My Cheshire Cat

I read Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and its sequel Through the Looking Glass during the summer of 1986, when I was only ten. These two novels really struck my imagination, and, in a way, affected my entire life; I was genuinely impressed by the strange dreamlike situations this little girl had to face.
I liked Alice’s character because she always tried to look normal, serious, rational, that is “adult”, in such a crazy world. Her determination made me smile.

And I was fascinated by a lot of other characters in these two books: surely by the Mad Hatter, and the March Hare, by the funny Dormouse, the pompous Caterpillar, the stressed-out, even neurotic White Rabbit, by the twins Tweedledum and Tweedledee, and the fragile Humpty Dumpty.

But my favourite has always been the Cheshire Cat. Since I was a very young girl I used to stare at the crescent moon and imagined it was his grin.

“I didn’t know that Cheshire cats always grinned; in fact, I didn’t know that cats could grin.” “They all can,” said the Duchess; “and most of ’em do.” (Lewis Carroll, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, 
ch. 6)
I loved this character because he was the only one to teach Alice his precious lessons about how that mad land worked.

A few years ago I saw the Cheshire Cat here in my town. I gazed at him with a puzzled face: was I dreaming? He was standing there at the corner of a square, glaring at me not very friendly, and mumbling inarticulate phrases I couldn’t understand. I came closer,  smiling in my most polite way, and tried to start a conversation. All he said was nonsense, that’s why I laughed a lot. 

He didn't really look like a cat, but like a pale-faced man in his thirties, with crazy green eyes, which reminded me no doubt of the Cheshire Cat's shining green eyes.
“The Cat only grinned when it saw Alice. It looked good-natured, she thought: still it had very long claws and a great many teeth, so she felt that it ought to be treated with respect.” (Lewis Carroll, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, ch. 6) Indeed, every time this man saw me from a distance, he grinned with all his many teeth.

Now please, don’t think I fell in love with this guy or even felt attracted to him. I'm not talking about a silly love story, no time for stuff like this. I am talking about something higher. And I was curious.

Every now and then I bumped into him. He appeared, gave me a quick moment of funny craziness and suddenly disappeared, and then he reappeared again whenever he liked. Once he told me we shared the same soul, and I wondered if I was him or if he was me. That made no difference. And this was definitely an “alician” self-talk: maybe this Cheshire Puss was a sort of mirror where I could better understand myself; or maybe he escaped from Wonderland in order to rescue me. 

I was always full of joy when I had the chance to talk and laugh with him. 

But then the coronavirus arrived and the quarantine started. I couldn’t be Alice anymore, I couldn’t indulge myself in Wonderland. I had to enter the adult world and keep calm for my kids’ serenity and for my job. So the Cat vanished. Or I vanished, I don’t know, it depends on the point of view. Sometimes, very often, I miss him, and silent tears roll down my cheeks. I try to chat with other people, men, women, friends, colleagues, but no one gives me the same childish emotions he gave me. I don’t know if I hope or fear to see him again. I think I’m afraid to find out that everything has changed.

I don’t even know his name. I like to call him “my Cheshire Cat”. 

I’m pretty sure that when I happen to look into the right mirror, I’ll finally see him again, because I’ll finally find myself. And this time my adventure in Wonderland will never end.

Le mie bambine (più un unico maschio)

Voglio sempre bene a tutti i miei alunni, nessuno escluso. Ma a voi è toccato un compito speciale: siete stati la prima classe che ho portato dalla prima alla quinta. Me lo ricordo ancora quando sono arrivata da voi, in quel fine novembre del 2015. Eravate così piccoli. Poi piano piano ho imparato a conoscervi, ed è stato un attimo affezionarsi ad ognuno di voi. Siete stati così seri e maturi fin da subito, eppure vi ho visti crescere comunque; vi ho visti maturare nonostante foste già dal primo anno dei piccoli adulti. E in questo vostro percorso di crescita mi avete presa per mano, insegnandomi tantissimo, facendomi sentire a casa ogni volta che entravo nella vostra aula, con i vostri sorrisi, con i vostri modi gentili, con i vostri occhioni spalancati, troppo timidi per intervenire durante le mie spiegazioni anche quando vi chiedevo di farlo. Vedervi era per me fonte di grande conforto e gioia, anche e soprattutto quando mi sentivo stanca per i vari impegni o triste per i fatti miei. Ed è stato terribile e dolorosissimo quando la pandemia e la quarantena forzata ci hanno divisi. Appena ho capito che non sarei più tornata a vedervi in classe, ho avvertito un colpo al cuore tremendo. Ed avevo sperato tantissimo in questa pizzata post-maturità, e vi ringrazio per averla organizzata. La maturità... esame in cui ognuno di voi mi ha resa ancora più orgogliosa; esame che, paradossalmente, proprio grazie alla pandemia, ho potuto fare insieme a voi. Ed “orgogliosa” non calza abbastanza: sono ORGOGLIOSISSIMA che siate stati proprio voi la prima classe che ho accompagnato per cinque anni. Mi mancheranno le nostre conversazioni su Dorian Gray, in cui affermavate quasi all’unisono, che non fosse realmente colpevole delle sue malefatte in quanto era stato traviato da Lord Henry Wotton (ma dico io, si può sostenere un’assurdità del genere?). Mi mancherà condividere con voi commenti femministi ad oltranza (fatti anche quando nemmeno li pensavo). Mi mancherà ridere con voi, e a turno prendervi bonariamente in giro. Mi mancherà farvi i complimenti sui vostri bellissimi occhi prima di ogni interrogazione. Mi mancherà chiamarvi “nini” (perché già, una di voi stasera mi ha fatto notare che “nessun altro vi chiamerà mai più nini”). Mi mancherete ragazze (più un unico maschio) perché per cinque anni siete state le mie bambine (più un unico bambino), e adesso che siamo giunti al termine di questa avventura, adesso che è giusto prendiate le vostre strade, sappiate che sarete sempre nel mio cuore, sarete sempre le mie “nini”.