CLAUDIO MARZORATI

CONNECTION

© 2020 Casa Editrice Il Filo di Arianna, La Spezia

Translated by Dena Marzullo

Published by Tektime

This is a work of fiction. Names, people, locations and events narrated in the story are the result of the imagination of the author and are fictitious.

Similarities to any person alive or dead, and existing locations and events are purely coincidental.

To my parents, Sergio and Lucia,

from whom I received love,

encouragement and support

in every important moment of my existence.

I send them my deepest gratitude

for imparting their art,

upbringing, honesty and sincerity

to face the challenges of life.

Table of Contents

I

II

III

IV

v

VI

VII

VIII

IX

x

XI

XII

XIII

XIV

xv

XVI

XVII

XVIII

XIX

XX

XXI

XXII

XXIII

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I

A surrealistic awakening, in an aseptic room, freezing, almost like a nightmare. This is how Jacopo opened his eyes after a long sleep, finding himself surrounded by machines with tubes, wires and monitors. A ghostly light scarcely illuminated the windowless room with gray, shiny stainless steel walls.

His first impulse, believing himself to be in a hospital room, was to find the call button, most likely a nurse who would explain the circumstances as to why they had required him to be admitted, and update the conditions of his health. Among the many metallic baubles that connected his head, limbs and torso to the machinery next to his bed, he couldn't find anything that resembled a beeping device. Then he tried to call out loud, noting with surprise that the timbre of his voice was still strong and intact. Nothing, no one answered; only a total silence interrupted by slight and rhythmic sounds coming from the apparatus that monitored his vital functions.

Though still young at just thirty-eight, he had always been a decisive man, determined, able to courageously take on his and other people's responsibilities. Therefore, he decided to take off all those contraptions and, at his own risk and peril, get out of the bed that made him feel like a helpless prisoner.

Pulling the first wire, attached to the suction cup on his chest, didn't cause any consequences, with the exception of a metallic voice that mechanically repeated “Warning! The cardiac function monitor has been disconnected!” So with determination, almost angrily, he freed himself of the other wires that made him feel as if he were captured in a monstrous spiderweb. Now he was able to sit on the bed, but before deciding to put his feet on the ground, he made a rapid inspection of his body. He was pleased and almost surprised to see that his muscles were still toned and his skin taut, cool and clean, even with the recent immobility. His only clothing was some kind of nightshirt, open at the chest, and he realized that, mysteriously, his body was hairless, entirely shaved. But what incensed him the most was the horrifying discovery that he was completely bald. Those beautiful brown curls with auburn highlights that his wife, Elena, would run her fingers through in their many moments of tenderness and ardor, were gone.

“Yeah, Elena! Why isn't she here...she might come later during visiting hours...she'll be happy to find me awake and feeling good...maybe she'll bring Sandrino...”.

The memory of his family and the urgent desire to see them again made him relive the last day of his memory before falling into that inexplicable deep darkness.

It was 14 April, 2018.

On that day, Jacopo, an already highly esteemed lawyer despite his young age, had won a lawsuit at the Court of Bologna as the defense attorney to the renowned businessman Mario Bardini, wrongfully accused of tax fraud by his brother-in-law Carmine Caccamo, whose aim was to remove him forever from the company in order to take possession of it.

“...therefore, Your Honor and jury members, in light of the unequivocal proof that I have presented, based on the above mentioned fraud which has been perpetrated by the plaintiff Mr. Carmine Caccamo here present, with precise and fraudulent intent to impose culpability and responsibility upon my client with the objective of claiming possession of the company and of the entire capital, I request acquittal of Mario Bardini, whose conduct and ethics result immaculate from the effectuated investigation. I furthermore request that criminal procedures commence against Mr. Carmine Caccamo...”

Those were the concluding words of Jacopo's closing statement that would determine his personal victory and the triumph of justice. After many handshakes and warm embraces, Jacopo remembered

confidently leaving the courthouse and rushing to Sandrino's elementary school to be on time for class to be let out. Once in front of the school, he parked the car on the opposite side of the road and experienced a very strong sense of distress of having seen his son already on the sidewalk outside the gates nearly about to thoughtlessly cross that busy road alone.

"Dad!"

«Stop, Sandrino! Don't move!". . . the urge to rush towards the child to prevent the worst, then...oblivion. His memory stopped there.

He didn't know what had happened to him and for how long he remained unconscious, but the memory of that last episode cut so abruptly short was as vivid as if it were yesterday.

Still sitting on the bed, with his legs dangling, he gave a more careful and in-depth look at the room in which he found himself and, with enormous relief, he noticed at the end of the room, in the shadows, a sort of glass cabinet in which a seated human could be distinguished. Relieved and heartened he rushed toward the person.

“Hey, you! Sir! I'm awake! Can you tell me something? Can you hear me? Help me figure out where I am! Why am I here?" When he finally found himself with only the glass separating him from some reassuring human contact, he was better able to focus the silhouette that he found inside the compartment. The door opened automatically, and the seated man was sleeping, also with a shaven head, more or less the same age as him and with features very similar to his. He was wearing a sort of close-fitting, light gray tracksuit and remained motionless, despite Jacopo's repeated requests for help.

“Please wake up! I need you! How can you leave a patient without assistance!" But as he gave that mysterious guardian a vigorous shake, he realized that the poor fellow gave no sign of life. Checking his pulse, he noticed with horror that there was no heartbeat, but that gesture so obvious and humanly understandable didn't give him time to elicit the shock as it instantly caused a luminous screen to switch on which displayed the following writing:

"Welcome back, Dad! Sit down and read calmly and carefully, even if it will come as a shock to you.”

II

Dear Dad,

First of all, welcome back to the living. What I am about to tell you will be shocking. It still is for me now and it will be even more so for you who have been forcibly kept in the dark about the events. I will, to the best of my ability, try to tell you everything in the order of events so that you will be able to gradually understand the baffling situation you will find yourself in from this moment on.

First, you've been sleeping for twenty-eight years. Now, as I am writing to you, it is 2046. You may wonder how and why this is possible. Well, that tragic April 14, 2018 when you saw me about to cross the road to meet you with the oblivious impulsiveness of a ten-year-old child, you threw yourself towards me, ending up getting run over by an SUV.

The blow you received to the head was terrible and you lost consciousness instantly. Surgery was attempted with little certainty and hope from the doctors, but you survived, though you remained in a coma. On the day of the accident, I was taken to Guido's house, my best friend, while mom rushed to the hospital where she stayed with you day and night for months. Little by little the months turned into years and I grew up without being able to talk to you, deprived of your help, your affection, your guidance and your example. Every day I came to see you, hoping to find you awake, and invariably returned home heartbroken and disappointed. What I would have given to see your tireless vitality, your playfulness, hear your laughter, and maybe play football with you!

While this drama was taking place in our family, in Europe - specifically in Italy - the political and social situation had degenerated to the point of taking a tragic and irreversible turn. People no longer had moral values, ideals, culture, sensitivity, education or respect for each other. They were also overwhelmed by serious economic problems and the desire for the abuse of a thirst of money took over. Immigration continued to increase, as well as the discontent of foreigners, for the unacceptable living conditions to which they were forced and for the exploitation of which they were victims by mafia clans, resulted for years in continuous and bloody urban warfare in every Italian city. In addition, there were episodes of racist revenge and horrible massacres by Islamic terrorists. In that scenario, weak, unstable and corrupt governments succeeded each other, unable to re-establish a normal social order.

On June 20, 2022 there was a coup d'état, assisted by the army, by an extremist movement called M.A.H.S.E. or Movement Against Human Sentiments and Emotions. It seemed to come out of nowhere, like a tragic surprise and its creators, having seized power, drew up a new aberrant constitution, like a proclamation with which they wanted to impose a different and frightening way of thinking, acting, living and working in society.

Now, in order to survive in this monstrous Italy, you absolutely must learn the manual of prohibited things and sanctioned principles. Believe me, it's essential because anyone who doesn't meet the necessary requirements will be eliminated immediately!

Jacopo, increasingly dazed and in a cold sweat from what he was assimilating, had to sit down to find the inner strength sufficient to continue reading what was being proposed to him of having to adapt to such a crazy, improbable situation, almost like a science fiction or horror film. In that jumble of shocking news and violent emotions stirring in his soul, the most dominant question was where Elena and Sandrino had ended up, how to get in touch with them and why this impersonal and brutal welcome through a written message on a screen. And then...the corpse of that stranger!

Discomfort and disorientation were about to take hold of him to the point of regret for having woken up instead of dying years ago, but the hope of reuniting with his loved ones gave him back the strength to continue reading Sandrino's letter.

Know, first of all - continued the son - that every citizen no longer has a personal first or last name, but an identification number called 'production unit n°...'. Feelings and emotions of any kind are abhorred and forbidden because the managers of M.A.H.S.E have decreed that human and emotional participation in one's own or others' personal events only generates conflict, competition, rivalry and abuse for the benefit of a few and to the detriment of many. Relationships between people are governed solely by exchanges of information regarding the economy, productivity, technology, science, statistical and environmental data. The arts, literature and music have been banned and the masterpieces of the past have been largely destroyed; what little remains is kept in inaccessible underground vaults and considered evidence of a past in which man was only instinctive. Theater, cinema, concerts, shows, television are also prohibited, except for a few dull news reports, as well as any religious faith or practice. There is only rationality, and even the desire for good food is denied. Food is delivered in the form of tasteless freeze-dried products through distributors placed at the entrance of each house, dosed according to the age and physical structure of the consumer and the house in which he lives. Furthermore, family, friendships and relationships have been abolished. Sexual contact is prohibited because it could imply a dialogue outside the imposed schemes and lead to falling in love. All adult individuals, male and female, have at their disposal a machine for the satisfaction of sexual instincts. Between the ages of twenty and thirty one has the duty to generate two new individuals; the seminal fluid and the ovum are collected and used in vitro fertilization and the pregnancy takes place in special artificial habitats that recreate conditions similar to those of a human female uterus. The newborns will never know their parents but are raised in structures designed for the sole purpose of giving life to new units to be included in production when they turn eighteen. Anyone who reaches the age of eighty is eliminated with euthanasia as they are considered unproductive and, therefore, a waste for society.

You'll be asking how it will be possible to integrate yourself into such a cruel and inhumane world – I've thought of everything. You can be sure you won't be running any risks, as my plan has been thought-out in the greatest of detail. Now, unfortunately, comes the hardest part to accept...

An atrocious doubt exploded in Jacopo's mind and it forced him to take his eyes away from the screen and look at the lifeless body while Sandrino's writing began to vigorously scroll again.

Mom never accepted the ongoing revolution, from the first skirmishes, her proud and combative character forced her to oppose, if necessary even until her death, this regime based on such aberrant concepts. She continued to write poems but with a flavor and content aimed exclusively at waking people up, disseminating them as much as possible to all communities. This resulted in her being forcibly taken by officers, locked up in a mental institution where, I imagine, she was then killed by lethal injection. The intimidating climate and the espionage activities were such as to dissuade me from the intention of investigating the disappearance of my mother and to hide my pain so as not to be, in turn, accused of 'anti-social sentimentality and against the progress of the human race'. But you, even while you slept, were there!

I had to safeguard myself because I sensed that one day you would wake up and I couldn't let you face such a sudden change of life order all by yourself. They really brainwashed me, with sessions in front of horrible characters, tormentors who sadistically inflicted frightening treatments on me, even with chemical substances. I was ushered into terrifying machines that were to purge my mind of humanistic studies, culture, and principles assimilated from my family. The purpose was to make me numb and devoid of any human feeling. I secretly fought with all my strength to prevent this from happening, managing to pretend to be perfectly categorized as they wanted, without arousing suspicion. My final destination was information technology while you, after a difficult and very delicate process, were brought here, in this bunker under my lodging and subjected to a treatment that prevented the aging of the cells and organs of your body. If you hadn't awakened thirty years after the beginning of your comatose state, you would have become a supplier of organs, spare parts for other 'production units' or a simple guinea pig for laboratory experiments. All the events and the suffering I had to endure have irreparably undermined my body and, not being unprepared, I sensed that my end, albeit premature, was imminent.

Yes, dear dad, if you are reading this letter, it means that the man who is beside you at this moment, in this rigid shell of a body, is me, Sandrino.

III

A sharp pain in his temples, his limbs heavy as stone, and a sense of oppression that crushed him; Jacopo did not know how long he had remained on the floor unconscious, nor what he had done after the tragic ending of Sandrino's letter.

“I must have passed out”, he thought. And the presence of his dead adult son in the chair next to him was the dramatic confirmation that it had not been a bad dream but a harsh reality. Overtaken by anguish, everything seemed lost forever, and he only desired death for himself as a liberation from that annihilation and a hope of reaching his loved ones on the other side. That self-destructive thought, however, was unable to transform into a true extreme act, but rather into a desire to let go, mentally leaving his body. He had lost the sensitivity of his limbs and the perception of his own vital signs as if his essence were only spiritual and travelled between the past before the coma, and the yearning for an otherworldly future. In that state of semi-consciousness, the images of Elena and Sandrino's faces flashed before him, just as he remembered them in the most carefree moments; at home, at the beach, on their trip to Venice, his little boy blowing out the candles on his birthday cake, their voices, the many unforgettable phrases and the laughter. All the most beautiful, normal, serene, fulfilling experiences were alive and present, as if they still existed, and had a lulling effect, making him smile with his eyes closed. It was denial, an escape from a reality too difficult to bear. His life was the one he remembered, made up of affection and deep and sincere sentiments, of emotions and feelings that had disappeared as if wiped away with an eraser, or worse, as if a steamroller had passed over them and pulverized everything. He felt his own essence crumbling and, regaining awareness of his surroundings, he understood that even with the torment of being next to the inert body of his only son, dead, of which he had lost such a long and important part of his existence, realized it was necessary to give him a proper burial before deciding what his own fate should be.

Getting up, he felt Sandrino's pulse again in an extreme, absurd and vain hope of restoring his life with his own love. The words resumed scrolling on the screen:

. . . as you may have noticed we are very similar. The chemical treatment you received stopped your biological age at thirty-eight, the same age I was at the time of my death. The new laws require everyone, male and female, to shave completely from head to toe to eliminate any personal traits and sex appeal; therefore, you will effectively take my place. You will wear my elastic 'outfit' and you will call yourself 'Production Unit No. 4223'. Clicking on 'bolognaproduction.it' will put you in touch with who makes me work, i.e. the production unit No. 10,727. Every day you will be provided with the program of the work you will have to do on the computer. These are mostly statistical checks on consumption and health energy production. Computer communication systems are pretty much still what they were in 2018, so don't worry, you can't go wrong. Social media has been abolished. Our working hours are 9-12 and 15-18.

To access home, press the lit button on the wall to the right of the bed; the steel panel will open and you will find yourself in the elevator that will lead you to the house. First, however, you will have to perform a thankless and painful task . . . the disposal of my body. Burial or any type of funeral ceremony is no longer permitted, therefore, even if it will feel horrible, you will simply have to communicate your death, pretending to be me, to the Expired Units Disposal Office by writing: 'I communicate the death of Organ Reserve Unit No. 245, I will make arrangements for the disposal'. Then you will slip me into the niche that opens by pressing the black key on the left of the bed where you slept. The hatch will automatically close and my body will fall into the incinerator under this bunker. From that moment you will become 'me' and you will be extinct. Please don't feel discouraged. Face this moment with courage and a clear mind. Remember that a long time ago you told me that life is always worth living, with hope and trust, even in the worst of situations. Strengthened by your teaching, I believe in you and organized this plan for your survival.

I love you.

Yours,

Sandrino

IV

Holding Sandrino's cold hand between his own, Jacopo comprehended the loftiness and strength that his son possessed and, precisely because of this, his will overtook him in deciding not to let himself become destroyed by his desperation. For the last time, he observed the face of an adult Sandrino that he never got to see grow up, that he hadn't known in his life as a man, while the image of the joyful child coming out of school was superimposed on his mind. It was as if they were two separate entities that alternated continuously, but his clarity and awareness of what was happening forced him to follow the ritual prescribed by his son without delay. With immense effort and with the courage induced in him by Sandrino the “man”, Jacopo managed to carry out that last painful act that circumstances had imposed upon him and, despite never having been particularly religious, before seeing that paradoxically adult body of the child who he had loved so much, gave him a kiss, made the sign of the cross and murmured, “God's will be done”.

Now he found himself alone, in a world unknown to him, devoid of any consolation, human relationships or pleasure. Sandrino's tenacity and ability to implement his plan for his father's salvation led Jacopo to think that his son had reason to nurture hopes for an acceptable life for him and not just to offer a forced physical survival. But what hope could there be in a society like the one his son had just described? What was the point of him having work so hard to appear and live as those monstrous new beings had ordered? The dismay due to the knowledge of having to move with circumspection, denying himself and others his whole way of being, made him feel useless, lost and unmotivated. What would he have found outside of the house?! Man-robots, mechanically minded; the elder, after being brainwashed and the younger for being born and raised neglected from affection, deprived of the most instinctive needs of the spirit and the most basic human feelings.

“Is it possible that there is no one left like me? If Sandrino, on his deathbed, worked so hard for my fate, does that mean that there are still hidden possibilities?” thought Jacopo. While sitting at the computer, he proceeded to destroy his son's letter and communicate the successful disposal of his own self. After those unanswered questions he took the lift to take possession of the house left to him by his son and try to understand how he could organize his future existence there. First of all, it was necessary to realize what time it was to start carrying out the work task inherited from Sandrino. Despite the strangeness of the place, a large room devoid of furniture, objects and personal effects, a large clock dominated the wall against which the computer was placed: 2:50 pm! He only had ten minutes to figure out what he should be doing in his son's place and be believable as production unit No. 4223. For a moment he thought that he would give up and just hand himself over to the authorities. They would prosecute him, or maybe not, preferring to quickly eliminate him as a dangerous and subversive element. He had just buried Sandrino, and it was the most painful day of his life. He was experiencing the most unnatural mourning possible, that of the loss of a son and felt he had the right to undergo that day in total reflection. Nearly at the deadline, however, he heard a pressing voice within, jolting himself out of those deep thoughts, to persevere with the only chance he had left to carry on living.

"I have to do it for Sandrino,” he thought. “If he saw me in this state of surrender, he would be disappointed." So with his forehead beading with sweat, he set about work and happily fulfilled his duty in the three established hours.

Exhausted by so much mental effort, he realized that he absolutely had to see the environment in which, from that moment on, he was meant to live. With trembling hands, almost reluctantly, he put on the gray tracksuit that he had slipped off Sandrino's body just a few hours earlier and thought that if it were possible, he would have kept it for the rest of his days. He realized with horror that, in such an inhumane situation, he had not been given the opportunity to possess anything that reminded him of his own emotional world and that wearing his son's only garment could give him the sensation, or the illusion, that Sandrino continued to exist within him; as if that much loved spirit could enter his depths to create a single entity. Strengthened by that consuming sensation he gave a careful look at the room; steel walls identical to those of the basement in which he had awoken, a complete lack of furniture and consequently, the absence of household heat, a medium-sized bed, a square gray armchair, a large black screen and a panel with lots of illuminated buttons. He tried to lie down on the bed and immediately jumped as an inexpressive and monotonous voice started commanding him: "Do not do it – it is nineteen hundred hours - your sleep begins at twenty-two hundred hours and ends at seven a.m.". Then, frozen, he got up quickly and turned to the control panel. Pressing one of those luminous dots at random caused a recess to immediately open and a small shelf to slide out on which a cylindrical metal container was placed, while the same disturbing voice of before chanted: "delivery of daily evening food ration - for men of thirty-eight years - protein, carbohydrates, vitamins, minerals, sugar”. Jacopo took the metal container accompanied by a spoon in his hand and tasted the strange paté that was contained therein, noting with dismay how it was devoid of flavor and taste. As soon as the container was replaced, the shelf retracted and the door closed instantly. By pressing the key closest to the previous one, another container came out while the usual cold voice announced: "your - fourth - daily dose - of 50 ml - of water - next dose - at - twenty-one and – forty-five – hundred - hours". He deduced that he had two and a half liters of water available a day and that he would never again savor the pleasure of a soft drink, a glass of wine or a beer. He undoubtedly felt refreshed but his palate was certainly not at all satisfied. Though he had always been a gourmand, given the tragic situation in which he now found himself, the tasteless energy supply was more than sufficient.

Pushing the third button, a hidden door opened and a bathroom appeared, strangely very similar to those he had used in his distant past: sink, toilet, bidet, shower. The towels, though, were made of an undefinable fabric, to the touch it was not clear whether they were made of fabric or paper. Having fulfilled his human functions, he washed his hands and, after leaving the bathroom, exhausted, he threw himself into the armchair. The hated relentless voice resumed: "you may activate the - functions – one: footrest – two: adjustable backrest – three: back massage – four: body caresses - or - keep the armchair in stand-by".

"What!” Jacopo burst out aloud. “Not even caresses between human beings can be done? From a machine? This is crazy!”

Shocked by that latest discovery, and so as not to receive any more unwelcome surprises, he didn't turn on the television and sat for a while to reflect. His thought went immediately to the attempt of considering the population with which he would soon have to deal with could be. During the twenty-eight years of his absence, new generations had grown up who were ignorant of what consciousness and inner life were, which meant he would now find himself relating to people totally devoid of any human trait. Besides upsetting him, the thought of pretending to appear like them seemed impossible and terrified him. He also wondered if this upheaval had taken place throughout Europe and the rest of the world, or if there was a remote place where people still lived like human beings. Unfortunately, by himself he didn't have the means to obtain the answers he was looking for, so he decided to turn on that huge screen that looked like a television. He pressed the remote control. A news broadcast was underway conducted by two species of bald humanoids in gray tracksuits, at least that's how Jacopo saw them, and after a few moments it was quite plausible that they were of both male and female. What was shocking was not only the lack of personality due to the absence of nice clothes and hair, but the uniformity of behavior that made them hybrids, as if they were neither male nor female. Their way of speaking and interacting was inexpressive, measured, monotonous and metallic like that of the voice that had been activated several times after his awakening. The faces betrayed no thought or emotion and were hideous in their perfection, with smooth skin and no sign of expression.

"These people make me sick but I need to hear what they are saying," thought Jacopo, becoming increasingly upset. Meanwhile the two almost identical voices reported, “...here is today's data provided by the government committee. Food production proportionate to the entitled population, technological advancement in line with forecasts, perfect social order, no subversive action identified, a clear sign that even the last fringes of resistance, a legacy of an ancient society have been demolished. Fourteen thousand thirty-two new assimilated individuals in production, ten thousand two hundred and four deaths between natural and elimination. Partly cloudy weather forecast with brief fair skies for the next twenty-four hours, moderate winds, temperatures without significant variations. You may review this report until new information is released."

Jacopo's dismay increased considerably, he felt completely alone, but with a vibrant conscience intact that required nourishment from the outside world. In that sense he was denied the possibility of engaging in his own set of values, dealing with reputable people. Unable to enjoy inspiration of any kind, he couldn't even maintain civil relations with anyone, let alone use critical thinking for himself or for others within the context in which he found himself; complete dullness, a total destruction of everything that had been human since the appearance of Homo sapiens.

"Humanity is dead, finished, and if it weren't for Sandrino's last wishes, I wouldn't hesitate throwing myself into the waste disposal," he thought. It was then that he abandoned himself to tears of desperation that went far beyond that which any man could feel. It embraced and involved everything and everyone in the past, present and the future. It was a mourning of such proportions as to make himself, Elena and Sandrino seem like tiny insignificant particles born uselessly into the world. Stunned and drained of all will, the time set for sleep arrived, so he went to bed. He discovered how to turn off the lights and found himself lying on his back looking at the metal ceiling which still gave off a soft bluish glow. By then he had no more thoughts, having been so annihilated by the catastrophic experiences of the last few hours and, perhaps out of a

v

“It is 7 o'clock on – Friday – June 14 - 2046. Your work – activity starts at nine o'clock. You have two hours for shower – food consumption – breakfast – exercise or – walk.”

Waking up like that did not put an end to Jacopo's agitated dreams, rather the exact opposite. It served to regain consciousness of a nightmarish reality.

“What the hell button do I have to push now in this shithole of a place?” Jacopo had never been foul-mouthed and vulgar, but that curse came out of his mouth in one breath as he looked dazed at the illuminated screen. Then he remembered having used food and water from the first and second buttons and the third for the bathroom. He pressed the third and the access gate opened. Taking off his garment, he got into the shower. Before even wondering how soap and water were obtained, the voice announced: "close your eyes, depilatory substance is dispensing." Obeying, in the throes of anxiety, Jacopo was hit by a warm, slimy and viscous liquid which within in a few seconds, any attempt to regrow hair, beard and body hair disappeared. The disgusting feeling he felt for the unwanted treatment was soon abolished by a powerful jet of hot water mixed with soap. He rubbed vigorously to eliminate the sense of repulsion caused by the previous treatment. "Rinse" thundered the voice and a splash of cold water eliminated all traces of soap, making him shiver. When he finally thought he could dry-off, the voice announced, “Close your eyes. Anti-aging liquid dispensing and skin preservation". From everywhere, as if there had been microscopic holes in the walls, a sort of rain hit him from every direction. A thin and sharp drizzle was followed by a jet of hot air. Out of the shower, observing himself in the mirror, he noticed how his body was toned, smooth and shiny and detected at the same time that his own face was not so dissimilar from the faces he had seen last night on television. He was free of wrinkles, expression lines and had skin as shiny and taut as a mannequin or wax statue.

"That's how you want me! Cursed filthy pigs! Alright then! I'll play the game, but you can never penetrate or pry into my head! You'll never know what's inside!" As soon as Jacopo's angry outburst ended, the voice made itself unexpectedly heard again: "touch the mirror to change garment". At that announcement, Jacopo's anger turned into pain. He had to get rid of the clothing that until a few hours before had been worn by Sandrino. Remaining motionless, dumbfounded, incredulous, even before being able to smell the tracksuit to forever keep the memory of the scent of his son, the voice insisted, "I repeat - change clothing - otherwise. . .” Jacopo's violent fist hit the mirror, as if it were the talking and deceitful one from the well-known fairy tale. Fortunately the violent blow did not produce any damage, only the opening of a compartment that offered him a new suit. With a sore hand he took it and placed that of his son in its place. The door closed and Jacopo felt like it was like losing Sandrino for the second time. Finding himself naked with that new, aseptic garment in his hands, Jacopo felt even more aware that he possessed nothing, absolutely nothing that reminded him of his loved ones. Coming out of the bathroom, he realized that he would never again be surrounded by objects, photos, furnishings, books, paintings, furnishings, linens and all those sacred things that one accumulates over the course of their existence; less as useless fetishes but as testimony and baggage that tells its own personal story. His life now only existed hidden in his mind and he could not, in fact, he must never expose it again for any reason.

“These scumbags don't even have underwear!” so he resigned himself to putting on the cold garment. A pair of gray ankle boots, made of synthetic material, completed his odious attire.

He left the dwelling, and the scene that presented itself outside was far from comforting. All of the houses were identical, low and windowless, no shops, cars or public transport because the population, living that absurd way of life, no longer needed to move from one part of the city to the other or visit the local businesses. Only a few black vans without windows, equipped with antennas proceeded slowly through those identical streets; a clear sign that every move or action of each citizen was being monitored. Here and there small trees, all identical in color and size could have at least given some harmony to the urban landscape, but Jacopo, touching one of them, realized that they were fake, made of plastic. The sidewalks were crowded with identical and androgynous beings walking with uniformed and cadenced steps, as if they were being remotely controlled. No one spoke. An almost total silence reigned, giving the already disturbing scenery an even more sinister atmosphere. Jacopo immediately grasped the rhythm of their stride, the style and the control of their movements and, probably due to the healthy instinct of preserving his already sorely tested morale, he tried his hand at a real and perfect imitation of his peers. As he walked, he was comforted by the memory of when he used to make family members laugh by imitating relatives, friends, acquaintances and famous people. Conforming to the mass of abnormal individuals while retaining a sort of irony within gave him strength in the form of a secret revenge, a mockery of that surreal population. He walked without direction or purpose, only interested in what the city had become. His beloved Bologna appeared to have vanished and an unrecognizable mass had risen in its place. The suspicion that all of the monuments and historical buildings such as the Palazzo Re Enzo, the Teatro Comunale, the Palazzo d'Accursio, the Pavaglione, the Basilica of San Petronio, the Two Towers, the Ancient Gates had all been razed to the ground was disheartening, and urged him to continue his useless investigation. After a couple of kilometers, having lost all hope of recognizing a familiar place, he decided to retrace his steps so as not to risk arriving late to his computer workstation. He would have been so grateful to savor the pleasure of a cappuccino with brioches or a hot chocolate at Zanarini's in the center and then perhaps go to the Margherita Gardens to spend an hour in tranquillity sitting on a bench reading the newspaper, buy an agenda or notebook to jot down various appointments and record his memories, experiences or simply some facts of daily life. Since he was a child, he had always written down every personal event, as a sort of inner exploration, almost a self-analysis that gave him a feeling of growing and maturing. Although Jacopo was aware of the sterile futility of such nostalgia and regrets, he couldn't help but follow the whirlwind of memories that were spinning in his head. He then resolved to try, unavoidably, to limit the range of his thoughts to the only premises possible at that moment. He arrived home, or rather, to that terrifying cave, completely desolate, so devoid of any normal hopeful thinking, that he spent the rest of the day feeling lucid, cold and detached, carrying out the job admirably without a trace of emotion. In the evening, before falling asleep, he wondered if maybe he wasn't conforming to the inescapable existing social order as a defense mechanism for his own stability.

VI

Jacopo spent the second night revived in resigned tranquillity. The first thought as soon as he opened his eyes was quite positive. “After all,” he said to himself, “I am perfectly capable of adapting to even the most extreme situations. It may be that on this planet there is still a place where one can live normally. For now I'll just carry on like this. Then we'll see."

After completing the usual technological bathing ritual, he went out for a morning walk and managed to behave appropriately without arousing suspicion. The adapted creatures, similar to puppets, that flowed in front of him no longer caused him astonishment or discomfort. Meanwhile he was giving his own thoughts a run, which certainly no one else knew how to do. His freedom now resided only within his mind and therefore he felt, despite everything, privileged. He was comforted by the awareness of being alive thanks to Sandrino who, with a perfectly prearranged plan, had managed to make them both feel victorious over the madmen who had imposed the totalitarian regime.

It was after that reflection that something strange and unexpected happened. A woman coming in the opposite direction met his gaze. But instead of averting her eyes, she stared. It seemed to Jacopo that those eyes had a lively, human expression. They were not empty and glacial like that of all the other passers-by. This caused him surprise and emotion, forcing him to linger for a few seconds to observe her face, making him momentarily drop his expression of the tragic mask that he had forced himself to wear. He was agitated to the point of needing to hide his trembling hands in his pockets, and was immediately disappointed. He tried in vain to compose himself but his stride, previously deliberate and rhythmic, had become bold as his mind and body had finally glimpsed the chance of returning to a normal condition and were demanding something that he had to deny and repress. Seized by the fear of being exposed and arrested, he went home. With his heart in his mouth he found himself having a thousand conflicting thoughts and questions. . . “Was I hallucinating? Did that woman really look at me with human eyes? Why would she do that? How did she manage to catch on to my lack of resemblance to everyone else? Is she normal like me? Or maybe she's a spy from the regime in charge of reporting people. If she is an agent, I'll be reported and they'll come and take me away! On the other hand, if she was for real and was looking for someone to talk to, in a human relationship, how can I track her down and see her again? But the risk of it being a trap is too strong. If she looked at me like that, then that means despite my efforts, anyone can see that I am different from the others! Sure, if she were a real woman I would have someone to talk to, to share something with to free me from this anguish!"

At that point, Jacopo began pacing nervously back and forth in those few square meters of his room, unable to make sense of the feelings of that unexpected and, at the same time, disturbing incident that had provoked him. No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't imagine what developments or consequences could result from that encounter.

Meanwhile, with nine minutes to go, he sat in front of the computer trying to put into perspective and localize the field of his actions and thoughts. After all, with a few hours a day of work, even if barren and boring, he was guaranteed the minimum basic necessities: home; food; water. Money had been abolished or, at least, denied to mere mortals, therefore he could not indulge in any treats or whims. So with all his destabilizing thoughts repressed as the victim of recent, he once again completed the task requested of him. At six o'clock he turned off the computer and rushed out of that gloomy prison. He needed air and, although he had tried to appeal his clarity of mind by compartmentalizing himself as much as possible, he found himself walking quickly through those squalid streets with the same trepidation that a teenager might feel at falling in love for the first time.

“So what am I looking for?”, he murmured to himself. “What do I hope to find in this desolate place? How could a brief glimpse put me in such a frenzy? They must just be fantasies. I have to stop dreaming!"

After a couple of fruitless walks around the block, he returned home with the conviction that he had been wrong or had had a hallucination, seen a mirage or had misunderstood the intentions of that person. He decided that he would never think about it again and that from that moment on he would force himself to never indulge in destabilizing and misleading fantasies again.

“I have to calm down otherwise I'll go crazy. I have to be content with what I have and use it. Now I want to see what this sex closet is. Maybe it'll be fun." He began to observe the luminous buttons and instinctively pressed the pink one. A panel opened that gave access to a dark, black cupboard. At first, he was disappointed, having assumed that he would find himself in front of hot and stimulating images of naked women and was about to give up but then he thought, "Sure, I'll go in, close my eyes and maybe I can fantasize about Elena." Taking off his tracksuit, he entered the closet. A slight reddish glow lit up and an acoustic agglomeration of strange and soft sounds mixed with sighs went off while a wave of warmth radiated every part of his body. He closed his eyes desirous to dream what he would have wanted and felt a light, intimate stimulus on his genitals, a barely perceptible breath that gradually transformed into the real sensation of being the object of the attentions of an expert tongue. Jacopo's response to this provocation was prompt and, in the throes of intense excitement, he couldn't help but move his pelvis quickly, rhythmically. The perception in front of him then transformed into the real impression of possessing a woman; an irresistible sensation of moist, warm and vibrant welcome made him collapse and reach the liberating moment of a climax in just a few minutes.

The strange, bewitching background music suddenly vanished, and an almost blinding, intense light returned. The usual voice said “service completed” while a powerful jet of disinfectant foam was poured over his private parts.

While on one hand the strange experience relieved Jacopo of the tension accumulated over the last few days, inducing a state of pleasant relaxation, on the other, it brought on a creeping depression, as if he had lost a part of himself in an act of which he was ashamed, causing him to condemn himself as if he had betrayed Elena, as well as having violated his own moral principles. Sandrino, no doubt, must have also used that monstrous machine. Not only that, they surely must have forced him to procreate in that unnatural and nondescript way. The thought of having grandchildren who would grow up without parents, warmth, and an upbringing in a healthy environment, who would never know him, let alone be called a grandfather, further intensified his state of depression left by the experience. How long would his life last, and what was his purpose for living, and what contribution could he make to mankind with these rules that disapproved of everything? Jacopo, faced with these insurmountable questions, felt helpless and powerless. And so, prostrate,