There’s a sofa, and the soft blue light from the television screen. The sofa is covered with a pale fabric patterned with big brown flowers, and I’m wearing a tartan blanket. I’m four years old or maybe younger. I’ve spent the whole day with my father, and we’ve been watching the elections of the new president of the Republic. I haven’t the faintest idea who he is, but Oscar Luigi Scalfaro is a nice name — it sounds pretty. It reminds me of my heroine, Lady Oscar. You’re in bed with a headache, Dad soon joins you, and I’m left alone on the sofa, listening to the music of the cartoon, whispering, “Lady Oscar, Lady Oscar, the blue of your eyes holds the rainbow…your sword…in battle…don’t ever change, don’t ever change…Lady Oscar…” My eyelids close heavily.
I fall into a deep sleep, not at all disturbed by the flashes from the television.
Someone is lying beside me, zapping the TV with the remote control.
An itch in my legs wakes me all of a sudden, my eyes are half closed, and in a voice still thick with sleep I ask, “What are you doing?”
Another voice replies, “Don’t worry, I’m just checking to see if you’ve become a lady.”
I go back to sleep, immersed in a field of brown flowers that Lady Oscar is elegantly felling with a clean sweep of her sword.
Blood drips from the stem of a flower.