Ashes Of The Phoenix. Jane Fade Merrick

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ that further demonstration of total detachment from their problem, she crinkled the map with a single move of her hands and threw it on his chest. “I'm done with you! I'm leaving!” She finished, moving quickly back in the direction from which they had come.

      â€œWait!” He shouted before she was too far to hear him. She stopped, although she knew she was making a mistake, and stood still without looking back.

      Encouraged, the child ran to catch up with her, with the crumpled map under his arm.

      â€œYou were kind to me,” he said “Let me repay you.”

      He dropped the map on the ground and took out of his back pocket a ridiculous - in Fade’s opinion - portfolio with manga illustrations on it. To her great astonishment, it was full of large bills.

      Jag took one and handed it to one. “Here, this is for you.”

      â€œThis is a joke, isn’t it?” Was all she managed to say without the slightest hint of wanting to take the note. “Of course not!” He continued, “I think it’s the least I can do to thank you for what you did...”

      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.

      â€œGoodbye,” she said, walking away from that awkward position. This time the boy didn’t 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 and smiled sarcastically and cynically at the same time: “Hm! She’s 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 didn’t 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 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.

      â€œWhat the fuck are you doing here?” She asked in a whisper, barely moving her parched mouth.

      â€œI was worried about you; I followed you and saw that you were ill. What happened to you?”

      â€œA bit of a headache” she replied.

      â€œA bit of a headache? To me it seemed like a real headache,” he replied with a mature tone.

      â€œIt’s none of your business, now go away or else...” but she couldn’t even finish the sentence because the crisis of the previous night 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. “Didn’t I tell you to leave?” She asked with her head leaning toward the floor.

      â€œI still haven’t repaid you” was the child's response.

      â€œThen, as payment, I want you to get lost,” she replied dryly.

      â€œDon’t 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.

      â€œWhat the hell is that?” She asked tilting her head.

      â€œMulti-coloured soup, it’s good! It’s the only food with vegetables that I eat, actually...”

      â€œI didn’t mean that” she interrupted him “What is that thing doing in my house?”

      â€œOh, 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...”

      â€œAre you crazy?” She shouted jumping up as if she was suddenly reinvigorated “That way they’ll catch me immediately! And how do you think I’ll manage to pay the bill?”

      â€œThe bill? You don’t 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.

      â€œHere 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 wouldn’t 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 great 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 СКАЧАТЬ