Death and the Maiden

This story is a sequel to "Behind Closed Doors" that you can find on my page.

Tonio's saliva dabbled onto the scattered music notes as his nose rubbed the paper. He tried to run his fingers across the music scales to feel the music score but his arm was too numb under the weight of his head. For sure, he hadn't finished his composition and had already forgotten its air.

"Argh... " Tonio moaned as he tried to lift up his chest. His arm hit something that rolled across the table and shattered down on the dusty tiles. A smell than he knew all too well came up. Another vodka bottle gone to waste. "Argh..."

Outside, behind the bars that covered the window, the sea came and went, faithful to its summer figuration role. Voices outside were cheerful. If only he could shoot them down. All of them, sea included. Schubert's violin, coming from the living room, transpierced the cells of his brain like a spade, but didn't cover the idiotic joy on the street. Tonio stretched his arm further to feel the table for his remote. He wanted that music louder. But of course, he had left the remote in the living room.

"Argh..."

Hours may have passed, while he inhaled his own imbibed breath and crumpled his sketchy score with his face. Something hammered inside his head. If it weren't so tragic, he would laugh. At himself. At music. At the bottle on the floor. And the ones in the fridge, out of reach. He tried to rise up again but as Death and the Maiden started, it reminded him of his internal death each time he tried to compose. And each time he failed to. He rested his head back onto the paper, bowing to Schubert, his master. A mass started for him. A mass that sounded more like a sermon. A sermon that condemned him for his limitations without even naming them for they were too inconsequential, just like him. As the violin movement swelled in the air and, at last, covered the mundanities outside, he felt small. He felt tiny. He knew those music swirls by heart and, although numb, his fingers marked them drawing curves on the table. Now was the start of the andante, ta-da-da-da...pom pom pom. His jaws contracted as the notes cringed. As the round movement of the music resumed, his shoulders and his whole being eased. Even his arm now laid quiet on the table, as if it had found rest in defeat. The music player was too far away, on the other side of the living room. But if Tonio could - he would have replayed just that bit. The one that bore him like a light body to a resting shelter. But the music player was too far away, and the track went on. Abandoning him there, to his dirty shirt, bare legs and misery.

Knocks on the door dragged Tonio out of his dizziness and he opened his eyes. The night was dark behind the window bars and he was still sitting in his dirty shirt and boxer at the kitchen table. The hand banging the door sounded tiny but fierce.

"Si?" Tonio grunted.

"Tonio?"

He froze and glanced at the broken vodka bottle on the floor. Was it his imagination? He rubbed his eyes - no, he was not.

Knock, knock, knock.

"Tonio. Open up."

How did she find him? His pale hand gripped the edge of the table as he lifted his numb body up. His legs were shaking.

"Tonio! I know you're here. Open up. I beg you."

He heard a sob behind the door and smirked in despise. So, what? Now she had come back to hunt him, to chase time? And he had to collaborate? Both him and time had to collaborate. Crazy leech. Neither time or him would forgive her. Nor forget. No, forget they would. A bottle would snap her out of their memories, his and time's. Once and for all.

Tonio leaned on the wall as he headed to the living room. She could weep as much as she wanted behind that door. She could weep her soul away - he would not open. He would let her cry until she'd wear herself out. He would sober up and call the police to ditch her for good. His fingers brushed the sofa as he stretched his whole body to grab its edge and slip there to hide. His shaking legs gave in and he fell, fell, fell and fell in a dark infinity.

The sheets were soft under his arms and smelt of lavender. His lids rose slowly and he recognised her silhouette. On the chair in front of his bed, with her hands joined over her ugly pleated skirt, she sat. Wrinkles had carved in her face deep.

"You should iron that face," he articulated.

She poured a glass of water that she put on a chair. He heard her drag the chair next to his bed. How on earth had she broken in? Did she even change his sheets?

"Who gave you my address?"

"I had it."

"Who gave you my new address?"

She flattened the pleats of her long skirt.

"Who. Gave. You. My-"

"Mother instinct."

Tonio guffawed. In her tired eyes, for less than a second, he saw despair. He held eye contact as he gulped down the glass of water, its freshness showering his empty stomach. He put it back, still staring at her. He liked that begging look in her eyes. Actually no, he despised it.

"What do you want from me?", he asked.

"Why are doing that to yourself?"

"To myself? Or to you?"

"Tonio! How can you? No! Wait... Don't. Don't move. What do you want? I'll get it for you."

"I want you out."

She froze and finally rubbed her eyes. "I don't understand you, Tonio. I really don't. I never did - but I tried."

"You certainly do not understand me, that is true."

She fetched her bag.

"I brought you this", she said as she put a Schubert anthology on the chair next to the glass.

"You should have brought Jagermeister, instead."

She laughed and stretched her hand to caress his curls but he pushed her away.

"You laugh?"

"Of course, I do. You never change..." He threw at her the darkest look he could find. "Alright," she said grabbing her bag. "It was nice seeing you." She looked at him and he looked away. "Take care." She walked out of the door, closing it softly.

Tonio stared at the door for a while, a vulture pecking his stomach inside. Had she really come? Was he hallucinating? Why come now? Why leave now? His eyes grew narrower and he clacked his tongue. Crazy leech.

*

The shelves of the fridge were full, clean and alcohol-free. Would she also crack the fridge? He poured the ginger lemonade she had made into the sink and opened a rose bottle from the top of the cupboard.

The anthology CD shone bright in the light and smelt good. He pushed it inside his player and sat down on the sofa, to face the charged clouds behind the bars, his hand marking the tempo. The concierge said they had installed those bars at the window because someone had attempted suicide long ago. Perhaps they had a mum like Janice. A mum who had never been there. Who had vanished when they harassed her son and beat him up. A mum who had cut ties with his dad. A mum who had refused to send them to a conservatory because they "loved their kid so much and wanted them close". Tonio pressed his eyes tight - Schubert seemed faraway. But his sermon was ever-present.

Tonio curled into a little ball, his usual shelter. He breathed deeply until his heart calmed down, the tears dried up inside, and he fell asleep.

*

Janice handed a bill and a handful of coins to the concierge for giving her access to the building and Tonio's flat. That trip to Cinque Terre, Italy, would have cost her but no news - she had sold her dry-cleaning shop and small flat to make it happen. Thunder clapped above the sea, she had to rush. She drew a scarf out of her bag and tied it under her pony tail. Before leaving, she handed extra cash to the concierge and her phone number, if he noticed Tonio had left his flat, he should contact her immediately. She sealed the deal with one of her looks and he disappeared in the damaged corridor of the modest green and white building that sheltered her son.

The thunder grew louder and she shielded her scarf with her bag as she zigzagged down the lanes, avoiding wanderers with gelatos and umbrellas. Her head spun. She had waited for that moment for so long but now she was lost, lost in the upcoming storm. Roberto had warned her not to stay long - he was her only ally in that foreign territory and had accepted to help her out only because she had the same name as his favourite singer. And she had left him hanging in his boat under that merciless wind. She ran past Vespas and accelerated under crackling speakers that blasted La Felicita along the coast. "Felicita" and "Bambini" she picked up from the lyrics. Happiness and children, as if the two could belong in the same sentence. She pressed the leather of her wet bag and kept running.

"Janice!" Roberto's silhouette stood on his boat, agitating his arms.

She jumped on and he pulled the engine string.

The song played in her head as the boat rode the swelling waves and she bounced at the back of the tiny boat. She held tight. Roberto's tee shirt flapped loosely in the cold wind ahead of her. He was probably the same age as Tonio. But he was kind and helpful. And he was no alcoholic. Janice held the top of her scarf with her hand - she had no idea how she would get Tonio out of that mess - but she would. When her doctor asked what she would do, now that she knew her days were numbered - she didn't reply. But she knew. She wasn't even sure she would be able to get the treatment she needed in this new region and for how much. But she knew leaving California to save her son was the right choice. Even when she couldn't save herself.

She wiped her cheek and gripped the edge of the boat more strongly.