"Hi!"
"Hi... Who's speaking please?"
"It's me! Buongiorno, my dear. How are you today?"
"Oh, hi! I want to cry. I'm worried about your news now... I'm just reading e-mails from client's side, in Italy, to his provider in your country... And you? How’re you doing, dear?"
"No, dun cry brother."
"Thanx for your concern. Did you enjoy your holidays?”
"Yeee. Enjoyed.. But I still checking yr shipment during my holidays..."
…?, he thought.
Her voice was smiling on the phone. Then she continued:
"Fyi, provider's shipment is WELL DONE... Understand? Don't worry, bro."
"That means?"
His voice was doubtful. It trembled, and the phone cord swayed up to Far East.
"We arranged 3X40' Flat Rack containers and 3X40' dry van containers..."
"You... you mean we catched the vessel sailing on 24th?"
His voice was more secure now. Phone cord swung less and less. Black colored rubber spirals got compressed again, beginning to twist on itself, like a snake squirming before attacking.
"Yes." She said firmly.
Her voice brought to his mind a boy on the edge of development, humiliated because he's been punished by the parents, just like his younger siblings. That unripe sour voice! It's not ready yet... Maybe when his balls will become bigger, and rounder, covered with bristly raven-black hairs - that's what every boy in puberty thinks -, that day his parents would dare no longer to put him in the corner... Of course it'd have been like that, when he finally had masturbated and his semen was no longer as clear as egg white, but ivory like the pearl necklace around his mother's neck, the tangle of stretched nerves, veins tense almost to rip.
"So, when did they deliver the cargo to the ocean terminal?" insisted.
The mother's head fell off, and all around walls were tinged with a warm poppy-color.
"Vessel only sailed tomorrow..."
...?, he thought again.
She listened to his silence for a while, until decided to stop him and add:
She listened to his silence for a while, until decided to stop him and add:
"Vessel cut-off was on last 21st, furthermore there was the road ban. But since the vessel is late, then the cut-off extended too, and client will manage to catch the vessel. I thought this is GOOD new for you."
Presume not on thy heart when mine is slain; Thou gavest me thine, not to give back again, he recited to himself without knowing why.
"Okay. Then I pass your infos to the client in Italy. Thank you."
"Welcome! You know..."
"What?"
"My mood down."
I don't have a girlfriend, and I don't want one even, he considered. Who are you? Why are you telling me this? Who the fuck...
"Well, I'm... I'm sorry."
Sometimes a man says things just to hear how they sound, he called to mind an old interview with Ernest Hemingway on “The Paris Review”. He did say it, or something like that... He was right, anyway.
She thought:
Stupid, stupid white-man! Insensible westerner. Why? Ask me: why?
"Okay. Talk to you later."
"Okay. Take care bro."
Asshole. I just pretended to be sad, anyway.
Oof. Crab-woman! Women, fake race!
Riiing!
"Hi my friend!"
"Oh, hi! How’re u doing?", and then... Oh yes!, "How can I help you?" he finished.
"Well, yes, all is OK for now. We are working on your offer and will revert in good faith tonight, or tomorrow morning latest."
"That's great, thanx!"
The line broke.
After a few seconds - Riiing!
"Sorry sir. gm again..."
"Hi."
"It's me!"
"Yes, sure. I recognized your voice."
A falsely smiling voice.
"Well, what about the truckers strike? I heard abt that on TV."
"It's driving us crazy actually."
"What is the problem."
"With what?"
Westerners...
"With drivers. Why they are in strike."
The line broke again.
Thank God.
Just in time. Lunch break.
The dropping mother's head was there - in the company's kitchen; in the microwave first, then in the middle of the table. The glass was filled with ivory pearls.
Bleah!, he thought.
"Mmh!" gloated his colleague opening her paper bag with homemade pasta, and some vegetables. "I'm sooo hungry!"
Ivory pearls. Bleah!
"Hi again."
"Hi, my friend."
"So, shipment is planned on beg of March. I'm sending you my quote right now, but there are oog - I mean out of gauge equipments, you know, which have abt 6 m witdh..."
"I know."
"This is why I need more time."
"So please, be sure its included road permits & escort service."
"Yes, it will be all-in quote."
"Thanks a lot, my friend. It will be very helpful."
"I hope so."
"What about your colleague I spoke to yesterday?"
"Oh, well, he's in China now."
"Ah-ah! He's in China."
Ah-ah?
"He told me he had to leave... Shanghai, am I right?"
"You are."
"What about the client? I mean, do you think we can get this job?"
"Client is very odd..."
"Ooof, in Turkey we have also very odd customers like yours - they always say the shipment is firm, but then..."
"I understand very well. No problem. I’ll keep you duly informed."
"Thanks for your last offer too, and have a nice day."
"You too."
The day after:
"What's up, my best friend. Tired voice, ah?"
My best friend? Who's that?
He had a best friend, actually. Something like 20 years ago.
They'd known each other in England, Richmond, when both they’re 15 year old. He's a very nice boy, who loved playing with words ("But only with words beginning with letter C", he'd specified).
They shared the bedroom in an old fashioned house. He was Italian too, and arrived in England for attending an English language summer course too ("English curse", he’d said), but he liked to speak English even when they’re alone at home, and the landlady was out for shopping, or out for Lilac's beauty treatment - her fat mangy cat.
She liked to tell them she called it Lilac because of its almost purple colored hair, but really what they saw was just the color of its diseased balding skin, fully covered with sores.
His best friend had fell just like the last cat's lilac hair. He’d fell (according to Police report he'd thrown himself) under the train, at Croxley underground station, in London.
If it really was a suicide, it would have been in his typical style. He always said that London would be the ideal city to die. He had called it "The decisive point. Kind of crux..."
"Bah, there was a suicide in the subway today. I've just arrived in the office. I’m very late. Huge backlog, you know?"
He decide to transpose a piece of past into the present. He always did when was tired, and sad.
His eyebrows outer corners slipped downwards:
"Anyway, my client did not reply to my quote." Continued.
"You know what? If I live in Italy, I would not suicide. Ahaha!"
Ahaha!
“…So, I told the client today: note that quote is valid till next week, okay?”
“Mh? Ouh… Yes, sure. What’s the reply?”
“He vanished. …Hello?”
The line broke again.
“Okay,” he spoke to the silent phone “Talk to you later, dear.”
Surprisingly, he smiled first. Then laughed to himself.
His colleague looked at him, a sidelong glance, then she asked:
“Where did you learn English? I like so much your accent!”
“English curse in London, dear. I recommend it to you. Just don’t take the underground.”
All rights reserved, R. Fontanella
All rights reserved, R. Fontanella
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