He lies on the Jester's cart - 26 pt.1
The dawn wakes me up.
The window faces exactly east, and the horizontal light of the sun hits the wall, enveloping me. I look beyond the glass; the ball of fire is pale yellow, veiled by a thin layer—difficult to tell if it's clouds or just the morning mist—peeking between the silhouettes of two gray buildings. Its blade of light enters directly here, filling my lungs.
It’s another day.
Marzio is sitting in a corner of the room, next to the window. I see him between the legs of the round table in the middle of the room. He’s sitting cross-legged, his figure is dark, and I can’t see his face. Lying on his lap, coiled like a snake, is him. His back is to me, sleeping on Marzio’s lap. His jacket takes on a silvery hue in this light.
He’s sleeping. I can feel it—the air is not heavy with his cruel spirit, but I still don’t want to be here, with him. I get up, grab the laptop lying by my feet, and leave. As I turn to go into the hallway, I catch a glimpse of him moving out of the corner of my eye, adjusting himself on his legs. I quicken my pace and head to the kitchen.
He’s there, where I left him, holding a cup of coffee.
- Good morning.
- Hi. – my mouth is dry.
- I made some coffee. The machine is still hot. Take some.
I want it, so I approach. I put the laptop on the table. He extends his hand and points to the cupboard.
- The cups are in there. Rinse them before using them.
I open the door and reach in to grab a brown coffee cup. I do as he says, turning on the faucet to rinse it. I feel the roughness of the dust washing away under the water.
I turn off the faucet and pick up the coffee maker.
- It’s already sweetened – he says.
- I nod and pour myself a cup. Then I sit down where I was last night.
- Here we are again. – I say. He smiles.
The coffee isn’t bad. Maybe a bit bitter, but it’s good.
- How much stuff is on that computer?
I listen to him in silence and don’t respond. I shrug as I keep sipping my coffee. Sleep still clouds my thoughts.
I think I slept deeply. Maybe for the first time since… since that day. That cursed day. I feel heavy. But I think that’s what it feels like when your body is rested.
- What time is it?
- Seven fifteen.
- Do you have to go to work?
- It’s Saturday.
I nod. His answer comforts me. I won’t be alone today.
- How did you sleep? – he tries to be caring, you can see he's making an effort.
- Better than usual – I appreciate the effort.
Another tense silence. I drink my coffee. I finish it now. I place the cup down. The question is in the air. I feel it growing, nurtured by his tension. He was waiting for it. My awakening. What he wants from me. And in the end, it’s fine by me, maybe with him by my side, the fear softens. Sharing the same goal lightens this burden weighing on my shoulders and soul. I shouldn’t share anything. Nothing, I promised silently to her, but this is fine, it’s fine for me, fine for him, and in the end, fine for Marzio. I’m okay with it.
- So. Shall we carefully see what we find on this computer?
That was the question I’d been expecting, I smile. I stay still for a few seconds, he watches me, and I can feel it.
- Ok.
I place my hands on the aluminum frame and open the Mac. I type in the password, and the laptop comes to life. Exactly where we left off before. I pause, waiting for instructions.
He places his empty cup down, almost tossing it into the sink, and quickly moves toward the table, grabs a chair, and settles next to me with a decisive gesture.
- Let’s start with the sender, see who it is.
I click on the mail app and select the sender from the header.
Do a search, see if there are other emails from this address.
I click the search bar and paste the address; two emails appear, then a third after a moment. He leans toward the monitor.
- Let me read them a bit – he says, extending his finger almost to touch the screen.
I click on the first one, and it opens. He leans in and reads it carefully. I try too, but after the first two lines, I get distracted. My gaze drifts to the window, to the city that seems so far away but is right here, just steps away. The traffic is still flowing smoothly. After all, schools haven’t opened yet, and the only people on the streets are the parents who are work slaves. If only we were blessed with a bit of sun today, a warm ray. I would be grateful, truly grateful. I breathe in the aroma of coffee, it feels good to feel at home for small things like this, the small habits that make you feel that here, at least here, you are safe.
- Move to the next one.
Reluctantly, I turn my gaze back to the screen and follow the cursor until it hovers over the second line in the search results. Double-click, and the window with the email text appears. I move the cursor away from the words to make it easier to read, stopping on the dock. The icons enlarge, giving the illusion of a smooth, wave-like motion. I’ve always liked that effect. But now, the feeling isn’t complete, something disturbs me. The largest icon of all is blue, round, with a white “S” on it, and the cursor is resting on it.
I had no idea Marzio had a Skype account. Clicking on it feels like the most natural thing in the world.
A few seconds, the cursor turns into a spinning wheel that spins a couple of times, and then the Skype chat window opens, covering the email the inspector is reading.
- What are you doing? Put the email back, let me finish reading – he complains, waving his open hand and pointing his fingers at the monitor.
But his words mean nothing now.
There is only one name in the contact list.
C.
And Marzio's username is M. just “M.” with a period next to it. Exactly like in Cardia’s photo.
- What are you doing? – the inspector complains again, this time more firmly.
There are three missed calls, two on September 7th and another on September 8th, just after midnight. The inspector looks at me, then at the monitor. I point at the name on the screen.
- It’s her.
And at the same moment my finger stops a few millimeters from the screen, the dot next to the name turns green.
I should think about it, but I don’t.
Double-click, and the video call starts. With my hands, I push the officer aside so that he doesn’t appear in what the webcam captures.
It rings. The cold, hoarse Skype ringtone. It rings again.
A sound alerts me that the call is active. The recipient’s window opens, but the screen is black. No image appears.
It’s my turn.
- It’s me. – I swallow – I managed to recover his PC. I opened Skype and saw the account. I called. I hope you’re okay.
There’s a long moment of silence after my words. So long that I feel like asking whether my words reached the other side clearly, whether they arrived at all, or if there’s truly someone on the other side of the camera.
- You’re a beautiful girl. He always told me that. He was right.
That’s his voice. It has a light, pleasant French accent. Feminine, delicate.
- How are you? Everything okay?
- Yes, I’m fine, I’m safe. And you?
- Yes, everything's fine. Yesterday, I managed to get into his house and took the computer home.
- How did you get into his house?
- I found the keys.
- Where?
- In one of his coats.
Silence.
- You told me to check the beige trench coat, and then I tried all the ones in the closet.
The inspector slides a note across the keyboard. I read it.
- Listen, there are a couple of things I’d like to ask you. Otherwise, I can’t make sense of anything. May I?
More silence.
- Go ahead – she replies coldly. Tense.
- I saw you tried to call Marzio on September 7th.
- Yes.
- Did you need to tell him something?
- Yes.
- What?
- He had to do something at the office, the last in a complex sequence, and once it was done, we would have been free of a burden, both of us. – The sense of affliction is strong in her tone.
- And then?
- Then what happened, happened.
- But you didn’t know what he had to do?
- No, not in detail.
- I see. – I pause. Then the inspector taps a couple of times on the second question. I don’t read it, running my hand over my chin. I need to ask her this first.
- Listen, can I ask you a personal question?
- Yes.
- I – my voice trembles – I saw a piece of paper. A sheet where Marzio wrote some things, a formula, a kind of oath, and then two drops of blood on the paper.
- I get the impression she’s holding her breath. The line goes silent; there's only an electric hum in the background, letting me know there’s still a connection between us.
- Where did you find it? – her voice is tense.
- At Cardia’s house. In Sorrento. In his desk.
- Who took you there?
- Isabella.
Again, silence.
I lean back in my chair. I stare into the Mac’s camera. I know she’s watching me.
- Who are you?
My voice fades into the background of urban traffic, slowly rising and filling my ears. There’s breathing next to me—it’s the inspector, kneeling and watching me in profile, listening to what I’m saying. I only hear his breathing; he’s otherwise motionless.
She tries to say something, then gives up. She’s struggling with herself.
- You can tell me.
- Yes, that’s true, but also not. – she says – Because this thing belonged to the three of us and only us. That’s the meaning of the oath. It was Augusto’s idea.
- But what’s your connection with them?
She sighs.
- But in the end, none of us are left. I’m the only one carrying this weight.
- I’m here too. – I say with a touch of bitterness.
- Yes, you’re right. You’re here too. You’re the extension of Marzio now. His hand, the last thing that ties me to him and Augusto.
- Who are you? – A long pause separates us.
- I helped Marzio. To do what he needed to do. Augusto introduced me to him. He called me one day and said he needed me, so I took a plane and came. Augusto never called for nothing. – Her words flow freely, her French accent mixing with her desire to free herself from this burden – And when I heard him that time, I knew he truly needed me, so I came.
- How did you know him?
- Augusto? – she pauses. – You’ve been to Sorrento, haven’t you? You said you were in his study. Well, there you must have seen a painting, assuming Isabella left it there.
- Yes, I saw it.
- That’s a portrait of my mother.
- Your mother?
- From when she was a child and lived there. That was my mother’s face when my father fell in love with her.
My breath catches in my chest.
- You’re Cardia’s daughter? – the question escapes my lips without control.
She pauses.
- Yes, it’s me. – she says in a somber tone.
We stay silent for a few seconds, then she continues.
- Augusto didn’t raise me. But he always loved me. I lived in Paris all my life. He always supported my mother and me, even during his failed marriage. And when she fell ill for the last time and everything ended, the only one left here for me was him. He never failed me. He loved me; I felt it and still feel it. He loved me like he loved my mother. He could never take her with him; it wasn’t their destiny to be together. They both knew it and accepted it, but the truth is they never let go of each other, always bound by a double thread that kept them close and far at the same time. It’s hard to explain, but that’s how it is. – she speaks like a flood, a dam that has burst – then came the call. I went down to Sorrento, and one day he arrived with Marzio. Both had tense faces. Marzio needed to know something, to access some information that was hidden, concealed, and the only way to do it was through a third person, someone far from him or Augusto. A person unsuspecting and trustworthy. – My gaze is fixed on the camera, but I can feel the inspector moving, jotting down what she’s saying in his notebook.
You.
- Me. – she replies.
Copyright © The MaDMan, 2013. All rights reserved.
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The web gets even more twisted. I enjoy the conflict of the inspector trying to investigate and then her feelings getting in the way. It's very tense. Awesome stuff.