I-2
2047 Words
She leans over the counter, as if to hug me. I get up, hold out my hand.
«How formal we are."
«Won't you introduce me to your friend?» Vito says rising from his swivel chair.
Chiara is not tall, but he, even standing up, is shorter than her. She reaches out her hand.
«I do it by myself. My name is Chiara, I am an old friend of Francesco.»
«Pleased I'm Vito, head cashier.»
He fastens the button on his trousers; he usually leaves it open, hidden by the shirt he keeps out of his pants. Then he asks: "How do you know each other?»
«We met on a trip,» I try to cut it short.
«Oh really, and where?» my colleague asks curiously.
«We met at the airport,» she comes to the rescue.
«Nice. Where to go?»
«Would you like a Chiara coffee? So we talk more quietly. "
«Certain. Can you go out?»
Vito does not want to give up knowing more details.
«We also have a machine in the branch.»
«Let's go to the bar. The coffee here tastes of old rennet practices.» I go out from behind the counter and lead the way.
«Your colleague is nice,» she says just outside the bank.
«Like the thorn of a hedgehog as soon as you step into the sea."
We set off towards Caffè Nannini. As we walk down the main street she touches her hand to mine. The instinct would be to squeeze her, but I take her hand away.
«A normal coffee and for him a hot macchiato. I remember well?» Chiara smiles.
«And don't you want the usual teaspoon of honey inside?» asks the bartender Gianna, who knows my tastes.
We sit at a table at the back of the room. I have a thousand questions, I begin, I don't know why, from the one that interests me least.
«How is our old friend Alfio?» She bows her head.
«A tragedy has happened.»
«Don't tell me he's dead. Those like him never die.»
«Actually, yes, but I was talking about ...» Chiara freezes, scans the entire room with her eyes, «your holiness.»
«I don’t believe it.»
She makes a half face.
«And yet it is so.»
«In the end, not only the best ones leave, but also the worst ones,» I am ironic.
«It happened a few nights ago… in Lisbon. I was with him until a few minutes earlier. He threw himself from his room on the third floor.»
«He did something good in life» I refrain from expressing this reflection. From her sad look at him I guess that she is not inventing anything.
«Is he really dead?»
«Part of him is always with me,» he says.
«So he hasn't really disappeared?»
She looks at me with sweetness mixed with bitterness.
«You don't understand, you've never understood anything!»
I have heard this sentence repeated by women, who knows why.
«Compliments, dear Chiara, have never been your strong point. Now I have to go back. »
I'm about to get up, she comes over and puts a hand on my shoulder.
«Wait, I need your help.»
Her blue eyes stare at me intensely. I can't answer. I smell that scent of oriental spices that struck me the first time. Our faces are no more than a foot apart.
«We must continue the studies that your holiness was carrying out.»
She always has the ability to ruin any poetic moment.
«What were you looking for now?» I ask.
«Not here, not now.»
«So let's do this: you come back in another ten years and tell me everything.»
«Can't we get over what happened? It is now time-barred,» she says.
I must have read a sentence that fits perfectly in a post.
"In the book of life you need to have the strength to turn the page, but at the same time the wisdom to never forget what you have read."
I let the quote settle, then I asked her, «How did you find me? I moved to Siena not long ago. Do you have followers in my bank too?»
She smiles.
«Our brothers are everywhere, but it was I who followed you, from afar, in these years ... Do you know what we have lost?»
«Happy moments and others perhaps sad» I think, remaining silent.
She was referring to something else or so she says: «A discovery that could change the story told by the Christians.»
«The Higgs boson, the 'God Particle'?» I ask.
«No, His holiness was one step away from ... We have to find what he was looking for.»
I get nervous: she comes back after years and tells me what "we must" do.
«Do I look like a puppet to you to manipulate as you please?»
Chiara doesn't seem to listen: «See you tonight at my hotel? I have to introduce you to a person ».
«I have no desire to come face to face with one of your sect."
«It is not a sect! The Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn is an organisation with a noble and prestigious history.»
«In any case, I have no interest in meeting another emissary of yours.»
«He's not a part of it, at least not yet," she points out.
«Is it a he?" Good. You don't need to introduce it to me.»
«You must know him. I'll wait for you tonight.»
After saying that, he pays for the coffees and leaves.
I return to the branch thoughtfully. I shouldn't go, after what I suffered for her in the past, but today, when I saw her again, it was like that time at the Fiumicino airport. She was angry, focused on the lost suitcase. I was just thinking about how sensual she was, even with that sulky look that drew a dimple on her cheeks.
«So, what have you been up to with that friend?» Vito winks.
It's obvious: she wants to know everything. Usually no one comes to the bank to look for me, much less a woman.
«What do you expect her to have done?» We just had a coffee.
«Did you go to pick him up directly in Guatemala?»
I have served seven customers in the meantime.»
«We talked about the old days and...»
«In the past, however, has there been something between you?" The cashier colleague never lets me finish a sentence. «I saw it from the way you looked at it.»
I think before replying: «If there was, she didn't notice.»
«If she didn't notice, you're really in a bad way.»
«Today there aren't any bills to protest?»
«One, yes, but I'll wait for the day to finish before calling the notary.»
Fortunately, I was able to change the subject. I don't want to tell anything else, and then maybe what I thought had been buried for years …
Back in my small apartment, I sit on a step of the wooden stairs that lead to the mezzanine. I have changed many houses over the years, but I would never change this one, unless I can afford a farmhouse with a swimming pool on top of a hill. I know for myself: I'll stay here.
The thought goes back to Chiara: «What will she want from me? And I from her?» Suddenly I realize: «she invited me to her hotel, but without telling me which one she is.» While I eat some smoked salmon, I look at my email and w******p. No message from her. On the other hand, in the group chat of branch colleagues she raged only one theme:
Who is the mysterious woman with whom Francesco went to have breakfast?
I save Vito's comments, I only report the most quoted hypothesis, that of Marco: a former flame who got pregnant at the time and who now wants food for the baby!
Finally, I check Messenger. There are messages, but only from friends with modern “chains of St. Anthony”:
Watch out for Tizio or C. He has in his profile a photo of a Cane Corso (“what kind of dog is it?”). But he is a hacker, do not accept his friendship with him, otherwise ...
Only at 9.30pm does a message arrive from a stranger.
He calls himself Obscura alba.
Hello. I'm at the Tre Donzelle hotel, here in the center. I am waiting for you.
I give a look at Obscura alba's f*******: profile. There are only two photos: a drawing of a fantasy-style woman and an arcane symbol. No clues about profession, city or romantic relationship.
It is not the first time that I go to “stalk” her profile. In the past I had searched for her name, Chiara Rigoni: I had found three of her and, even if her photos did not match her, I had asked all three of them to be friends. Two had ignored me, one had accepted. Among the photos of the latter there were only images of cats. It could also have been her, although the description indicated:
Cat lover. Web designer. He lives in Florence.
I wrote to her:
I have a gorgeous, huge and white cat: it's called Pallino. Here is a picture of her.
She replied immediately:
Pallino is adorable, who knows if he is his master too. If you happen to be on my part, we can have a coffee together.
I was curious to know if it was her, so I had invented a work engagement in Florence for the next day.
She gave me an appointment at the Ikea parking lot in Northern Florence. Up until the last I had hoped for it, but ... it wasn't her. A beautiful and curvy woman, but it wasn't her. She talked all evening about her ex-husband and how she was wrong to marry him; then she went on to tell in detail, even intimate, the various bankruptcy outings with other men after the separation.
«The worst thing happened to me six months ago with someone I met in chat. The first night we go out, order a pizza ... or maybe it was a sandwich. In short, it doesn't matter.»
«I thought the food ingested was functional to the story,» I avoided this comment.
«We went out just to get to know each other. At a certain point he asked me: "But did you pay the contributions?"»
This absurd question aroused my curiosity: “In what sense?”
«I repeat: it was the first time we went out. He had already imagined that we would move in together.
But everyone had to pay his expenses: as long as we worked with the salary, then with the pension.»
“But did you pay the Inps contributions?”
No, it wasn't the Chiara Rigoni I was looking for. As I think back to the curious acquaintance, a new message from Obscura alba:
So are you coming? Ask to go up to Patrizia Salvatori's room.
“These of the sect never use their real names. If they don't have a pseudonym for each season, they don't feel comfortable. To tell the truth, even Chiara I don't know if that's her real name.”
I still don't understand what she wants. Certainly it is not a “romantic” invitation, also because she made it clear that she wants to introduce me to someone.
The hotel entrance door is closed: I ring. No one answers. I ring again, longer. The door remains closed. Perhaps Pollon, the protector of someone who is about to commit a stupid thing, is sending me a sign from Olympus.
I look inside: all dark. I write a message to Chiara:
I am under the hotel, but it is closed.
She replies immediately:
Dial the access code on the keypad to the left of the door: 1337. Then go up to the second floor, room 40.
I open the door and go up the stairs. As soon as I get to the floor, the timed light goes out. I turn it back on and look for the room: it's at the end of the corridor. Halfway through the corridor the light goes out again. I go back, turn it back on and run up to knock on the door, perhaps too impetuously.
- Writer
