Voices in the Wind

Jacobo leans against the carriage walls with his eyes closed.

It’s a stormy afternoon in the Florentine countryside, thunder booming across the sky like the roars of wild lions, and the wind scatters raindrops everywhere. 

Jacopo never paid too much mind to stormy weather, but this afternoon is different, the pitter patter of the rain sounds so soothing to him, and the howling gales keep him company in his solitude.

He remembers a rumor he once heard about the wind; legend has it that those in grieving could often hear the voice of their loved ones through it, but the young man was never the superstitious type.

A voice snaps him out of his trail of thoughts.

“Young sir, we’ve arrived.” The driver tells him.

Lightning lights the sky up as Jacopo opens his eyes and gets back on his feet.

His villa looms over him in the shadows of the afternoon. With a moment of hesitation, he bids farewell to the wind and walks in.

Now inside the house, Jacopo stands by the door as he lets out a sigh; the sound of the rain is now gone, muffled by the sturdy house walls, and the silence weighs down on him. He’s never felt so alone in his entire life.

Little does he know, he’s not alone at all: Duccio – his brother – is there to greet him, staring him down from atop a flight of stairs.

“Welcome back!”

Duccio had always been an optimistic kid, he tended to see the good in every situation, but when his brother left that morning, in black clothes and without telling him a word, it didn’t take him long to assume the worst.

Our parents must’ve died, he thought to himself, and none of the servitude had bothered with filling him in anyway — all of their few servants had actually left the house, probably off doing some tasks in Jacopo’s name. It’s a logical conclusion given they were the only family the brothers had left; the only ones that hadn’t been swept away by the bubonic plague.

It’s a weird situation for him: because of the sickness spreading all over Italy, parents all over Florence had moved their children away from the city and into residences in the countryside. Duccio hasn’t been in that faraway villa for that long, it’s only been a year or so, but when you’re that young a year can feel like an eternity.

The truth is this, Duccio struggles to remember what his parents even looked like, so the news of their passing didn’t leave him as griefstriken as it could have been. Jacopo though is a whole different story, which is why his brother waited for him so patiently, staring at the doorway with unblinking resolution for hours on end. He could tell he would’ve needed his company now more than ever, even if he couldn’t attend the ceremony because of a sickness, he feels better now and it’s his duty to be by Jacopo’s side.

That was his original idea anyway, although his brother’s lack of response was making him question his resolve.

Suddenly, a noise. It’s the sound of a gust of wind blowing a window open in a room upstairs, Duccio's room. Jacopo looks up in his direction and finally, he speaks up. 

“Duccio, did you leave your window open?”

Duccio stands there perplexed; their parents had just died and that is the first thing he decides to tell him?

“Oh— …I guess I have.”

The silence persists.

“I suppose I better go close it.” He murmurs, mostly to himself.

With a bit of fatigue, Jacopo moves away from the door; his steps are heavy, each making the floorboards below him creak. Duccio watches him quietly.

Ever so slowly, he makes his way up the stairs, his hand tracing over the wooden arm rail. Halfway through, he stops.

“What’s wrong?”

“You know, we talked about you a lot at the ceremony.” Jacopo says.

“You did?”

“Almost everyone wanted to put down a good word for you, and they had nothing but nice things to say, it was— well, it was nice.”

Duccio giggles, delighted by the news, and follows after light as a feather.

“I wish I was there with you.”

Eventually, the two brothers reach the entrance of Duccio’s room.

“May I come in?” Jacopo asks.

“Since when do you need my permission for that?”

Duccio’s tease falls on deaf ears as his brother opens the door.

Saying that Duccio’s room was messy was an understatement as toys laid scattered pretty much everywhere on the wooden floor. The window was open and the blinds waved around gracefully under the wind’s influence.

The kid cringed at the sorry sight: when he first got up he hadn’t even noticed the mess, probably all too giddy about his newfound healed state he had simply raced across it without paying it any mind.

He turned to Jacopo expecting a scolding, something among the lines of their house not being a barn, and that as a member of a high-ranking family he shouldn’t keep his living quarters in such a condition. Much to his surprise, Jacopo doesn’t utter a word.

Instead, the young man starts to carefully make his way through. 

He walks by two white windmills, his foot bumps into Duccio’s priced hobby horse – much to the owner’s protest – and he almost trips a small pull-cart. In the end, he manages to make it to the window. 

Duccio follows suit, not having nearly as much difficulty as his brother had.

Jacopo leans against the windowsill with a sigh.

“I’m going to miss this place…” He mutters.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s been a long time coming, father started making preparations when you got sick–”

“But I’m not sick anymore, I’m fine!”

“…but I can’t believe I’ll actually leave this place without you.”

“Wait, father is alive? Then whose funeral did you attend today?”

A tear starts making its way down Jacopo’s face; then another, then more and more follow. In the blink of an eye he’s crying, his arms wrapped around himself as his body is shaken by sobs.

“Whose funeral was it? Why won’t you tell me?” 

Duccio reaches for him.

Jacopo gasps as a sharp, freezing sensation spreads across his right arm, leaving him petrified. He grabs the aching limb as his gaze flies to his right, but he sees nothing. Another gale enters the room through the window, pushing the pull-cart against the wall.

“ I’ll stay here until you feel better, okay?”

Jacopo feels his legs shaking. He sits down with a thud and he sits there alone as he cries his sorrows away.

Outside, the pitter patter of the rain has long stopped.

The wind blows on evermore.