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Part two (Damien’s power)

Giovanni, in addition to being an excellent cook, knew how to shop. “There was no doubt about that!” Damien seemed to confirm, while savouring the appetizer with grilled vegetables and white grape risotto. Giovanni was seventy years old, ten of which he spent at the service of an upper class Florentine family and ten in Damien’s home. The lengthy cohabitation of the two had consolidated a relationship of respect and mutual trust, and the knowledge of each other’s taste. If Giovanni hadn’t met Damien, maybe he would have lived in solitude. When he was fifty years old, he lost his wife, who was the only love of his life, in a car accident in which he also lost his right foot. He wore a prosthesis and walked with a considerable claudication, but he found a tangible help in Damien. However, Damien could only help him in the form of a job offer. Damien’s power had no effect on Giovanni.

Between the two of them there was a great conspiracy, sometimes all they needed was a gesture, even the slightest, to communicate something. Their friendship turned into brotherhood. It was as if the thoughts of one were always intercepted by the other. They couldn’t hide anything from each other. There were no secrets between them. Not even if they tried. And neither of them would have wanted to keep a secret from the other.

While Damien dined, Giovanni was in a corner of the kitchen which he had equipped with a bench dedicated to the preparation of the VAPE liquids. In a small cupboard were crammed several bottles of bases containing glycerine and glycol with or without nicotine and little bottles of various concentrations of aromas to be diluted.

Giovanni often experienced new tastes, by mixing aromas together and he always created excellent products ready to be vaporized, which invariably met the taste of his friend or that of some “special” customer.

Once prepared, he bottled them, each with its own hand written label. That night he created a special bottle and named it “Ainòs”. While closing the cabinet, he saw the label’s reflection on the door and smiled.

Damien looked up from his plate and looked out the window door in front of him, the one that led into the garden. What he saw would have scared another person to death.

He rested his elbows on the table, folded his hands, rested his chin on them and he kept his serene and steady gaze on the eyes of Chopin, his black cat, who was sitting on a stool on the other side of the window, stretching his front paws, with eyes that asked: “Please open up and give me a some kibbles!”.

They looked at each other for a minute. Damien tilted his head to one side and Chopin imitated him, then he waved him “hello” and Chopin imitated him, then he raised his paw as if to knock on the glass. Finally Damien got up and opened the window to let him in.

“Chopin! All day long you stray away, and then you slowly come back at the end of the day! Come in and have yourself a comfortable stay!”

The cat didn’t need to be told twice, he appreciated the rhymes, he jumped in and sat under Damien’s chair, who sat back down at the table, and handed him a bowl of kibbles.

Every evening Chopin came back home at that hour. For the whole day he was out in the company of his stray friends with whom he grew up. Giovanni found him wheezing on the ground, with a strong rhinotracheitis, so he brought him to Damien, who healed him with his power.

Giovanni showed up at the house with the cat, a few years ago and all his friend had to do was to touch him to heal him.

Every time it happened to him he felt that same sensation. Giovanni called it a “tinglingstab”. A tingling in his right or left hand, depending on which of the two touched the other person, and it almost began to vibrate.

Damien felt as if he had a nest of ants under the skin of his hand which woke up from a long sleep and began to move frantically, trying to get out of his body. Then felt a stabbing of sharp needles. And the stronger his receptiveness of the other person was, the stronger those stabs became. It was a feeling that would have made others scream in pain. Not Damien. He was used to it, since he was a boy.

Although the “tinglingstab” anticipated the effectiveness of his power in connection to those whom he touched, it was still a sad verdict. The pain he felt was strong, although he hid it very well, but he felt it, and how!

Therefore every time he touched a receptive being, he always felt the same pain. Damien never caressed Chopin. Nor did he ever pick him up. If anything, at times, Giovanni placed him on his legs, when he was sitting on the armchair in front of the television. The same thing also happened with people. For this reason, Damien could never have an intimate relationship with a woman (or a man). It was a weird spell. The individuals, with whom he could fall in love with, were always receptive to his power.

When he was twelve years old, among the girls who attended his school in an upscale neighbourhood of Tunis, Karima was his favourite. He fell in love with her and was glad to hear from her girlfriends that she also liked him. He had to tell her, and for a few days he pondered on how to do it, where and when to reveal his feelings for her. One afternoon, he collected his courage and went to the place where Karima and her friends usually played.When he arrived, he saw the most painful scene of his entire life. Karima’s mother was bending over her; she was lying lifelessly on the ground. Her friends were all around her, astonished, and couldn’t understand what had happened; they couldn’t bring themselves to cry nor scream. The girl was dead. An aneurysm had taken her away without notice. That condition had declared itself before Damien could, it proved to be quicker and less shy.

Damien sank to the floor near Karima and stroke her hair. In that moment he could no longer hear her mother’s cries of pain, he didn’t even hear the ambulance siren that had stopped next to him, he felt nothing but a strong pain in the hand that he rested on the girl’s head and in his head instead, he heard a persistent and deafening sound, he felt as though he had wasps inside his ears.

He got up, and saw that everything around him seemed to freeze. He ran away, far away, desperately, with his fingers in his ears, turning back to see if he was being chased by the lion that had bitten his hands, for they ached so much, but it was all in his mind. He ran far away and since then, he learned to live with those wasps in his ears and that lion’s bite on his hands. Forever.

The night that followed Karima’s death, she appeared to Damien in a dream. She was dressed in a white tunic and was luminous. Even her face radiated an unreal light. She wasn’t in a physical or recognizable space. Rather she was within a beam of sunlight and all around her, in the clear blue sky, the air shimmered, like the flickering on a hot tarmac in August, or in the desert with the sun at its zenith. Karima was speaking to him; her voice was a chorus of voices of different qualities, every word she said, seemed to be sculpted into his hands, as if they were indelible notes to be stored for the rest of his life. Karima brought him a gift and she left with Damien’s solemn promise not to tell anyone.

Part three (anonymous letter)

That Saturday night, the starry sky and the cool air were good reasons to go for a walk outdoors. An Arabian moon, cut out with precise definition, allowed a glimpse of the rest of the moon which was in the shade, just as a beautiful woman wearing a robe, reveals her figure through a fine silk fabric. The neighbourhood had already been asleep for a while.

The streets were going to be cleaned at three o’clock in the morning; therefore the area was clear of the cars that usually parked there. A summery wind, which carried a faint sea fragrance, played with a tin can on the ground, causing it to tumble from time to time with a metallic sound, which was the only sound in the silence of the night, when Damien opened the gate and walked out of his property.

Chopin walked silently at his side, turning his nose to the right and to the left, but in a distracted and bored manner, with no desire to go hunting.

Giovanni had already gone to bed. He cleared the table and rearranged the kitchen before going to his room; he said goodnight to Damien and told him that he had prepared a new flavour “Ainòs”.

“Tzu tusk! “ Damien made a sound to call back the cat.

“Miaooooo!” Chopin replied, turning his head back toward his friend who was already a little far away from him.

“Come here! Stand by Me! Psssssst! “

The cat stopped and waited for Damien, yawning. Then, together, with the same quiet step, they made their way to the store, just around the corner of the street.

Once they arrived in front of the closed door, Damien observed that the security guard had already passed by, for he noticed the white slip that proved he had passed by the store placed in a track of the shutter.

Next to that track, on the ledge, was the store’s mailbox. From the opening protruded a yellow envelope.

How strange... a letter, “why didn’t the mailman bring it to the store this morning?” he thought as he pulled it out with guarded curiosity.

Attracted by the colour of the paper, lit by the light of a nearby street lamp, a plump but still hungry mosquito went to lie on Damien's hand. And it died right then and there.

He felt, with a certain pain, the stab that pierced his muscle between his thumb and his forefinger.

“Well... I no longer can do anything for you!” speaking to the small insect that was already in the cat’s mouth.

Taking advantage of the street lamp, he opened the envelope, which was addressed simply to: “Mr Damien G.”, and was written and delivered by hand, because it had no postage. Inside the envelope was a chequered sheet of paper, the kind that can be pulled from a small notebook and in fact, it had tear marks on the top edge.

If that mosquito had not had the arrogance to bite his hand, Damien would have been able to feel, although slightly, if the sender could be a potentially receptive individual.

But, since his hand was sore, he put the paper in his left hand. He didn’t feel anything.

“What a shame!” He said to Chopin, who looked at him with his little head tilted sideways, and then, as if he understood him, (and indeed he had), he shook his head and sat down, waiting for the rest of the comments on the letter.

“Dear Mr Damien,

You sold an electronic cigarette

and a liquid refill with nicotine to my daughter,

who it is still a minor.

I'm sure It’s not the first time that you break

the Law and therefore I warn you that soon you’ll receive the visit of the Anti-Adulteration Squad, I’m sure that they will find something for which they’ll fine you.

Indeed, I hope so.

A pissed off parent”

A slow motion movie played fast in Damien’s memory, who tried to remember who that girl to whom he had sold cigarettes and nicotine could be, although he was convinced of the absurdity of those accusations. Surely it had to be something recent, less than a month ago. Could it be that he had sold a cigarette to a minor? No, it wasn’t possible, when he had doubts he always asked for a document. What if a friend bought it for her? This could be the most conceivable explanation.

How much time passes before a good parent realizes that his daughter vapes or smokes?

Oh God... it’s not hard to understand that your child smokes. Their breath, clothes, hair, everything is saturated with the smell of smoke. But it’s hard to notice that they vape! Of course the electronic cigarette is not a tool that comes on its own. It has a battery charger, a bottle of liquid, perhaps even a box, or a strap. A lot of things that need to be hidden, “Don’t you think so Chopin?” He questioned the cat by thought alone.

The animal stood up on its feet, walked around itself, as if he was chasing his tail and resumed the direction from where they had come. Damien folded the paper, put it in his jacket pocket and continued walking towards the main street.

He turned just a moment to see if the cat had actually taken the road home.

Part four (Massimo)

While Damien folded the anonymous letter, not far from him, Massimo put the letter he had received from the Italian Social Security Service in a drawer. In it was written that he was granted the attendance allowance he had requested for his elderly and disabled mother. That long-awaited financial help had finally arrived, and Massimo was to show up on the following Monday at the specific offices to formalize everything.

The letter, made up of just a few valuable lines, arrived on Friday morning. That Saturday night, before falling asleep, he read it over again. Good news usually heralds a good dream, as bad news brings bad ones. Without even thinking about it that much, Massimo related the many positive things that had happened to him in that short lapse of time, to his meeting with Damien. Not that he thought that Damien had some kind of special power; rather he credited the events in his favour to his courageous decision to quit smoking. And he had made that decision prompted by Damien’s encouragement. Something in his mind had changed.

In re-reading the letter, in Massimo’s head happened the same thing that happened to Damien. Just like two people sitting in a movie theatre at the same time, watching two different movies, in two different theatres at the same cinema: Memory Cinema.

Following his father’s death, when Massimo was just eighteen years old, the world had become a hostile place to him. Finishing school and graduating as a surveyor had involved considerable sacrifices. His father was the only one who had a steady job, but he didn’t even accrue the minimum of his pension contributions, while his mother, a housewife who did a little domestic work here and there, was able to earn just enough money for their daily expenses. They needed to pay their mortgage. When they signed the papers with the bank for the purchase of the apartment, they didn’t even consider insurance in case of death. “Who'll kill me?” Massimo’s father asked. But in the 90s, cancer killed a lot of people.

So Massimo had to find an evening job and found one in a bar in the historic centre of Florence. One of those bars that closed at two in the morning, if all went well. Therefore, he worked the shift from seven p.m. to two a.m., got home at two thirty in the morning, slept five hours and went to school. After lunch, he napped for an hour, studied, had a snack and ran off, back to the bar. When he was twenty years old, he was so skinny, he seemed ill.Immediately after graduation things seemed to get better. An established engineering agency was looking for a technical designer and Massimo found his ideal job for ten years. Then came the moment when his pride beat his rationality. He decided to take the plunge and open his own Studio as a Surveyor and try to become a self-employed professional. And that’s when his problems began. The construction crisis, the few customers who paid him, did so late or at a very low price; the weight of bureaucracy, the thousands of complex rules which limited his project ideas and, finally, his mother was stricken with Alzheimer’s disease. This combination of circumstances triggered a steady and progressive dissatisfaction in Massimo, which turned into a state of depression, from which, however, he now seemed to be slowly coming out of.The decision to quit smoking and the fact that he was succeeding; his meeting with Sonia, (and the fact that he liked her!); having found a new world, the “VAPE” world, which led to new acquaintances, such as Damien’s shop and other Vapers that he had met in the meanwhile; these events were, in Massimo’s mind, giving a new sense to his life. Maybe it wasn’t that bad at all.

In his room, when he turned off the light and went to sleep it was pitch dark.

Unlike Sonia, he preferred to sleep in absolute darkness. Two years of evening work at the bar made him adopt these sleep habits. After the natural light of day, and the artificial lights of the long night at the bar, once he got home, it was nice to be able to close his eyes and stay in the dark. It was also nice to open his eyes for a second and still be in the dark. He had few hours to rest at night, and those few hours had to be “night.” Deep night.

But until then he had never felt that unsteadiness, in his sleep; that feeling of being precariously balanced on the edge of a rock, like a very high trampoline on a black and wavy sea, which he felt but couldn’t see, because it was totally immersed in the dark night, no moon, no stars.

He could distinctly hear the roar of the waves, he felt his face being whipped by the wind and he knew that his body was wavering on an unstable surface, insecure over that horrible abyss.

He couldn’t open his eyes. He was trying to move the muscles of his eyelids, which were so heavy they overcame all his efforts. He was aware of the fact that, if he opened his eyes, he would still be in the dark, but in his room. He knew it, therefore he was between sleep and wakefulness, but he felt as though he was hypnotized. Surrendering to that feeling, he felt the urge to let himself fall into space, for he realized that it would be an imaginary jump, and he was sure that through that leap he would finally wake up. But could he be sure of it?

At last, a man from behind took his hand, held it and miraculously pulled him back, saving him from falling off the cliff. Massimo didn’t have time to see his face because he woke up.

Good news doesn’t always herald good dreams. And even the opposite isn’t true.

Part five (Giorgio)

When Sonia went back to sleep, that same Saturday, her nightmare was soon followed by other thoughts and dreams, luckily less troubling, and it vanished like a vague and clouded memory.

Sunday morning she woke up in a good mood, and she switched the alarm button on to radio mode, already tuned to her favourite frequency: Radio Italia solo Musica Italiana [a radio channel which plays only Italian music]. In doing so, she felt the usual satisfaction, for she beat the clock, anticipating the ring. Maybe she had never even heard that sound, except for the first time, in order to set the volume.

Sonia had an inner timer, if she had to get up at a certain hour; she did it automatically, as if she had set within herself a very reliable and accurate mental alarm.

The radio seemed to make fun of her, for at that moment they were playing Venditti’s song: “...What a nice Sunday, spent at home waiting, but the phone won’t ring anymore, and your boyfriend ran off...”

“That’s not true, my boyfriend will call me, you can be sure of that!” Said Sonia, yawning.

As a matter of fact, she didn’t have time to finish her breakfast and the phone rang, contrary to the singer Venditti’s predictions.

“Good morning!” Giorgio greeted her from the other end.

“Hi Giogiò, did you sleep well?” Answered Sonia, almost choking on the toasted bread she was chewing.

“Yes... I’m leaving the house now; I’ll be at your place in twenty minutes, start inflating the wheels of your bike!”

“Hmm... No, I’ll wait for you. I don’t feel like pumping so early in the morning!” She laughed mischievously.

“Hahahaha! It wouldn’t hurt you! All right, I’m on my way!” He hung up, already excited.

Twenty minutes for Giorgio were five minutes for Sonia. A ridiculously short time to dress, put her make-up on, make her bed and clear away the breakfast table. The morning was sunny. Being so warm already at that hour in the morning, she could wear a pair of khaki-coloured shorts, a green polo, of a fairly consistent fabric, so her breasts wouldn’t show, a pair of tennis shoes and a colourful clip to hold her hair back. A little eye shadow to contrast with her brown eyes, a dab of foundation and mascara, a coat of lip gloss, a spray of Bulgari perfume on her neck, wrists and she was ready.

Her bike was on the terrace. She checked the condition of the wheels and they seemed okay. She had already prepared a couple of sandwiches and drinks and put the parcel in her front basket.

She pulled the bike onto the landing, while Giorgio rang the intercom.

“Giorgio, can you come up and get my bike please?” Sonia pleaded as she opened the door.

With his athletic physique, Giorgio climbed the four flights of stairs taking the steps two by two. His lock of long golden blond hair, swayed at every hop. He wore sportswear, shorts and a white shirt with an unbuttoned Korean collar, ankle socks, running shoes, and on his wrist a gold Rolex. He had locked his Mountain Bike to the light pole in the street. “Just to put the lock on, (Sonia thought), it must have taken him five minutes”, knowing him, the lock and his precious Giant bike.

Sonia could smell the scent of the Armani fragrance Acqua di Giò, while he was still on the third flight of stairs.

Giorgio knew how to dress, but always exaggerated with perfumes, deodorants and aftershaves. Anyhow he had no intention to save on such products. His parents were the owners of one of the most sought after perfume shop in Florence.

They made a lot of money. Giorgio was used to a worldly life since he was a boy, for he grew up between private parties in prestigious villas, fashion shows where his father’s company logo was omnipresent as official sponsor and important gatherings to which the whole family attended, including Buddy the bulldog that everyone feared, not for his bite but for his drool.

Giorgio was a handsome guy. He was rich, (and this made him even more handsome), well-educated, (sometimes unbearably so), gracious, (sometimes...).

But he was empty. Yes, empty like an empty Nutella jar. Or rather, like an already labelled jar, left-over by Nutella’s manufacturer.

Sonia often wondered if she had ever even gotten a whiff of that chocolate hazelnut cream. However, she was content. It was a nice jar after all, she would have filled it with something, and she would find a way to do it.

The jar tumbled into her house, while Sonia was putting her electronic cigarette into her backpack.

“I’m here!...What’s that?” The jar... Giorgio asked Sonia, (without panting).

“My electronic cigarette! I bought it a while ago, from that shop nearby. It works, you know.”

“Does that mean that you've decided to quit smoking?” Giorgio asked, intrigued to the point that he stuck his head into the backpack to see “that thing” better.

“Well, at least I’ll try. Shall we go?” Meanwhile she kissed him on the lips.

“Bring the bike downstairs, then we can talk, I have some things to tell you”.

Actually, Sonia was not so sure she wanted to tell Giorgio of her tests, not today at least, not during a nice bike ride.

But she had to do it anyway. It was her boyfriend’s right to know about it. Giogiò, (as she called him), would have been hurt if she had kept it hidden from him, even just for a few days, or even worse if he had heard it from someone else.

They had been going out for about six months, since they met in his father’s perfume shop, where she shopped every once in a while. He liked her for her kindness and her refined elegance; it was almost as if she belonged to another era. She was testing the new Cavalli line, when he came up to her to suggest a fragrance, (which she ended up buying). So he was a man who knew her tastes. They spoke only two words, maybe three, one by her and two by him. Giorgio was the most loquacious between the two of them. It took only a lunch date at the Sushi bar in the centre, then a dinner date in Greve in Chianti. A candle and a good bottle of Chianti wine was enough to bring them together, eye to eye, hand in hand.

Their first dates were sweet. They often dined together in the evening, at her house, or at his house, sometimes out, in fantastic places: by the sea, on a hill, all paces with breath-taking views.

But not very often at his home, though. Giorgio lived in an annex of his parents’ villa. To enter one had to go through the main gate that opened onto the driveway that ended in front of the entrance to his parents’ home. Every time, coincidentally, they were awake. Either because they were giving a party, or because they were playing Buraco with friends, or a business chat with agents that had come to dinner, well... Sonia was always a little reluctant to participate in those presentations and (formal) cordialities.

When they went to Giorgio’s house, she had to dress in a certain manner and, “oh my God, what a bore!”, that was something she had soon discovered to be a burden with which she had to learn to live with.

When you fall in love as kids, in the other person you see the image of the love you’ve dreamt of, and you love the idea that the feeling perfectly matches your expectations. Often, these love affairs end because you discover that they were simply “teenage crushes,” so, once you get over that sense of disappointment that dissolves in a pint of tears, you jump into another affair.

At twenty years old, things become more serious, but they are just like cartoons that change the theme: first they are frogs and princesses, then they become Minnie and Mickey Mouse and Fiona and Shrek. The love affairs of twenty year old people are heroic because they have to fight against the prejudice and criticism of parents and friends; they are lived as passionate adventures with moments of romance which, I’m sure, will never come back again.

In your thirties, your heart has already built a shield. It’s the time in which your rationality wakes up and, after all the beatings it’s taken, it starts hitting back. So on the one hand there’s your heart that tells you to follow it, because it became so strong that it doesn’t believe it can be wrong, on the other hand there’s your mind that continuously places limitations, painstakingly trying to sabotage you, because it wants to protect itself from deception, and be the only one at the centre of your universe. Our mind is jealous, terribly jealous of our heart.

Four months into their relationship, Sonia realized that the Giorgio’s beauty was nothing more than a golden mask that hid the weakness of his personality. At thirty-six years old, one is a grown man, he can’t depend on his Mom. But he revealed himself to be a boy who never made a decision without his mother’s approval. For him it was unthinkable to manage his life in total independence. Sonia should have realized this, when she saw that he still lived in an annex of his parental home. But we all know that, when we fall in love, we tend to see and enhance just the things we like about the other.

Thus she felt let down one day, when they argued about which dress she should wear for his brother’s wedding.

That quarrel had irritated her very much. Up until then she had appreciated the fact that Giorgio knew her tastes, be it perfume, flowers or jewellery. At first, to calm herself down, she blamed her disappointment on the particular circumstance that this was an occasion concerning “Giorgio’s very respectable family”, so she held her prejudice responsible, since she disliked his mother. Then her anger escalated, when she saw Giorgio calling “his mother”, for advice. In the end Sonia had to surrender and wear a wide mesh net dress, which she never wore again following that ceremony, during which everything bothered her and made her feel uncomfortable; although it was one of her favourite dresses, that day she wanted to wear something different, more in tune with her mood.

She forgave him, though it took a week for her to digest it; a session of wild sex was enough to make her forget about it, one of those moments in which Giorgio brought out the real man, the handsome macho that he was, at least in bed.

However, since that day, Sonia began to see Giorgio under a different light. She removed the glasses of the girl engaged to Prince Charming, the ones with a tortoise butterfly shaped frame and with fuchsia-coloured lenses, and was now able to see her boyfriend through the naked eyes of a mature woman who knows what she wants.She watched him pedalling in front of her, on his Mountain Bike, she nodded to him when from time to time he turned back to make sure she was following him at a safe distance. She studied him. Undoubtedly he had a beautiful body. His nimble legs, with muscular calves, broad shoulders and the sweaty shirt clung to his back highlighting the well-sculpted backbones. When he got up from his seat to push harder, Sonia could see his butt. Small but firm and round. She was proud of having such a handsome boyfriend; she thought that any woman would want him, and some of her girlfriends had also told her so. She could smell his scent, mixed with the acrid smell of sweat and it was a pleasant mix that intoxicated her.

“Slow down, Giogiò!” She called breathlessly, from behind.

“Excuse me darling, come on, let's ride together now!” And he let her catch up with him.

“I have a city bike, I can’t keep up with you if you go so fast!” Sonia pleaded.

“Okay, I’ll slow down. In this stretch of road there are less cars, we can ride close to each other”, he reassured her.

They were going through Via del Barco, towards Cascine Park. Damien’s shop was in that street: “Clouds of smoke steam cigarettes”. Obviously, it was closed on Sunday. Sonia saw it and pointed it out to Giorgio.

“Look, that’s the store in which I bought my electronic cigarette!” She said, pointing to the sign.