He lies on the Jester's cart - 4

Apr 01, 2025

He lies on the Jester's cart

Mar 30

I grip the coffee maker, then take a cloth, wrap it around, and squeeze it again, turning it a little more. Then it’s the turn of a napkin. I dampen it with some water and wrap it around the joint of the moka. I turn on the stove and place it on top.

- You know, Marzio, the thing is, none of this was supposed to happen.

I move to the table and sit down, resting my arms on it.

- You weren’t supposed to die. And I wasn’t supposed to be alone.

Marzio looks at me, standing in the kitchen doorway, one step inside and one out. He’s wearing a white shirt and fitted black pants. His expression is sad, and he seems pale.

- Do you miss me, Marzio?

His expression doesn’t change.

- I’ve missed you so much, to death.

The water in the moka starts bubbling.

It feels as if someone is gripping my stomach and squeezing tightly. As if I have a million words to say, but they all pile up at that tiny doorway, pushing and pulling, each one wanting to come out first, and I remain silent, waiting for them. He’s in front of me, watching, and for a moment, I calm down. I live in this anxiety that pulls me into this whirlpool, dreaming of waking up again like last Sunday, in your arms. And your voice whispering that everything’s okay.

But is everything okay, Marzio? If everything is okay, why did you leave?

- Did you want to die, Marzio? Did you? I don’t believe it. I don’t believe it, not for a second.

I stand up, the coffee is rising, and I take a step toward him.

- Marzio, why won’t you talk to me? Why won’t you tell me what happened to you?

I take another step. We’re two meters apart now.

- …what really happened, my love.

I take another step, and he moves back, serene.

Maybe I could touch him if I threw myself at him. But I’m afraid.

What if I touch him? What happens if I touch him? I’m afraid he’ll disappear.

It’s an endless torture. A tear falls without me wanting it to. I feel like my life is fragile, like it doesn’t make sense.

- It doesn’t make sense without you, do you understand? It doesn’t. You filled it up.

I wipe my tears with my hands. He used to wipe them for me, with his.

The coffee is ready.

I go to the cupboard and take two cups, putting a teaspoon of sugar in each, then pouring the coffee into two equal parts. I stir it well, and a strong aroma rises from the porcelain with a wisp of steam. I place both cups on the table.

- If you want, your coffee is here.

I haven’t slept all night. Or at least, it feels that way. I don’t remember well.

I don’t know if God exists, or hell or heaven. If I’m going mad and seeing visions, but all of this feels so real. You feel so real, so now, so here. This feeling of truth. It’s not possible to fool yourself like this with your mind.

Or is it?

Maybe.

Yes. I could be completely mad. I could be schizophrenic, and eventually, they’ll lock me up. Lock me up and throw away the key.

In the meantime, I could believe. I could believe it’s true and that you’re here. Do you think I’m hurting myself by doing this? I could say that life moves on, that I’ll suffer for a while over you, and then I’ll forget you, and you’ll disappear. But it’s not like that. And even if it were, I don’t want to be like that because, to me, you are everything. And I can’t deny what everything means to me. I can be crazy then, yes, I can, I can accept that, and I want to believe you’re here for a reason. And my madness will be confirmed or cured when I find out why you’re here, haunting my soul. Inside my eyes.

You’re so beautiful, Marzio. I almost forgot the color of your eyes, the length of your fingers, the shape of your shoulders. It seemed like you were slipping away from my mind, like a mark in the sand at the water’s edge.

In the end, I’d still have the photos, but it wouldn’t be the same. It would be remembering the memory of you. No longer knowing what was hidden in that tiny scrap of flesh so microscopic on paper or pixels that blur when I zoom in on the image, preserving you in something so meager for what you are, for what you are to me, Marzio. You are my champion.

My sign of victory.

The words of love die, suffocated in my throat.

- Drink your coffee, please.

I extend my hand to indicate it and smile. It feels sweet on my lips, and I remember the first time we met. The warmth in my heart. The bookstore, the lower floor, the coffee counter. The last slice of berry cheesecake, you asking for it while I was still standing there, not knowing what to choose, and when I heard your words, I let out a sharp little whine. I didn’t even know why it came out of my mouth, I didn’t mean to, I swear. It was automatic, maybe it was karma spilling from my lips. And you turned, looked at me, and said, “If you want it, I can give it to you, and you can buy it, or I’ll buy it and offer you half.” I remember laughing and blushing at the same time. I hated you for embarrassing me but adored you for the sweetness with which you did it. You were always so handsome. I would have taken my heart out of my chest and given it to you. It’s yours, I would’ve said. Do with it what you want. And finding out that you, like me, were waiting until seven to go to an exhibition of an unknown artist in that nearby gallery—how could two people end up doing something like that in such a small space? It’s a density of probability that makes no sense, you yelled, and laughed. “You like berry cheesecake and neo-realist artists. You’re someone worth knowing! Except in the morning at breakfast! Unless there’s a sufficient supply of berry cheesecake!” Amen! My love.

Amen, my love. Let it be so, in your arms.

My coffee cup is empty. Yours is full.

It’s time to do something.

I feel cold—it’s the cold of the morning, of the sleep that’s missing, of the new day arriving, of life and its breath tightening my skin. The sweater I’m wearing is loose and high-necked. I wrap my hands around my waist, my lips clench into a tight line until they disappear. I want to cry, but I can’t.

- Now we’re going to do something, Marzio.

As I say this, I’m looking at the ground, trying to convince myself I can move from here.

I can do it. I need the computer, and we’ll start from there.

It’s an irresistible force that keeps me still. If I stay here, it tells me, nothing will happen. If you move, you’ll be attacked. The memories, the pain, the sorrow. What’s better than this precarious balance, where you just breathe to live? You could forget everything and believe that time passes without purpose today, tomorrow, and beyond. In the meantime, you wouldn’t suffer. The claws wouldn’t tear at your flesh. Your gaze is cold, but at least you’re looking at me, and I’m looking at you. It’s not life, but it looks like it, and I’d be willing to accept it.

I don’t think you could have tolerated this speech from me, you know? I think you would have taken me by the arm and pulled me out of the room, shouting in my face that action is what matters. That those who stand still die. Those who stay silent lose. Isn’t that right? That’s why you’re here now, isn’t it? Because you can’t stay silent, because you can’t help but act. Because there’s something that needs to be done, and it has to be done so intensely that you’re standing here in front of me, even though you’re dead.

Why are you dead, Marzio?

I bite my lower lip. It’s impossible that you wanted to die, love. It’s impossible, you would never have done it, you wouldn’t have left me like this, without a word, a sign, something. You were supposed to be happy. We were supposed to be happy together. A shiver shakes me, and it’s warm. Anger rises inside me, boiling in my stomach. Someone did something to you; it can’t be anything else.

I pull away from the counter where I was leaning and walk toward him. He steps back and to the right. I step out of the door and smile at him. He never looks at me. I walk toward the living room on the left. The laptop is on the two-seater couch. I sit, pulling my legs up to my chest, grab the computer, place it on my knees, and open it. I type the password, and it’s on.

Where do we start?

From your personal email.

I go to Google and click on Gmail, account name marzio.solimena@gmail.com.

Password. I try the one for Facebook, I know that one. I type it in, my heart tightens as I do. I love you. But it’s okay. I press enter, and from Google Accounts, a gray screen opens. The blue bar in the middle loads, and at the top, it says "Loading marzio.solimena@gmail.com." The inbox screen appears. There are 128 unread messages, and I start scrolling through the names. Some I recognize, scattered among the ads. Among the names I know, from Thursday until today, there are farewell messages. In the email headers, there are goodbyes, and in the body, small farewell phrases. I don’t know what to think. Whether it disgusts me, saddens me, or if it’s something beautiful.

How long has it been since I opened this computer? My hands tremble and feel like damp wood. I stop to read these words. I clench my teeth. I don’t want to, but it happens.

How many people truly cared about you, and how many just wanted to take and use you? Keep you by their side like a trophy. I don’t know—how many of these names seem like bearers of lies? I can’t recognize them anymore.

Wednesday.

Wednesday. You were at work on Wednesday. Were we supposed to meet? No, we weren’t. You were working. It was a long day. I reach into my pocket and grab my phone. I open WhatsApp and read our conversation. The last message received at 2:35 PM: I ate, you wrote. I miss you, I love you. We’ll talk later.

We’ll talk later.

Ads. Newsletter from the Teatro San Carlo, Art Market Insights. One of my emails, a photo taken with Instagram. There’s so much stuff here. My eyes fall under the inbox, and I see “Special” and below that, “Important.”

I look at the “Special” folder. There are sixteen emails, almost all from me. They’re the love letters I used to write to him from time to time. Oh God, why am I doing this to myself? I cry, I cry, and I can’t stop. I cry, and my mouth opens, frozen in a grimace of pain. I feel the muscles in my face tightening, the spasm locking up my body, the skin on my face becoming warm, burning, my temples, my eyelids. I clench my fists against my chest and collapse onto the cushions. A few seconds, just a few seconds.

It’s okay, it’s okay. Now it’s okay. I continue.

I stay there for a moment with my face pressed into the cushions, breathing, arms stretched out. You need to stop crying. You need to do something. I sob. Unwillingly. It’s as if my soul wants to escape from my chest.

I’m almost okay.

I’m almost okay—I would settle for being able to say that if someone asked me. I wipe my tears with my wrists. I take a deep breath. My cheeks are warm, and I take the computer in my hands again. "Special."

The first one’s mine, the second one’s mine. They’re arranged from oldest to most recent. Each has a particular flavor, a vivid memory. My mind clouds over. There’s Cardia. Dated April 25. And there’s another, more recent, August 29. The sender is “lili,” lowercase. I open the one from Cardia.

It’s brief.

Hi Marzio,

I’ve thought a lot about what you told me. I know your father relied on you a lot, as do I, and you’ve given me reason to believe that I’m right.

Just know that there are some things I need to tell you. You need to hear them from me, looking me in the eyes. You’re young, and it’s the young who have the strength to change things.

I’ll be waiting for you at my place tomorrow evening after dinner.

As I read it, I feel my heart pounding in my chest. I try to think back to Marzio during that time. Before Cardia’s death, I remember our happiest time together. I remember him sweet and carefree, our trip to Paris, when we left without notice, and I had to ask for time off on the very night he came to pick me up from work with the suitcase ready.

- I packed everything you need, - he said. - We’ll get the rest there.

- You’re crazy - I said.

- Let’s go; the plane leaves soon. We might miss it.

The simplicity with which he faced obstacles made them insignificant, small bumps to glide over without breaking stride.

- How do you do it? - I would ask.

- If you stop to think about it, you’ll only make it worse. Just act, do, and everything will follow. It’s zen, my love!

Zen—he always said it. Be natural, he’d say. Let things flow and act.

And I, stuck wondering why. Whether it was right or wrong. Whether the consequences would hurt or destroy me. And he, animated, would run, taking me with him, chasing his dreams and freedom. So much fear, so much joy in following him blindly. I, naturally still, could leave behind my anxieties of failure and fly on the wind he blew under my wings.

- You know what Cardia says? He says if you fall from a high peak into a bottomless ravine, just spread your wings, and you’ll fly. Do you know Bernoulli’s theorem? The stronger the wind that hits you, the more lift your wings will have. Don’t hold yourself when you’re scared, embrace the world. Keep your arms wide, and the wind will lift you. Because you are a wonderful person, and the world preserves wonderful things.

Does it preserve, Marzio?

I look at him. He’s there, watching me silently as I watch him.

Then why did you disappear?

Slowly, the urge to see those lips move slips away. They’re livid, cold, and he’s pale.

Rain begins to patter on the windows. The living room is dark, and the little light that enters casts long, blurred shadows.

How happy you were, how beautiful it was to be infected by your happiness, my love. My eyes fall back to the screen.

The email signed “lili” is even shorter. It says only this:

I received the message. I know how to help you, and I want to do it.

Let’s meet at Caffè Letterario at 10:00 PM

Tomorrow

Lili

These words swirl in my mind. There’s a black hole in Marzio’s life, and I know nothing about it. These are the milestones of his descent into the abyss. I look at my hands as if peeking into my soul. I didn’t notice anything. What did you go through, Marzio, to reach this point?

It started with Cardia’s death, and it led to this “lili.” These four months flew by like the wind while my life flowed smoothly, easily, with thoughts of you. What did you live through? Why did you keep me out of it? Were you protecting me? Did you want to protect me, or did you not trust me?

I get up, leave the computer on the couch, and start pacing the living room. I try to think of Marzio, how he was in May after Cardia’s death—the funeral, the black clothes, his somber expression for a few weeks. But he came back to me every night; we ate together, and eventually, we laughed again. If something was going on, and these are the signs, I didn’t notice it. But could I have noticed it?

I turn to him.

- All of this, this thing that happened, led to your death. It was important. Why didn’t you ever tell me?

My voice trembles without my will. I don’t know if I shouted or whispered.

The sound of the bells is sharp, crystalline. All my muscles lock up. I can feel him behind me.

His presence fills the room, as if an enormous shadow had snuffed out all the light, and only the flicker of a candle illuminates my heart, clenched tight in a vice.

It’s heavy, oppressive. I don’t want to turn around, I don’t want to, but I have to. It’s as if he grabs my shoulder and pushes me, forcing me to pivot on my legs. I do it.

I see his hands gripping the dresser to the right of the window. His fingers are wide, pressing hard on the white lacquered wood. Between his hands, in the middle, the hat with pointed tips and bells peeks out. He presses hard and pushes, shifting the dresser twenty centimeters forward from the wall. It had been against it before. His face appears, and as he rises, the hat moves, and the bells jingle. It’s an unpleasant sound. It fills me with anxiety. He laughs.

He’s a strange creature. I don’t know what he is, but his presence is unsettling. My mind howls, and my thoughts are confused. I’m frozen. Part of me screams, wishing he would disappear, while the other wants to sleep and wake up when all of this is over. But he rises, kneeling on the dresser and sitting. He looks at me with a defiant grin and laughs. His laugh is dry, raspy.

- So? How’s our little adventure going? Have you two made any progress? Oh, you make such a perfect couple! No secrets between you, is that right, my dear? - He claps his hands in satisfaction, then assumes a startled expression. - What’s that? Things have happened, and you haven’t told her? Why didn’t you, my boy? - He puts his hand to his ear, leaning forward. - Oh, but I don’t know if that excuse will be enough to stop your girl from going mad with rage,- he chuckles malevolently.

- You... are you talking to him? - I can’t believe I managed to say anything.

- Oh, of course! But I could also say no, and that I’m deceiving you! - He laughs louder. - Do you think I’m talking to him? Let’s play a game! Ask me a question, and I’ll ask him for you! If he answers, I’ll tell you his response, and then you can decide if I’m lying or telling the truth. But know this game comes at a price. Do you still want to play?

- What’s the price? - My heart trembles as I say it.

- If you choose to play, I’ll take his eyes. They’ll be mine. - He jumps up excitedly. - Seems like a fair trade!

- His eyes? - I don’t understand.

He leaps down from the dresser and walks quickly toward Marzio, dragging his right leg slightly as he moves. He reaches him, grabs hold of his waist, clings to his shirt, and climbs up him, fast. He wraps his legs around Marzio’s abdomen and his left hand around his neck. Perched on his shoulders, he looks at me, touching Marzio’s eyelids with his right hand.

- See these? - He forces Marzio’s eyes shut and then open again with those wretched, wrinkled hands, pushing hard as he does. Marzio remains impassive. - I want them for myself. They’ll be mine. Mine! - He laughs. It disgusts me to see him touching Marzio’s face like that. A terrible rage rises inside me, bubbling in my stomach and climbing to my throat.

- Stop touching him, damn you! Get off him! Enough!

I scream and rush toward them, taking three heavy steps. It feels like the walls are shaking from the impact. I reach them; I can touch them. I extend my arms but stop, frozen by his icy eyes staring at me. I see joy and fury mixed together. His grin is exaggerated and cruel. The fury in me suddenly dissipates. It strips me, leaving me naked, covered only by fear.

- Go on, touch us, - he says, his muscles tense with spasms in his demonic laughter. - Touch us - he repeats, his voice sharp.

I don’t do it. I know that if I do, something terrible will happen.

- Touch us!

His voice thunders with an infernal roar. The room trembles, and objects fall from the shelves, porcelain shatters into pieces, and I’m thrown backward. I fly as if hit by the explosion of a bomb, my back slamming against the edge of the couch, and a dull pain spreads through my right side. I arch and moan in pain. My ears ring, and I see the walls spinning around me. Another sharp pain, I cough. I place my hands on the floor. Oh God, what’s happening to me? I exhale and cough again. I’m lying on the floor, my right cheek and temple pressed against the ground. I can’t focus on anything more than ten centimeters away. Everything is blurred and confused. I exhale in pain. Breathe. Exhale in pain. I’m still alive. I know I am. Exhale in pain. It’s easier this time.

I bring my hand to my side, massaging it, and close my eyes. I reopen them. And he’s still clinging to Marzio, holding him with his hands. Marzio looks like a helpless puppet. It hurts to see him like this.

- I haven’t finished telling you the rules. I haven’t finished, so I forgive you for this act of arrogance, you insignificant little being. Rotten flesh. - His face is twisted with rage. His eyes are sunken, his lips turned downward, and deep wrinkles carve into his sharp nose. - You’re a foolish and dangerous girl, and you don’t understand the game. You want to break it, and you want to offend me. And if you continue, I’ll devour your soul. I’ll burn you, rip everything from you until you scream in pain forever. Through the infinite of time, and I’ll take pleasure in it. - His voice is deep, dark, completely different from before. - The third rule of the game is that once you’re in, you can’t leave without losing everything. You either play until the end, accept the consequences, and become mine, or I’ll give you the chance to save yourself and let your boy sleep. - He grips Marzio’s neck, sliding his face against his cheeks. It’s tormenting to watch. - But you can do nothing but play.

His voice fades, leaving only a high-pitched ringing in my ears. I don’t know what’s happening to my life. I don’t know what trick of fate has been laid before me.

The only sensation I have, deep in my heart and mind, is that if I fight against him, I won’t win. I won’t prevail and take back my life. I just have to go along with him. I have to flow with him. See where this river takes me.

I sit up. The pain is fading, but I can’t breathe deeply without a stabbing pain in my ribs.

- You’re here because he asked you to be.

He doesn’t respond.

- He asked because there are things I need to know and things I need to do. - I feel clear-headed as I speak these words. They come out of me on their own. - I’ve discovered there are things I don’t know. Things that led Marzio to act, to say certain things. And then to burn inside his company, inside his office. Marzio is telling me that nothing is by chance. That something brought him there, that something brought him death.

His hands rest on Marzio’s shoulders, and his face seems to be relaxing.

- I will. I’ll find out what happened. And what you want me to discover.

That being climbs down from Marzio’s shoulders, sliding down while keeping its hands on his waist. Then it walks toward me. It approaches until it’s just centimeters from my face. It’s terrifying. His eyes are deep, endless, his breath shallow, and his skin looks like rubber.

- Excellent - he says with his acidic voice.

He laughs, showing yellow, crooked, broken teeth. I shrink back, closing my eyes, still afraid.

Tears well up in my eyes, and I let out a small whimper. Then I open them again.

He’s gone. He’s disappeared. The room is back in order. Nothing happened.

Marzio is in the corner of the room, where he’s always been.