Fade stared at the bill. Of course, that would have been enough to get her by for a while without worrying and risking her neck or prison in order to grab a meagre meal, but inside her something was stopping her: decisions she had taken, mental chains blocking her actions, oaths, prohibitions and obligations that bombed her brain every day reminding her why she was in that situation.
Goodbye, she said, walking away from that awkward position. This time the boy didnt stop her, he just looked at her going away, while he soundlessly lowered the hand holding the bill. He stood there, with his usual neutral expression; then he snorted into an excessively disturbing smile. Hm! Shes incorruptible.
Fade ran through the streets in a sweat, as if trying to escape the storm of thoughts that echoed in her head. She ran to escape from it, because sliding on the asphalt allowed her to return in tune with her more neutral thoughts. But it didnt work; she reached her home with difficulty and jumped on the bed holding her head, now hostage of a flood of screams, loud noises and rushes of images that crazily overlapped in a space too narrow to contain them. Crumpled like a tin can she let out an agonizing cry of pain, and then collapsed on the mattress of her miserable shelter.
The next morning she awoke completely groggy. She seemed to have slept for a long time without actually realizing how long; she laid a while on the mattress, then she tiredly turned her head towards the room.
Jag was sitting in the opposite corner, with a sketchbook on his knees and earphones at his ears. As soon as he noticed her movements he took off his earphones and stared at her.
How the fuck did you get in? She asked in a whisper, barely moving her parched mouth.
You seemed strange, so I followed you. You barged in here without even closing the door. What happened?
Fade jumped at that statement: she would never forget to close the door, but, actually, she couldn't remember much of last night.
A bit of a headache she replied.
Headache? To me it seemed like a real migraine, he retorted with a more mature tone than his age would indicate.
Its none of your business, now go away... but she couldnt even finish the sentence because the crisis had been so strong she fell back to sleep.
Jag put his headphones back on and continued to scribble on his sketch pad.
At lunch time the girl woke up, roused by the loud noises the kid was making while he opened the cans on the kitchen counter next to the bed. She sat up with uncoordinated movements, but all she could do was sit with her arms resting on her knees. She stared at the roller-blades that were still on her feet. Didnt I tell you to leave? She asked with her head leaning toward the floor.
I still havent repaid you was the child's response.
Then, as payment, I want you to get lost, she replied dryly.
Dont be silly, he chuckled, finally managing to open a can of soup I always reward those who help me. That said he poured the soup in a dish, put it in a microwave oven and pressed the start button.
What the hell is that? She asked tilting her head.
Multi-coloured soup, its good! Its the only food with vegetables that I eat, actually...
I didnt mean that she interrupted him What is that thing doing in my house?
Oh, while you were sleeping I took the opportunity to bring a little comfort to your home! With this you can warm your food, I also bought an electric stove, an oven, some light bulbs and, of course, I made sure to fix the electrical system and connect it to the to a network, then...
Are you crazy? She shouted jumping up as if she was suddenly reinvigorated That way theyll catch me immediately! And how do you think Ill manage to pay the bill?
The bill? You dont have to pay for it, I took care of it he calmly replied. The girl was about to argue, but she was interrupted by the sound of the alarm indicating that the microwave oven had ended its cycle. Jag opened the door, took out the steaming dish and placed it on a straw place mat he had specially bought for the occasion.
Here you go, he said inviting her to sit on the stool next to his. Fade remained silent, lured by the idea of eating something hot, she sat down, picked up the spoon and ate the soup, while the child beside her, munched on pretzels, one after the other.
After the meal, she started talking again with a less dismissive tone than usual Well, I guess now you repaid me, I wish you luck in your search, no matter what it is! And she remained silent, as if she expected the story wouldnt end there. Strangely, however, the kid slid off the stool with a little jump and started toward the door. Then goodbye ...
He slipped the safety bolt aside and walked out, closing the door behind him.
The silence following his last gesture left a bitter-sweet taste in her mouth: the satisfaction of having regained her independence but also dissatisfaction, as if she lacked the answers to figure out what had really happened.
At that moment, her gaze fell on the kitchen counter, on which, next to the half-empty box of pretzels, the child had left his sketchbook. She pulled it towards her and lifted the cover to reveal a first subject.
The design was sketched and rough, but solid in structure and with a slight touch of contrast in the parts where the author had found it interesting to bring out the volumes. It represented a singer curled up during a concert. The face and hands, more refined than the rest of the body, seemed to unleash the pure energy of the music that was channelled into his body, barely outlined, and stretched out to radiate all around him.
She continued to browse through the album. In the following pages she found various studies of musicians, detailed with dark and light contrasts of hands in various positions and musical instruments, mostly modern. She stared at a drawing of a pianist: the sheet was shaded because of strong chiaroscuro, probably made with a soft pencil, which recreated the shiny black effect of the instrument. On some points, the rubber erasures simulated reflections. The mans face was engrossed in a serene and melancholy expression, as if he were playing music of past memories.
It was hard for her to believe that such a young boy was able to draw so accurately.
Fade flipped through a few more pages, until the last subject, drawn, this time, with a blood red pencil. It depicted the profile of a naked girl kneeling on the ground. The line formed by her body reminded the slow death of a swan as it collapsed. Her hands were intertwined, resting inbetween her knees and the long hair hanging in front of her face showed only a glimpse of her eye, full of anger and despair as she stared towards those who perceived her. On her left leg, a long scar broke the tenderness of her features.
She felt as if someone had just scraped her soul with a rusty spoon. She stared at the drawing, overlooking, for the first time, the abyss of her own thoughts. A knock on the door brought her back to reality.
Fade its me! Open up, I forgot something! Said Jag from the other side.
She was caught by a flash of anger and rushed like a fury to the door, opening it wide. He didnt have time to say anything for she grabbed him by the collar, lifted him up and slammed him against the wall of the lobby.
Youve seen my sketchbook, right? he said chokingly because of the thrust on the wall.
What the fuck are you doing, spying on me? What do you want from me? Who are you? She asked, keeping the handle of her knife, still stuck in the lining of the belt, and clenched in her other hand.