Two Drops Of Water
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NICOLA ROCCA
TWO DROPS OF WATER
ENNEERRE
Facebook:
- Nicola Rocca ‘Pagina Autore’
- Nicola Rocca
enneerreautore@outlook.it
Cover art © Alberto Motta
Cover design © Nicola Rocca and Alberto Motta
Translated by Andrew Fanko
Publisher: Tektime - www.traduzionelibri.it
Any reference to real people or events is purely coincidental.
Literary and artistic property reserved.
All rights reserved.
2016
Summary
PROLOGUE
FEBRUARY 2016
THE DEPARTURE
NOVEMBER 2016
MANY YEARS EARLIER
THE BITTER TRUTH
EIGHT MONTHS PREGNANT
EPILOGUE
For Sandra and Davide,
who achieved their
greatest dream.
For all those who,
like me,
exist in limbo,
straddling the finest
of fine lines that separates
two different worlds.
N.R.
"You will learn, to your cost,
that on life's great journey
you will encounter many masks, but few faces."
(Luigi Pirandello – One, No One and One Hundred Thousand)
TWO DROPS OF WATER
The room is in semi-darkness,
the pitch black alleviated only by the dirty yellow light of a street lamp filtering through the window.
Aldo Martelli stares up at the ceiling.
It's an ordeal he has endured for years now - in and out of hospital. No particular illness, but he's ninety years old, and there's no cure for old age; it comes for us all, followed sooner or later by its trusty friend, Death.
His throat seems to be closing up, every breath a laborious wheeze.
All he needs to do is reach out and press his emergency button. A nurse would come running and fit his oxygen mask.
Aldo knows there is little point; it would just delay his last breath for a few more hours. He may as well let himself drift off into that deepest of sleeps that he knows so well. A sleep that has been his livelihood for seventy years.
Martelli Funeral Directors. Two shop windows and a preparation room.
Thinking about it still brings a smile to his face.
So much time has passed. It seems like only yesterday, but now his entire life has flown by.
The weight pressing down on his lungs increases. Aldo may never have experienced his own death, but it is all too familiar to him. He can sense it.
Now that his time has come, he's not afraid. Life has been kind; he can have no complaints. He has never lacked for money or affection.
His thoughts turn to Mina, whom he married before either of them had even turned twenty. Gradually, images of their children come into his mind. Then the grandchildren.
Their faces seem so real he can’t help but smile. Such a beautiful family.
As his vision begins to blur from a lack of oxygen, another memory pops into his head. He thinks of the little white coffin and the secret he has kept for over thirty years.
It was so long ago now, but he can remember it as if it were yesterday.
He still can’t explain why he did it. Could have been greed; could have been a million and one other things.
He deceived an entire town.
He opens his mouth wide in an attempt to steal one final breath, and his eyes relax and fall open.
Just a split second more of suffering, and the secret would go with him to his grave.
FEBRUARY 2016
A mia volta mi fido del mondo
non ti dico le botte che prendo
Non c'è modo di starsene fuori
da ciò che lo rende tremendo e stupendo…
(La linea sottile [The Fine Line] - Luciano Ligabue)
CHAPTER 1
03/02/2016
AlfreDario77 20.02
So you're not married and you don’t have a boyfriend?
03/02/2016
SadChantal 20.02
Nope. Neither of the above.
03/02/2016
AlfreDario77 20.03
How come? Must be your choice, right? There can't be a lack of interest. I’ve seen your photo...you're a stunning girl.
03/02/2016
SadChantal 20.04
Girl? I’m not sure I still qualify as a girl at 33 :-(
03/02/2016
AlfreDario77 20.04
You may be 33 but you look about 25. And you're still a girl at 25, trust me!
03/02/2016
SadChantal 20.05
If you say so...
03/02/2016
AlfreDario77 20.05
So you still haven’t answered my question. How come a GIRL as hot as you isn’t married or in a relationship?
03/02/2016
SadChantal 20.06
Ermmm....next question please!
03/02/2016
AlfreDario77 20.06
Ooops...have I touched a nerve?
03/02/2016
SadChantal 20.06
I’ll say... And what about you? Married?
03/02/2016
AlfreDario77 20.07
That’s touched a nerve right here too… :-(
03/02/2016
SadChantal 20.07
Wow. Love is definitely NOT in the air around here!
03/02/2016
AlfreDario77 20.07
You're not wrong, SadChantal. Is that why you’re sad? Did your last relationship go tits up?
03/02/2016
SadChantal 20.08
Maybe...But love’s not the only reason. What about you anyway? What’s the deal with your name?
03/02/2016
AlfreDario77 20.09
Just paying a little tribute to my 2 favourite directors: Alfred Hitchcock and Dario Argento.
OK, so apart from love, what's making you sad, gorgeous?
03/02/2016
SadChantal 20.09
I’m just going through a rough time...I’d rather not talk about it.
03/02/2016
AlfreDario77 20.10
Understood. We’ll talk about something else shall we?
03/02/2016
SadChantal 20.10
:-)
03/02/2016
AlfreDario77 20.10
Hmmm...we need something a bit more fun and light-hearted...
03/02/2016
SadChantal 20.11
Anything would be more fun and light-hearted than the last year of my life.
Go on, fire away...
03/02/2016
AlfreDario77 20.12
It might not be the most fun and light-hearted topic for most people,
but it is for me: What do you do? For work, I mean.
Chantal sat motionless in front of her PC. It was unbelievable how this guy had managed to hit her where it hurt. He’d started with family, then moved on to love, and finally, in an attempt to talk about something more “fun and light-hearted”, he'd delivered the coup de grace.
Work had been a sore point for a while now.
She began to tap away at the keyboard, and her words appeared on the screen.
“Fuck off,” she muttered, burying her head in her hands.
She deleted what she had just typed, reducing the message window to nothing but a flashing cursor.
The thirty-three-going-on-twenty-five-year-old girl got up from her swivel chair and headed into the kitchen.
“Where the fuck are they?” she asked herself, scanning the table she hadn’t cleared from earlier.
Nothing. They weren’t there.
She cast her eyes over to the shelf by the sink.
They weren’t there either.
She puffed out her cheeks in frustration and headed for the living room hoping for better luck. She raised a finger to her mouth and began to bite nervously on her nail. Her eyes were darting around the room: the glass coffee table, the shelving unit on the wall, the old writing desk...
“There you are!”
She walked over to the antique piece of furniture and grabbed the packet of Philip Morris. She took a cigarette from the pack and lit it, hoping that the nicotine would somehow inspire her to create a cover story that could mask what she had really, shamefully, done for a living.
By the time she had returned to the bedroom, the cigarette was already half smoked, and a couple of pieces of ash fell to the tiled floor.
“Dammit!” she admonished her own carelessness.
She was about to go back in the kitchen to fetch an ashtray, and a damp sponge to clean up the fallen ash, when her PC emitted a familiar ping.
She peered at the screen. There were four new messages.
03/02/2016
AlfreDario77 20.16
Hello?
03/02/2016
AlfreDario77 20.17
Don’t tell me I’ve touched another nerve with work!
03/02/2016
AlfreDario77 20.20
You still there?
03/02/2016
AlfreDario77 20.23
What’s going on?
Don’t tell me I’ve touched another nerve with work!
Well, kind of.
You still there?
If truth be told, she didn’t know if she was still there or not. It was probably about a year ago that she started not really being there. And it had got worse ever since as she was beset by one problem after another, slamming into her like a high-speed train.
What’s going on?
She had no clue what was going on, only that she’d lost her mind in some corner of this godforsaken earth. No, there was definitely no happy ending to the last year of her life.
She took another drag and realised the cigarette had burned down to the filter.
“Fuck’s sake!”
She flicked the butt out of the window and turned back to the screen. He could wait, for now.
She moved the cursor up and to the right, and clicked on the X. The chat window disappeared to be replaced by a giant winking emoji.
Her computer had been her virtual world for days, but she switched it off and returned to the real world.
CHAPTER 2
Until this time last year, her life had been completely different.
Mamma and Papà had raised her lovingly. When she left high school, she had wanted to start working so she could contribute to the household income, but her parents had insisted she apply to university.
“Choose whatever course you like,” her father had said, more serious than she had ever seen him. “We’ll find a way of paying your boarding costs.”
She chose Economics, and she already knew enough about that particular subject to know that she didn’t want to be a burden on her parents for years to come. She'd found herself a part-time job at Lilly's Snack Bar so she could at least contribute to some of her uni-related expenses: train fares, books, lunches away from home.
She worked at the bar, just a couple of miles from the family home, for the first two years of her course, doing the 5.30pm-10pm shift three nights a week. The money she earned eased the pressure on her folks, at least until the country was rocked by the financial crisis. On one horrible autumn day, Chantal had received a phone call from Signor Ferruccio, who told her (sensitively at least) that he could no longer afford to keep her on. The bar just wasn't generating enough business.
And so Chantal found herself out of a job, and her parents were forced to tighten the purse strings so they could cover all her uni expenses. Then, one day, she responded to an advert:
WANTED: NIGHT CLUB DANCER
The night club turned out to be more of a strip club, requiring topless dancers to strut their stuff in front of sleazy, drooling old men stroking themselves through the inside of their trouser pockets.
But the pay was good and she needed the money, so she had agreed to get up on stage and take her kit off, surrounded by a pack of horny wolves.
When Chantal awoke from her daydream, she found herself standing in the middle of the kitchen. She took a deep breath and pulled yet another cigarette from the rapidly emptying packet.
She had tried to quit so many times but succumbed whenever life got tough.
It was more than just life getting tough though; it was a deep, dark depression that had pervaded every fibre of her being.
She took three long drags on her cigarette, glanced over at the dirty dishes piled up in the sink and shook the tablecloth over the balcony. The sparrows would be grateful for the breadcrumbs.
Taking another couple of drags, she headed back indoors and stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray. She wandered into the bathroom and took all her clothes off, glancing at herself in the mirror but not stopping to admire what she saw. That same body, lusted after by dozens of randy old gits at the club, had been traded in for a younger model by the man she'd thought was the love of her life.
Pushing those painful memories to the back of her mind, she reached inside the shower and turned it on. She put her hands under the jet until it reached the right temperature, stepped into the shower and waited for the water to succeed where yet another cigarette had failed, by calming her thoughts.
CHAPTER 3
He opens his eyes.
He feels drowsy, or perhaps it's the after-effects of the stuff he is forced to take.
Must be some sort of tranquiliser. But he says nothing. He doesn't moan. All that matters is that he gets what he wants. And so far, he always has.
He looks over to the opposite corner of the room.
Still there.
He smiles and begins to drool at the prospect of his favourite meal, which has been there for some time now.
He yawns.
Why me and not someone else?
He asks himself the same question nearly every day.
Why me and not him?
He doesn't actually need an answer, as long as he gives him what he wants...something to play with. Something that sates him and yet leaves him feeling empty.
He belches - damn acid reflux -
gets up from the dirty, unmade bed and thirstily gulps down some water from a plastic bottle in an attempt to get rid of the taste of whatever the hell he'd forced him to swallow.
He sniffs, slips a hand inside his pants and lightly touches his cock and balls.
He pauses for a few moments as he looks at himself in the mirror and tells himself he’s not an ugly man. Sure, he could improve things if he took a little more pride in his appearance,
but he’s OK like this. A glance over at his favourite meal in the corner. All that matters is that he always gets what he wants.
And he has.
But he doesn’t fancy it right now.
Perhaps his appetite will return after a cold shower.
He scratches at his beard. He hasn't shaved for...goodness knows how many days.
He turns on the cold tap, cups his hands under the stream and splashes the water over his face, which is either just tired or numb from those fucking tranquilisers.
He turns the tap off and watches as the drops of water fall from his face. He takes off his dirty t-shirt, uses it to dry himself off and tosses it casually onto the bed.
Before getting in the tiny shower, he again casts his eyes over to the shape in the corner and realises he is changing his mind.
His hunger is returning.
He wants to gorge himself like an animal that has just emerged from hibernation. The thought prompts a twinge inside his pants.
‘Behave!’ he tells himself.
His breathing starts to become heavy and laboured. Beads of sweat begin to form on his brow. He’s getting aroused; it always happens like this.
Another glance at the shape in the corner. Another little fiddle downstairs. His mouth begins to water.
‘Later! She’s not going anywhere,’ he tells himself. ‘She’s all yours...’
“All mine!”
He smiles because he knows it's the truth.
He takes a deep breath, lets his pants fall to the floor and uses his tongue to suck the air through his teeth. He loves the feeling it gives him, the sensation on his teeth and gums.
He enters the shower, lifts up the mixer tap and turns it all the way to the right. He wants it ice cold, like always.
As the water beats down relentlessly on his muscular back, he begins to anticipate what will happen when he has finished washing himself.
The saliva begins to taste sweet in his mouth and the urge in his groin becomes uncontrollable.
Thankfully, it’s nearly time to get out of the shower...
CHAPTER 4
‘Is it really me that should be ashamed?’
Chantal poured herself a glass of sparkling mineral water and sipped it slowly but determinedly, fuelling herself with some non-alcoholic Dutch courage.
‘It's them who should be ashamed, paying me a pittance for two years and...’
There was a thud as she angrily thumped her fist on the table.
‘...and then letting me go. Morons!’
Chantal became enraged every time she thought back to when she was fired, or, more accurately, they refused to renew her contract. What pissed her off the most was the shame she felt at being unemployed and living off benefits of four hundred euros a month.
Four hundred euros...
She'd dedicated her life to her studies for four hundred shitty euros a month. Oh, and an Economics degree. Which she could use for...making a paper aeroplane or maybe wiping her arse. Oh yes. That was Italy in 2016. On the one hand, there were people with a career spanning more than forty years who weren't about to retire anytime soon; and on the other, there were millions of young people who would give their eye teeth for a job - any bloody job.
Unfortunately for Chantal, she was one of those young people.
She took out a fag, went into her bedroom and switched on the computer. Her long, drawn-out drags meant she was down to the butt in no time.
Chantal opened the chat site and tried to think how she could possibly explain her plight to AlfreDario77.
There was an unread message.
03/02/2016
AlfreDario77 20.32
Fine...you could have just said if you didn't want to chat anymore. If your manners ever come back, you know where I am.
“Fair enough,” she said to the screen. “I'd have been pissed off if someone had done that to me.”
She took another puff and drummed her fingers on the desk, trying desperately to think of how she could respond.
04/02/2016
SadChantal 10.15
Hi...
I’m so sorry about last night. It’s not that I didn't want to keep talking to you. Something came up.
That was fine to start with, while she waited for some inspiration on how she could deal with the whole work thing. Also, she wanted to be sure he was online, which would be confirmed by the little green circle next to his name.
She casually rolled the wheel of her mouse to scroll up the screen in search of yesterday's messages.
It might not be the most fun and light-hearted topic for most people, but it is for me. What do you do? For work, I mean.
And then...
Don’t tell me I’ve touched another nerve with work!
She decided to try and respond to that final comment, which was probably the easiest to cope with. She wrote her message but waited a couple of minutes before sending it, hoping he would come online.
Nothing.
She opted to finish the fag with a triple drag that brought tears to her eyes, before stubbing it out firmly in the ash tray, steeling herself and decisively hitting the return key to send her message.
04/02/2016
SadChantal 10.18
You're right. You did touch a nerve as far as my work is concerned… :-(
She focused on what to type next, her fingers once more drumming against the desk. The sentences were beginning to form in her mind. She was almost there when she was distracted by a familiar ping.
04/02/2016
AlfreDario77 10.19
Hey...welcome back! You took your time...
04/02/2016
SadChantal 10.20
Sorry again about last night...
04/02/2016
AlfreDario77 10.20
No problem!
Chantal thought about what to say next, but he beat her to it.
04/02/2016
AlfreDario77 10.20
So I did touch a nerve with work? I'm sorry. I'm all ears if you want to offload...
She knew it was time to come clean. If there was anyone who should be ashamed of themselves it was those tossers at Robobi's, who had refused to renew her contract after turning her brain to mush for two years with bills, receipts, tax returns, payslips and whatever else.
Bastards!
Her jaw tightened every time she thought about it.
04/02/2016
SadChantal 10.22
I've been out of work for 5 months...
Only eight words, but that was all that needed saying for now.
04/02/2016
AlfreDario77 10.22
Sorry to hear that…
04/02/2016
SadChantal 10.23
Tell me about it…:-(
04/02/2016
AlfreDario77 10.23
Do you know what? I might be able to help you out...
04/02/2016
SadChantal 10.23
Really?
04/02/2016
AlfreDario77 10.25
I run a B&B in Grosseto, Tuscany. It's mine, I own it. Last year, the girl that was helping me out decided to move on. So I'm looking for a willing replacement.
04/02/2016
AlfreDario77 10.26
What do you think? Would you be interested? Do you know anything about the hospitality sector?
Chantal stared at the monitor for ages. She couldn't believe it. She'd sent off dozens of copies of her CV without managing to get an interview. In fact, no one had even bothered to reply. And here she was, chatting with some guy she'd only met two days ago, and he was offering her a job.
Hardly local though, was it? Tuscany, for goodness' sake.
04/02/2016
AlfreDario77 10.29
Done another disappearing act, have you? If you're not interested, there's no need to turn off your PC! You can just tell me :-)
Chantal chastised herself for taking so long to reply. She took a deep breath.
04/02/2016
SadChantal 10.30
Sounds incredible! A B&B! I did some bar work for a few years...is that any good?
04/02/2016
AlfreDario77 10.31
Perfect. It's not quite the same thing but at least you wouldn't be starting from scratch.
04/02/2016
SadChantal 10.32
If your B&B was in somewhere in the Brescia area, I could come for a trial. But Tuscany...blimey! That's a hell of a long way...
04/02/2016
AlfreDario77 10.33
I know it's quite far. But it's not as if you'd have to go back to Brescia every night. You'd have board and lodging on top of your salary. A bedroom and bathroom all to yourself.
04/02/2016
SadChantal 10.35
I'd have to drop everything...leave my hometown...
Chantal realised what she'd written was total bollocks. It may have been a throwaway comment, but more likely she was lying to herself about the tragedy of the previous twelve months. Drop everything? She didn't have anything to drop.