by Luca Rossi
When I'm just 150 yards from my house, I notice something strange.
Valenti! It's him, standing at the front door. He's talking to the cops! Their Punto is parked just a little further away, the doors open and the lights still on.
But why are they after me? They could have gotten my Honda mixed up with that of some gypsy wanted for burglary of the cottages in the neighborhood. Maybe Valenti is just complaining about how I illegally crossed the pedestrian footpath on my motorcycle. The police shouldn't care too much about something like that.
One of the two cops looks in my direction. I've stopped at the edge of the woods, hidden by the trees. Maybe they heard the sound of the motor as I came closer. I turn off the motor. The cop turns back to talk with Valenti.
I turn on the motor again and point the motorcycle towards the direction I came from. I slowly navigate through the woods.
If only I could call Anna! Why didn't I take my phone with me?
I drive slowly for a few minutes. This time I have no idea where to go. I think I could go home in a few hours. The cops would have gone to look for gypsies somewhere else. Anna will be furious, but at least this whole ordeal will be over.
One, two, three, four police sirens! And above me, the sound of a helicopter propeller. This is unreal! What's going on?
If they're looking for me with a helicopter, it won't be hard to detect the movement of the motorcycle through the leaves of the trees. I need to figure out how to get out of here, quickly! If I surrender, what do I risk? At the most a fine for driving a two-wheeler without a helmet and with the license plate covered up. At this point, the best thing to do would be to end this whole ordeal.
I head towards the sound of the police sirens. I'm almost in the open when something inside of me tells me no. In my mind, I see the gun pointed in my direction. I can't go forward.
When people are overcome with panic, they often do stupid things. I know what I'm about to do is one of those stupid things. I turn off the motorcycle, lay it on the ground, cover it with leaves and continue on foot.
After a few minutes I reach a cottage deep in the woods. I decide to ask for help. I'm not a criminal, but a respected professional. I can say that I twisted my ankle while walking through the woods and need help. I'll stay in the house just until the helicopter and the police cars go on to continue their search elsewhere.
I ring the bell.
No answer.
Again.
I don't hear anything.
One last time.
Nothing.
I'm about to go when I hear the sound of the helicopter propellers. They seem to be heading straight towards me. I decide to ring one last time, but I notice that the gate has been left ajar. Maybe they didn't hear the bell inside.
“Anybody home?” I ask in a voice that's not too loud.
The helicopter seems to be coming even closer.
I walk through the gate. As I come towards the house, I continue to announce my presence:
“Excuse me, I need some help.”
I enter.
“I'm sorry to disturb you. I was in the woods and I hurt my foot. I need medical attention.”
Everything is quiet in the house.
“Hello, excuse me, this isn't a burglary! I have a little problem. Is there anybody who could help me?”
The noise of the helicopter is louder now. The door behind me is still open. I decide to close it, so that the helicopter doesn't notice anything strange.
Just in time! The noise of the helicopter now seems to be coming from directly above the cottage.
I move away from the door and enter what looks like the living room. It's a little outdated. The furniture is made from a dark, cheap wood. The living room has windows on two sides, the third side flanks the open kitchen, and there's a large piece of furniture on the fourth side that serves as both a pantry and a bookcase. Further along there's an enormous grandfather clock, right in front of the windows.
I go towards the clock, move a curtain back just a few inches and watch where the helicopter's going. It seems to be moving away. Finally!
Now, think! It doesn't seem like anybody's here. The owners must have forgotten to close the door when they left. The best thing to do would be to stay here for a few minutes to be sure that the helicopter and the police are far away. Then I'll leave. Now that the danger seems to be moving away, I'd prefer to avoid running into the owners of the house when they come back. An attorney like me doesn't really need to be accused of trespassing in someone's home.
Dinner! Anna will be beside herself with rage. If only I hadn't forgotten my cell phone!
Click, clack. I hear the front door open. I hide behind the huge clock.
“Don't hide yourself in regret
Just love yourself and you're set
I'm on the right track, baby
I was born this way, born this way.”
It's a beautiful female voice singing. She must be carrying a lot of bags, because it takes her a few trips to carry everything into the house before she pushes the door shut with her shoulder.
Then she enters the living room and, lucky for me, heads towards the kitchen. I peek out just a bit from the corner of the clock to see who I'm dealing with.
It's a girl, brunette, not very tall. She's wearing purple sweats, Converse sneakers and a greenish tank top. She seems a little heavy-set. She's got freckles. She has an iPod in a little holster wrapped around her arm. She still has the earbuds in her ears. She's carrying a few shopping bags in her hand.
“Don't be a drag, just be a queen
Don't be a drag, just be a queen
Don't be a drag, just be a queen
Don't be...”
Ok, if she has her headphones in, she won't hear me as I try to leave. When my wife Anna brings things home, she always starts putting what she bought into the fridge, the freezer and the pantry. This girl also places the bags on the kitchen table and starts to do the same. The problem is that she's very quick. She puts her hands in the bag, turns towards the pantry and immediately turns back again to take something else.
Finally she stops to look for something in the fridge. It seems like the right moment to me. I'm about to leave my hiding place when she turns around again.
I brace myself, my shoulders against the wall. When I peeked out I thought she looked towards me, but then she took something else from the bag and continued doing what she had been doing.
She couldn't have seen me!
“No matter gay, straight or bi
Lesbian, transgendered life
I'm on the right track, baby
I was born to survive”
I try to figure out what to do. If she sees me, she'll probably be scared, and I have no idea how to handle that kind of situation. I could wait for her to finish putting everything away in the pantry. When she goes to her room to change, I can leave the house without her noticing.
I look at the windows. They seem like the kind of windows that make a lot of noise when you open them. The only way to leave is the way I came in.
DONG DONG DONG. The chiming of the clock cuts through my nervousness, making me jump. My hand heavily hits the side of the huge clock. The woman stops singing.
She must have heard me, despite the music in her ears. I made too much noise!
I remain frozen in my position, holding my breath.
Her steps cautious, the girl seems to be moving away from the living room.
If she calls the police, I'm screwed! I think the best thing to do is to stop waiting and just escape. If she notices me, I'm a man and I'm surely faster and stronger than her.
A woman wouldn't want to stop me or try to follow me. When they investigate, they'll probably start looking for a little burglary ring.
In any case, if she still hasn't seen me, it's better that she doesn't see me now, so I tiptoe out of my hiding place behind the clock, trying to make as little noise as possible. I run in front of the bookcase. I stop where the living
room opens into the foyer. I peek out just to have a look.
She's standing there, frozen, in the center of the foyer, staring right at me.
3
“Were you looking for something?” she asks me.
She must be afraid: I'm taller and surely much stronger than she is. Yet she's standing just a few yards away from me, with her arms down along her sides. She seems calm, even determined. Maybe she teaches some kind of martial arts.
“Look, I'm really sorry. I rang your bell looking for help. Then I saw the gate was open so I came in to see if anyone was home. You came in after me, and at that point I was afraid that if you saw me you'd get scared. So I hid, thinking I'd wait until you left the living room. I just wanted to leave the house without bothering you. Again, I'm really sorry. Anyway it's nice to meet you, I'm Attorney Antelmo Ubaldini.”
As I speak, she doesn't move a muscle.
Yes, she's got to be some sort of trainer, and she's probably thinking about how she's going to knock me out.
“I know who you are, I've known you for years.”
A client? Or a client of another lawyer that I've gone up against in court?
“Ah, okay, I'm really sorry for what happened, but I'm happy we know each other. I was afraid I'd scare you. So I'd say that maybe it's best that I leave you be, given the problem that I've already caused here.”
“That's not what I had in mind! You think you can just come into other people's houses and then leave as if nothing happened? You know, as I was coming back home, I noticed a police helicopter patrolling the area. I also passed by a couple cop cars.”
“Really? I didn't notice any of that confusion.”
She narrows her eyes, unsure, and asks: “So why are you here?”
“I was collecting mushrooms in the woods. Then I twisted my ankle and I decided to look for help. Your place was the first cottage I came to.”
“And the mushrooms? Where did you leave them?”
“I had a hard time supporting my own weight, I didn't want to carry the mushrooms, too.”
“But now it doesn't look like you have too many trouble staying on your feet.” She looks at me, probing.
“In fact, my ankle still hurts really bad, but I don't think this is the right moment to ask you for anything to help with it.”
“But no! Of course! Come on, make yourself comfortable on the sofa and let me see what I can do.”
Her tone is now gentle, but her words seem strangely threatening. She seems a little too friendly.
She moves towards me, passes me by and goes towards the pantry.
“Don't stand there like a stick, get on the couch and take off your shoe and sock. I'll look for something to help with the pain and a bandage.”
“That's very kind of you Miss, and I don't want to take advantage but, if you really want to help me, could you let me make a call first? I left a little while ago and since I haven't come back yet, my wife is probably worried about me.”
“Sorry, no can do. Unfortunately I don't have a landline and the cell doesn't get any reception here, Antelmo.”
So how does she communicate with the rest of the world when she's home? For a girl with an iPod attached to her arm, she's not that hi-tech.
“And please, don't call me Miss. My name's Irene.”
“Ah, okay. Listen, Irene, I'm going to sound really rude here but I don't really remember when we met. Can you refresh my memory?”
“Oh, you would never guess how long it's been. And look, here you are! Now let's get this little problem out of the way.”
Irene comes towards me holding a pair of scissors, a spray can, a tube of cream and a glass with an effervescent tablet dissolving in water. She sits down on the table in front of the sofa.
“So let me see this banged-up ankle. In the meantime drink this, it'll make the pain go away.”
A little embarrassed, I bring my nude foot up to this girl who I can't remember for the life of me. She takes it and puts it in her lap.
“Does it hurt here?” she asks me.
I try to remember where the pain is located when you twist your ankle. I had some actual injuries a few times when I played soccer.
“No, it's a little higher up. Right there!” I answer.
“Drink up, come on. Or do you just want to lie there and suffer?” Irene asks me.
I look at the medicine. The water is tinged with purple. Usually I don't like taking medicine, but I don't want to offend her. I down the entire glass in four swallows. In the meantime, she starts spraying my perfectly healthy ankle.
“All done! How do you feel?” she asks, putting my foot back on the floor.
“Thanks, Irene. The pain seems to be going away.”
Without responding, she gets up and puts everything back in the kitchen. I get up too. Or, better said, I try to get up. My foot remains frozen on the ground. I try to move. It feels like it's glued. What kind of medicine did she use? I try to pull my leg up with my hands.
“Don't waste your energy. You won't be able to move it,” Irene says.
She's sitting on the kitchen table. She's holding a glass of wine in her hand. She looks at me and sighs. “Oh, sweetie,” she continues. “Look at how scared your little eyes are! You can't move your little foot anymore? Wait for me to help you. Eina ta sturam!”
My foot, ankle and calf slowly start to shine with the same color as the effervescent medicine. I rub my eyes, thinking I'm hallucinating.
“What the...?”
“Don't worry, it's a little trick for apprentices,” Irene tells me. She places the glass of wine on the table and comes towards me. “But it works, doesn't it?” she asks me, caressing my cheek. “Don't tell me that you've never seen anything like it? Cloradil must be very good at hiding things.”
“Cloradil?”
“You don't even know her real name? What do you call her, then, that adorable little creature who makes your little dinners?”
“Anna? Are you talking about my wife?”
“Your wife? Do you really think she's your wife?”
I don't know how she was able to freeze my leg, but this woman is definitely mentally insane.
“You still don't understand? Magic, spells...you think it's all made up, don't you? Al fami spes eriat.”
My foot begins to slowly rise through the air. When it's up to my waist, I lose my balance and fall over the back of the sofa. But the foot doesn't stop rising upwards. It pulls me along with it. My back rises off of the cushions. When my foot manages to touch the ceiling, I find myself hanging with my head down, firmly anchored.
“You find it easier to believe me now?” Irene asks me, just a few inches away from my head.
I think about Anna. Why did I walk into this house? I don't know who this woman is, and I really want to be home with my wife, eating one of her delicious weekend dinners.
“Listen, Irene, I think I made a mistake coming into your house. Please forgive me. Now, though, I want to leave and go home to my wife.”
“Oh, little Antelmo, did I scare you? You're right, I'm the one who should be asking you to forgive me, I was very rude. Go home. Your family is the most important thing. Go right ahead. Is medil ancorat.”
I'm back on the floor, standing. I try to move my foot. This time it lifts without any problems. I have a thousand questions, but something tells me that if Irene is willing to let me go now, it's better that I hurry up and get out of here as soon as I can.
“Ok, goodbye.”
I go to shake her hand. She doesn't move. I turn around and head towards the front, place my hand on the doorknob and open the door to thick, thick fog.
The woods and the trees have disappeared. I kneel down on the threshold. I feel out in front of me, where the little front path must be. My hands grope about in the void. I lean out further. I try to reach my hand underneath the house floor: nothing.
“If I were you, I'd be careful not to fall,” Irene advises me.
A frigid breeze cuts through t
he fog. I feel like I'm freezing. I close the door.
“We're not in your forest anymore, dear Antelmo.”
“So where are we?” I ask.
“I'm sure you'd rather not know.”
“Irene, who are you, really?”
“I'm the best friend of Cloradil, your wife. You know, we really love each other. We were so close!”
The sarcasm in her voice is palpable.
“And what do you want from me?”
“From you? Let's say there are a couple things we need to work out.”
“Where are we?”
“We're headed home.”
“Home?”
“Yep. The Kingdom of Turlis.”
“Where's that?”
“It's not very close to Earth. But I have to go now. See you later.”
I'm dreaming, I must be dreaming. Irene heads towards the door, opens it, takes a step out and disappears into the void.
I follow her to the door, but there's no trace of her in the fog. I hurry to close the door so that the icy air doesn't freeze me.
I'm alone.
4
Alone. In a house flying through the thick fog. I still can't believe it. I pull the curtains away from the window to look outside. Fog. No, I don't think we're anywhere near the woods around my house. Cloradil, my wife, what does she have to do with magic? No, none of this makes any sense.
I was hanging upside-down with my foot glued to the ceiling. And half of my leg was glowing! How does a human limb glow from inside?
There must some sort of logical explanation for all of this. Maybe I can find it in this house.
I head towards the kitchen. I look through the fridge and pantry. Nothing out of the ordinary. The only place left to explore is upstairs.
A queen-sized bed, a bathroom and a little room for kids with a bunk bed. It's all decorated in the same style. This house seems old. It's not the type of furniture you normally see in a cottage in a residential area where real estate costs two thousand Euro per square foot.
I look through the dresser and the closet in the master bedroom. The clothes stored here are flimsy, and at least twenty years old.
