Love in the Venetian province

Marco’s accident, September 2012Marco lay facing up, arms stretched over his head, legs sprawled. He slowly opened his eyes, and he saw white clouds moving above the mountains in the clear autumn sky. A light breeze blew on his face, then, as he deeply breathed, he felt a sharp pain in his chest. He waited, then tried to raise himself on his elbows but the stabbing pain forced him to lie down again, his head on the grass, and he lost consciousness. After running down the path through beeches, ashes and pines Anna arrived at a clearing: she was panting, and she looked around trying to catch her breath, but Marco was nowhere to be seen. She listened for a few minutes but there was no sound coming from the path nor from the woods. So, she kept going up, calling: - Marco, Marco! She waited a bit longer, and then she yelled with all her might: - Marco, Marco! Still there was no answer. She started to worry. They’d started off together, running down the slope, but he’d almost immediately left her behind and disappeared out of her sight. Now, climbing the path Anna walked slowly, looking left and right. Marco might have fallen, she thought, perhaps stumbling over the roots of a pine or over a rock. She called again: nothing. No voice, no sound whatsoever. At the same time Marco opened his eyes and tried once more to lift his head. His chest still hurt. He took a slow breath and noticed that if he did that the pain diminished. He must have been hit in the chest. With an effort he raised himself on his elbows, saw that his jeans were torn along the right leg, then attempted to take a closer look but as soon as he tried to move, a scream full of pain escaped his mouth. It was then that Anna heard him: a loud cry, and then after a few seconds another one. It was coming from the lower part of the path, so she started walking toward the sound and about fifty meters on she spotted him: on the right side of the track, through the tall and dry weeds, a trekking boot with red laces was sticking out; it was Marco’s. She moved the pine branches aside and saw her friend: he was lying on the ground and he looked as though something had run him over and thrown him to the right side of the path. His checked flannel shirt was ripped at the chest, his jeans torn and blood-stained. Anna kneeled, calling his name: - Marco, Marco! - and stroking his face. At the sound of her voice Marco opened his eyes and tried to smile. They looked at each other. Her eyes filled with tears, while a grimace of pain distorted his features: - Easy! Don’t move! - she told him. She immediately checked his condition. He had obviously been hit by something, judging by the large pink mark on the right side of his chest where the shirt was torn and his skin scraped. Anna then took a look at his right leg, where the pants were bloody and ripped. After carefully removing the surrounding fabric, she noticed a long wound running from the thigh to the knee. Fortunately the fabric had somehow slowed the blood flow. Marco moaned. - Relax honey, don’t move. I’m going to call the ER. Her voice was soft but her lips were trembling. She leaned over him and kissed his forehead. Only then she realized that his black hair was also bloody, and noticed that right under the nape of his neck a rock stuck out of the ground: he had probably hit his head against it and blacked out. She tried to be brave. She took off her backpack, found a handkerchief and tied it around his thigh to try and stop the blood flowing out of the wound. Then she carefully lifted his head to take a look at the injury. She took her mobile out of the backpack, planning to ask her husband for help at the ER: he would surely know how to handle the situation. Marco was seriously injured and in need of immediate care! She dialed Sergio’s number, who was on call at the surgery ward in Padua that Saturday, but there was no signal. She looked at Marco who seemed to have fainted again. After a slight hesitation she decided to move out of the woods; running, she reached the clearing and tried once more to dial the number. The phone finally started ringing. Sergio was busy examining a patient’s medical records. He felt the phone vibrate, slowly took it out of his pocket and looked at the screen; Anna, who very rarely phoned when he was on call, was trying to reach him. Surprised, he answered. Anna’s words were shrill and labored, and mostly incomprehensible. He told her to calm down and to speak slowly because the reception wasn’t clear. She took a deep breath, and tried to explain what had happened.