Chapter 1
Buon Natale
Every dog has his day, and that day I was the doggiest who ever barked on the face of the planet. It all happened in the city of Genova traditionally called Zena, and precisely in the old town by the name vicoli, where one can not help feeling the overwhelming spirit of the middle ages and very especially the Cattedrale di San Lorenzo, in this latter there is an unexploded bomb launched by an English ship on February 9, 1941. The device is located in the right aisle and is on display as an everlasting reminder of the “miracle” that saved the church from certain destruction.
It was christmas and the streets of the vicoli are almost wholly paved with old stones, adding to the warmth of the society. The Italians of today are too humble in comparison to the romans; if you don’t talk to them, rest assured, they will talk to you. The most striking ritual that one can not help but notice, is the morning coffee. It is literally a short cup drunk in one shot like a scotch in a silver dollar saloon, the ristretto.
When in Rome do as romans do; After having sipped my ristretto the same way they do, in order not to raise suspicions, I made up my mind to take a walk in the vicoli so as to get a quick fix. For this is the place where strangers can get a hook depending on the dealer. I had personally witnessed a drug dealer who sold powder for cocaine which he scratched himself from the wall behind. I had personally bought a piece of shit sold to me for cannabis. Hold that thought, one may think we were idiots buying into these easy traps, so just for your information, as soon as the dealer hands the merchandise (wallpowder) he shouts it out loud “we got company, the cops” next thing you know, you are alone holding the worthless powder under the dim light in the dark night.
There was an incident of an indian guy who sniffed the powder knowing what it was, yet he couldn’t help imagining the loss of a hundred dollar bill, next day I scratched the powder myself and brought it to him because he may do it again as foolish as I came to know him yet much to my surprise, he refused arguing that he didn’t pay for that.
We were a bunch of homeless clandestinos, the indians were heading for england, their plans were full of perils, including being smuggled under the wheels of a big truck, they were also aware of the probability of ending up as food for the fish. Then came the moroccans, who seemed to be the majority in this land. Although I am a moroccan myself, I still find my own people more dangerous than the locals, I had seen the backstabbing with my own eyes, the blood spilling and splashing nearby for what, small money.
Consequently, staying the hell away from them was a key to survival. I was alone most of the time, because scorpios craves individuality, secrecy, all that applies to what we call today a low profile. Walking down the old streets feeling every stone under my feet like a precious diamond. Indeed I was looking for a quick fix, just a small joint, or a few puffs away, sharing with an old friend, that was actually my piteous plan, until I stumbled over a phone which I picked up and shoved in my pocket as quickly as a lightning flash. Immediately after, I ran my way up to the black market like a thunder roar.
Now the black market is always on, night and day. As weird as its name suggests, it is as black as one can be. Everything is sold and bought in this market, then why not the phone in my pocket. It was true that the phone was a bit voluminous the size of my hand and the weight of a gun, yet I would never have imagined that it couldn’t sell for a dollar. There was no other way but to give it up, So I tried to give it away as a gift, even that wasn’t crowned with success. Every one mocked this phone, even loafers.
I felt like throwing it away in the sea, but I sat on the bench meditating this bummer. The phone was really heavy and bulging out of my pocket like an erection giving the impression of a sex freak. Suddenly out of the blue, it dawned on me to call one of the contacts and get rid of this curse. I dialed the last contact, a woman responded as if she knew me, but when she heard my voice, she bugged. I told her about how I came to possess this phone and she promised that she would get the owner in touch with me as soon as possible.
What followed had blown my mind for the rest of life, after ten years of this incident tears still wells up in my eyes as I remember a guy walking towards me waving to me as a sign.
For I had him on the phone, and he said that he was so happy to retrieve his belongings, promising me a reward. Given christmas times, I thought that he would bring me a pandoro or a bottle of wine which wasn’t the case, because he was now almost advancing empty handed, I was scared he might accuse me of theft or whatever. But he didn’t, he instead held me in his arms and cried like a baby. He almost wepts, and when he finished, he looked at me and said “ this phone had belonged to my deceased son, and it was the only souvenir left from him. He reached out to his pocket and pulled a hundred euros bill and handed it to me.
Best christmas of my life, the phone who no one cared about had made me a hundred bucks but most importantly, it shed tears from my eyes too, because I felt his pain, still feeling it today…...
