He was a brand new soap, newly-made, never used before. He had never taken a bath before.
Inside the drawer of that drugstore where he, together with many others, was waiting to be sold, he had already asked, very timidly:
“What am I good for, anyway?”
“You’re good to perfume people.” Replied an old tarry soap, who knew about life. “You’re going to give a bath, to take a bath… Don’t worry, there’s something good in store for you.”
A soap for scurf, that is, against scurf, added:
“All good things have an ending.”
He was the grumbler of the group.
The new soap had the opportunity to confirm the previsions of the old soap. Everything happened as he had foretold.
He gave bathes and took bathes, he slid countless times through the polished marble of the tub, he socialized with sponges, soft brushes, and he came to know the anatomy of the human body better than a painter of naked bodies does.
But he had been round and now he was flat. He ended up on a wash-basin, together with others as thin as himself.
“Now we are soaps to wash hands.” His friends warned him. “So far… All good things have an ending.”
Another warning, another insinuation, making him think.
He, and the others in the soap-dish slowly melted into foam. “All good things have an ending.”
The little soap, who had been young, started to understand.
Finally, there came a little boy, who wanted to make chowder. For this boy, ‘chowder’ means to join, in a bowl, leftovers of soap with water, mix everything with a cane and, after having it ready, blow soap bubbles through a tube.
They rose in the air, drawn by the light.
Loose, light, happy, big and small soap bubbles rolled like drops or tears of the rainbow. They flew, they got lost in the blue sky…
All good things have an ending. But, sometimes, it’s a happy ending.