architecture.
And then there was the back entrance, a corner with special charm. A small, private space enhanced by a small table and wrought-iron chairs, elegant and timeless. In front, the holm oaks that I had tended with care and dedication. I still remember the meticulous work: climbing among the branches, studying their shape, removing first the dead branches and then those that prevented the plant from breathing freely.
I will never forget the words of Marco, a man of extraordinary simplicity and kindness, who in his sincere tone had expressed a gratitude that had touched me deeply:
See how nice you made it? So the plants breathe more."
It had been a moment that had made my work even more meaningful. And not only for him: his wife, a tall, good-looking woman, refined in manner and always polite, reflected the same nobility of spirit. Her dignity and smile made her an example of class, but what really made her special was her humility. Despite the wealth and beauty of their home, she remained a simple and respectful person, able to treat everyone with warmth and kindness.
I had loved working for them, not only because of the majesty of the property, but especially because of the beauty of the people who lived there.
In the dream, the house was transformed into one large room without divisions, a vast space in which only a huge couch dominated, soft and enveloping, as if it were the beating heart of that dreamlike reality.
I had not witnessed what had happened, but the scene spoke for itself. My mother and Mrs. Cardone, both young but adult, had evidently had an intense confrontation, perhaps a heated argument, perhaps something more. The lady's face bore an obvious mark next to one eye: a slight swelling, a dark tinge that was telling without the need for words. But what was most striking was her attitude: she felt no anger, sought no revenge. She accepted what had happened with a kind of conscious resignation, as if she knew that, after all, she too had had her share of responsibility.
My mother, for her part, seemed unrepentant. In the dream, her figure exuded a serene strength, as if the act had been inevitable, almost necessary. After all, Mrs. Cardone had had an affair with my father... Yet, there was no screaming, no hatred. Only a fragile balance, a silent acceptance of what had been.
Then, the scene would change.
I was upstairs, and from below I could hear Marco, Laura's husband . He entered with the same calmness that had always distinguished him in reality. No trace of awkwardness, no discomposed reaction. He accepted the situation with an almost superhuman maturity, as if inside he had already gone through all the pain and was now beyond it.
When I saw him approaching, two of his sons also came to meet me. They recognized me, smiled at me fondly, and he, Marco, also recognized me. His gaze was full of emotion, but not despondency. He hugged me, and in that gesture was everything: sadness, affection, a kind of melancholic wisdom. He seemed impassive, but not because he had no feelings. He simply seemed to have realized that life is bigger than certain events, and that what really matters is how one chooses to deal with them.
Another change of scene.
Now before me stood Laura, beautiful and very elegant in her regal gown. The soft, fine fabrics caressed her figure with a grace that made her seem part of another time, another era. Her expression was composed, serene, but her eyes shone with restrained emotion.
He handed me a half-opened envelope.
"Take this, please."
From inside I glimpsed banknotes and a check. I was interjected for a moment, then shook my head.
"No, I cannot accept it. Please don't."
But she insisted, in a soft, firm voice.
"Give it to your mother for her expenses."
He did not add anything else. There was no need. His face was a mixture of sorrow and dignity. Then he lowered his gaze slightly and said something that struck me deeply in the dream.
"Your father has been so good to me!"
He said it with emotion, with an almost sacred respect, as if those words encapsulated an entire story.
"Such a good person!" he repeated, with a sadness that was not sorrow but rather awareness.
At that moment, everything seemed to vanish. Emotions that could have triggered anger, quarrels, revenge, pain, dissolved like mist in the sun. There were no more conflicts, no more despair. Only a great, deep mutual understanding.
And for a moment I was struck as if by lightning in the heart because unfortunately in reality my father had not been good at all, and that made me think in an unthinking way.
Then, again, the scene changed.
I was with Marco again, this time upstairs. To get there, in the dream, one went up through an ancient iron staircase, which creaked slightly under footsteps. The room we were in was unlike anything else: it seemed to belong to a forgotten era, to a world of gears and wonders.
In front of me, seated in an equally elaborate chair, was a mechanical, ancient robot. Its body was a harmonious fusion of light metal and wood, chiseled with extraordinary detail. Tiny gears intertwined along its joints, and every movement, though imperceptible, seemed the result of an art lost in time.
Even the chair on which it sat was not a simple object, but a work of meticulous engineering. Tiny mechanisms, polished and finely crafted, created a perfect, almost magical architecture.
I looked at that robot, fascinated and confused. What did it represent? Why was it there? It seemed to have something to say, yet it stood still, as if waiting.
And I, in the heart of the dream, knew that something even more extraordinary was about to happen.
The scene changed because my mom and Laura were on their way out, while Marco and I stayed there, aware of everything that had happened and the conclusion we had come to. I loved Marco very much and was deeply sorry for the situation. He was sorry too, but he was mature and strong, and showed no suffering. This was uplifting to see. He accompanied me as I felt a knot in my throat and barely held back the tears, thinking about everything he had said earlier about my father, about Laura, and about what had happened.
The two women, finely dressed and with serene steps, descended toward the exit. In the dream, the house looked different than it did in reality: there was a large exit with two wooden staircases, one on the left and one on the right, leading down to a large central pool. Beyond the pool, one had to cross a grassy driveway to get to a gate that led outside. I could hear my mom complaining about the darkness and the fear of tripping as she walked Mrs. Cardone out of the house.
Then the scene changed again. I would find myself with my mother inside what had now become a royal palace. In the dream, this transformation appeared perfectly normal. My mother, usually dressed simply, now wore regal clothes and exuded an aura of serenity and authority.
At that point, a beautiful scene happened: my mother showed me a ring that my father had given to Laura. It was a finely crafted silver ring with a blue diamond set in the center. I looked at it carefully and said, "We'll see what we'll do-maybe we'll melt it down." But my mother, in a calm and firm tone, replied, "You know ... we might as well stay here. She said in a confident tone that revealed dignity I say ... now ... I tell Laura that we have decided to stay you and me. So you can comfortably take the children to school from this wonderful house and we can live here."
I was struck by his serenity and confidence, as if he was unquestionably right. But I would quickly reply, "No! I don't think you'd like that! You would be sad!" I wasn't thinking about where Marco and Laura would go, I was only thinking about the two of us in that house.
The scene changed again. I fell deeply asleep as I saw Marco and Laura crying together, sad and aware of the situation. They walked on the terrace, then knelt, silent, as the wind blew through their elegant clothes. Then Marco would come to me. I would greet him, hug him, and tell him my thoughts about them. I would see him without a beard, as always in reality, but I would tell him that in the dream I had seen him with a normal beard and slightly longer hair at the back. He would answer me in an enigmatic tone, "You have to adapt to the times."
I couldn't tell if everything that was happening was real or if it was a dream within another dream. Perhaps, as I had cried myself to sleep, I had imagined Marco looking dignified, dressed simply but very elegantly, talking to some customers in the garden of the house.
At that point, I stopped to reflect on the eternal life promised in the Bible. Since I was a Jehovah's Witness in reality, in the dream I thought that with eternal life it would be possible to forget all the pain and all these sufferings. But I realized that I had never helped Mark understand this truth, and inside I was pondering how to tell him.
I kept thinking about my mother and how much happier she would have been in life with a husband like Marco, who had given her a peaceful and comfortable life, instead of living in poverty and despair, abused by my father. I was thinking about how unfair this was and the difference between the real world and what I was seeing in the dream.
In the dream, the house had an indoor pool downstairs with a large couch in the middle surrounded by water, and even a small boat positioned nearby. I remembered a time when there had been waves that had created a bit of a commotion. Marco had noticed, but he did not know that I had already experienced a similar scene in reality, during a moment of great upheaval in the world.
In the dream, in fact, a great momentous change had taken place. Two old ladies were discussing with each other and said, "When did the big change happen? I was born in 1920, so it must have been in 2000." The other responded with her own opinion. That change had redrawn boundaries, transforming lands and changing society. I was living in this new reality, trying to understand and accept it.
I would wake up with the knowledge of all that I had learned while working for a year and a half with the family of Valle di Luminia. That time had taught me a lot about how one can live in luxury while remaining simple and genuine people. Marco and Laura, despite their wealth, were truly humble people who were honest and kind to the core. Something that always surprised me and that I held in high esteem.
I remembered that at first I had been hired only because Laura's sister-in-law Alejandra had told me about how Laura suffered from panic attacks. She needed someone to keep her company while her husband was away, it seemed awkward however I started by cleaning in their big house. Then, over time, they entrusted me with more responsibilities: cutting grass, pruning trees, taking care of the garden. When they saw my dedication, they even decided to hire me regularly with contributions and everything! I felt like crying from excitement since I had always suffered from low self-esteem.
That was another reason why that job had been an exciting time in my life. I had been there pruning hedges and trees with passion, collecting wood for the fireplace, cooking for them with the organic products Laura bought. They treated me like family.
One day, however, something terrible happened. The fire in the fireplace was struggling to catch, and I, in my impulsiveness, decided to help it by pouring a flammable liquid. I do not remember exactly what it was, but it was not alcohol, perhaps something like trichloroethylene. Without thinking much about it, I threw some on the wood, scattering it here and there, hoping to revive the flames.
It was a moment. I realized with horror that a flame had ignited at the mouth of the bottle. In panic, I began to shake it in an attempt to extinguish it, but without realizing it I was instead spreading the inflamed liquid everywhere!!! In an instant, the crib caught fire, then the large antique carpet, and finally the floor, made of natural beams, neither machined nor polished, treated only with an impregnating agent to preserve its authenticity.
I don't even know how I managed to put out the fire that day. I was in shock, devastated by the idea that I had done such great harm to a family that had given me everything. Marco and Laura had welcomed me as one of their own, with affection and respect. I tried to reciprocate in every way: I cooked for them almost every day, using only natural products that Laura bought from a small organic farm. I would spend myself unsparingly, because I felt they deserved it. Even when back pain hit me, I would order ten injections of Feldene and Muscoril and go on, gritting my teeth.
And now, in that house that had offered me so much, I had started a fire. I was crying in despair when I called Alejandra, who immediately arrived with her husband to help me clean up the mess. When Marco and Laura also returned, through my tears I kept repeating completely in despair:
"Forgive me, please! I will have to pay for all this! I am immensely sorry, after all you have done for me..."
Marco looked at me and calmly said, "Don't worry. You will pay what is due."
It was a shock. I continued working there, certain that I would face consequences, but something unexpected happened: Marco had insurance. He declared the incident and managed to get everything fixed. The antique carpet-a wonderful, six-by-four-foot piece-was restored. The floor was repaired. When, full of shame, I asked him how much they had had to spend in dread of knowing the amount I would have to compensate, Marco smiled and said:
"Look, it came out even more beautiful than before, now that it's been cleaned."
He was an incredibly good man!!! It didn't add more pain to what I was already carrying inside: a mother sick with depression, the difficulties in finding work, the struggle to get by.
I stayed there for a long time, continuing to work painstakingly. I took care of the garden as if it were my own: picking up dead branches, pruning carefully, creating neat bundles that the municipality could easily collect for a modest sum compared to what a company with a truck might charge by adding the cost of all the trips! I felt I had to give back all the good I had received, and I did so with all my heart and fulfillment.
One day, while I was working under the scorching sun, Laura said a sentence that shocked me:
"If it's too hot, next time bring your swimsuit and take a dip in the pool -- I insist! Because if you're better off, it's also in my best interest.
I was surprised. It seemed incredible to me that people who were so rich, who had everything, were also so good. Finally, I took courage: on a sultry afternoon, I jumped into their pool to cool off. I was a little ashamed, but Laura was happy. She never made me weigh anything, however as soon as I got out of the water, I dried myself quickly and went back to work early...I was a little ashamed.
Now I often think back to my father. In the dream I had recently, he was a good man, unlike how he had been in reality. I believe that, deep down, he had a big heart, but life had put too many difficulties in front of him, leading him to make wrong choices. Choices that had made life difficult for my mother and, as a result, for him as well as for me and my brothers and sisters.
In the dream, my mother was also different: serene, confident, a strong woman who had finally found peace. And Laura, despite her relationship with my father, did not seem upset that my mother had come forward to do justice. When I saw her leaving,with her fuchsia and pink hair-different from what she wore in reality-I had the feeling that she was running toward something important. And I wondered, where is she going?
Then the dream became darker. Marco appeared different, with long hair, dressed like a swordsman. He was advancing toward me with a cheeky attitude, making strange, effeminate movements! almost as if he wanted to provoke me by touching me where another man shouldn't! His behavior made me uncomfortable, until I told him:
"Please stop!. You know I don't like it when you do that!."
It had been a nightmare in the dream! Because in reality I detest such attitudes unfortunately now very common in the world today.
I woke up with a strange feeling, very upset.
There was another detail in the dream that struck me deeply but I wanted to avoid saying because it makes me ashamed. I found myself on the couch, waiting for Marco and his children, but I realized with anguish that I was without clothes! Only in briefs!The clothes were there, next to me, and I was trying to slip them on quickly before anyone saw me. I managed to slip on one pant just as Marco walked in. He didn't seem particularly surprised, but the children were laughing.
It is a recurring dream for me: to find myself without clothes, without shoes, searching for something I can never find. I think it reflects the sense of shame that I have always carried inside me, the fear of being judged, of not living up to it.
Yet ...in the midst of all these emotions...in dreams...sometimes....even joys!, affections!, ...moments of peace! Because,...in spite of everything,...life...has been...this too!
