Romualdo

Romualdo looks after what you leave behind when you go. The moment you close the door, he appears with his crooked cap and sets the talisman in the middle of the house: the amethyst at its base weaves an invisible thread through the plants, the photos, the cup left on the table — everything of yours that stays behind, waiting for you. The red mushroom stands guard, which is what it was born for, and nothing heavy comes in while you're away. That's why sometimes you come home tired, open the door, and the house welcomes you kinder than you left it, as if someone had held it in their arms all day. Romualdo is gone by then, of course; he slips out a second before, his pale blue eyes a little damp from watching over other people's things. Places, too, need someone to love them when no one is looking.