He looked at her, and Gotthard.
For those of you with dirty minds, I was writing about a man and his wife on holiday, just before passing over the St. Gotthard Pass. 🙂
Grande amico, grande scrittore.
Tutta la gente strana, si ritrova sull’ultimo treno. Delinquenti e vagabondi. Manager stressati e stranieri disoccupati. Occhi aperti, sull’ultimo treno. Quando tutti sono stanchi e soli. E tutti trasmettono un senso di insoddisfazione nei confronti della vita, che li costringe, anche quella sera, a prendere l’ultimo treno. Cammino anche io sull’ultimo treno, che mi riporta a casa dopo una giornata lontano, ancora una volta. Mi guardo attorno, siamo tutti diversi ma così dannatamente simili. Sfortunati noi. Chi lavora è un pendolare triste. Chi non lavora è triste e basta. Persino i drogati e le puttane, diventano parte integrante del gruppo dell’ultimo treno. Perché alla fine, è lui, il treno, ad accomunarci e a farci capire che forse, domani, sarà diverso.
The hand reaches for the button
that flashes the green numbers
counting down the hours
of a night that is endless; and awake,
as I long to fall into sleep,
be it restless and haunted,
sleep it remains.
I envy it.
“I’m already in town Stephie. I’ve an hour before I have to meet Dan and Bill.”
“OK Jules, see you at Starbucks in 10 minutes.”
Julie gathered the various carrier bags and took a slow walk along the pedestrianized high street. She stopped to look at the new releases in the window of W. H. Smith then made her way to Starbucks. Her friend was already seated, looking at the coffee menu. She looked up as Julie came in then looked at the bags.
“Hello Jules. It’s not Christmas come early is it?”
Julie placed the bags around her chair, smiling.
“Bill’s birthday next week.”
“Where is he, with Dan?”
“Yeah. They’re taking a walk along the beach. Bill loves the sea.” She shivered. It didn’t go unnoticed.
“Have you tried talking to anyone Jules, apart from Dan I mean?”
She shook her head.
“I think it’s time you thought about it. You can’t go through life with this fear that stops you doing something you always liked before. Cappuccino?”
“Stephie got up and ordered two coffees, leaving Julie staring at the black plastic table. A minute or so later she returned, coffees in hand.
“Four years have passed; you’ve got to move on Jules.”
“I will. I will. I’m just not ready for that last step, to air it out in public. Not at the moment.”
“What does Dan say about it.”
“That he understands. He can’t though. How could he?”
“Well, no one apart from you can really understand, it’s impossible.”
“At least, as a woman, you can understand me more.”
Stephie stirred in the sugar slowly, contemplating this last comment. She looked up into her friend’s eyes, which were starting to glisten.
“You can see a psychologist Jules. Professional secrecy and all that.”
“The psychologist will still know though.”
“Yeah, but you won’t have to go back there. I’m sure it’ll do you good, you can start to enjoy walking with Billy again.”
“All Billy’s ever known is that I’m scared of the water, that I can’t bear the sight of it. How will explain the sudden change, if indeed I do change?”
“That you did it for him.”
“And how am I going to tell a psychologist?”
Stephie looked into her friend’s face. Her eyes were still glistening. They were more than glistening. Her eyes wrinkled around the edges. She pinched her mouth shut to control herself, but she couldn’t hold it back and sprayed coffee over her jeans. Customers looked round as Stephie howled with laughter.
“It’s like this, Doctor. I was sunbathing on a beach when a bloody big crab came along and nipped my tit.”
The pebble skipped across the water, hit an incoming wave, flipped and sunk into the grey shallows.
“Five bounces Dad.”
“Best one yet Billy. We call them skips, when the stone bounces like that.”
The boy picked up a stone of his own and launched it. It went more sideways than forwards and landed with a plop.
“You’ll get there Bill.”
“I’m too small Dad. I will when I get bigger though, won’t I?”
“You will son, you will.” He ruffled his son’s tangle of blond hair that shone even in this miserable, murky light. It looked like rain. They turned and walked along the water’s edge, enjoying the sound of the waves breaking on the pebbles and the rattle and sigh as the water withdrew, rolling the pebbles with it.
“I’d like to live here Dad. Would you?”
“I’d like to Bill. Your mum wouldn’t though, she can’t stand the water.”
“If we lived here she wouldn’t have to come with us to look at the sea though Dad, she could go shopping.”
The man smiled. He envied the innocence of the child’s mind and the questions it generated.
“It’d still be too close for her bill. Your mum doesn’t just dislike the water; she can’t bear the sight of it.”
“Why’s that Dad?”
They continued walking along the shore, their feet sinking between the pebbles that rattled under their feet.
“Let’s make a move now son. We said we’d meet Mum at 2 o’ clock. She’s probably loaded down with bags and needs our help. Feeling strong Bill?”
The boy picked up a last pebble, crouched down and threw it, his arm straight, in a sweeping motion. This time it didn’t go sideways.
“Well done Billy boy.”
The boy ignored the compliment.
“Why’s that Dad? Is it because she likes shopping?”
“You and me like walking by the sea. Your mum feels good walking in the town centre.”
The boy wasn’t looking as a grin stretched across his father’s face.
“Sometimes Bill, sometimes.”
“Sometimes always Dad.”