Clouds Of Smoke… The Story. Gianluigi Ciaramellari
with knowledge, wisdom and other virtues. Every now and then in the evening, when he felt drained of energy, he went to smell their scent; he stored them all in a large handmade terracotta bowl.
Damien stepped out of the tub. His robe was placed on a small reproduction of a Romanesque column with white marble of Carrara capitals, placed near the floor of the tub. Damien’s body, naked, next to that column seemed the body of a gladiator. As he slipped on the dark bronze colour terry kimono, his movements showed off the muscles of his biceps and triceps, dorsal muscles, even his pectorals were well-defined and proportionate.
He trained his body every morning with the exercise equipment that he kept in the large wooden room in the garden, part of which he used as a sauna. He took care of his body and, although he had turned fifty-four years old a few months earlier, he had a youthful physique and smooth skin. The brown colour of his complexion, made it appear even more elastic than it already was.
He slipped on his leather flip-flops, walked to the table, while Giovanni was bringing in a tray of appetizers. It was Saturday night, so he deserved a special treatment.
Damien’s chair, among the five arranged on one side and the other of the table, was the one with the highest backrest and with the armrests, carved from a master wood craftsman, who had made it look like a throne, with a seat made of padded crocodile skin. Of course, it was at the centre of the table. He used this throne only when he dined without guests and without Giovanni. Otherwise he sat on the same chair as the others.
The times he dined alone were always important and special moments. At last he could give all his attention to food and drinks, without having to focus his senses towards his guests, which assumed the most important role, and he entrusted Giovanni with the cooking responsibilities.
Did I already mention that “guest” in Damien’s home was a rare word? In fact he didn’t often have guests over. Those who had been fortunate enough to have been invited into that house didn’t tell anyone about it. As it was also true that, if he did you a favour, you "really” had to give him in return something that you were really fond of.
Once someone tried to give him something trivial, or something that he could give up easily. But he still remembers the price he had to pay. Damien was strict and adamant on this point. He only helped people who agreed to his conditions: they had to give up their dearest possession. Anyway, they were only things.
The exchange consisted in “objects” one gave in return. But no money and no real estate.
All the people Damien helped couldn’t possibly reveal it to others.
Otherwise their problem would immediately resurface and more intensely. Damien always warned about this. He did even more: he gave them signals.
Whenever the people who were being helped felt the intimate need to talk about it to someone, they immediately felt weak and devoid of force, so exhausted they almost felt faint. This phenomenon was a good warning that his powers worked well.
However, his power had a limit. This limit was potentially inborn in the person with whom he interfaced. This person had to be receptive. Damien had, let’s say, a sort of “frequency”; if a person was prepared to capture it, then his power was effective. Otherwise Damien appeared to be just a very charming person and full of resources, one of those people that one rarely encounters. That's all.
Part two (Damien’s power)
Giovanni, in addition to being an excellent cook, knew how to shop. “There was no doubt about that!” Damien seemed to confirm, while savouring the appetizer with grilled vegetables and white grape risotto. Giovanni was seventy years old, ten of which he spent at the service of an upper class Florentine family and ten in Damien’s home. The lengthy cohabitation of the two had consolidated a relationship of respect and mutual trust, and the knowledge of each other’s taste. If Giovanni hadn’t met Damien, maybe he would have lived in solitude. When he was fifty years old, he lost his wife, who was the only love of his life, in a car accident in which he also lost his right foot. He wore a prosthesis and walked with a considerable claudication, but he found a tangible help in Damien. However, Damien could only help him in the form of a job offer. Damien’s power had no effect on Giovanni.
Between the two of them there was a great conspiracy, sometimes all they needed was a gesture, even the slightest, to communicate something. Their friendship turned into brotherhood. It was as if the thoughts of one were always intercepted by the other. They couldn’t hide anything from each other. There were no secrets between them. Not even if they tried. And neither of them would have wanted to keep a secret from the other.
While Damien dined, Giovanni was in a corner of the kitchen which he had equipped with a bench dedicated to the preparation of the VAPE liquids. In a small cupboard were crammed several bottles of bases containing glycerine and glycol with or without nicotine and little bottles of various concentrations of aromas to be diluted.
Giovanni often experienced new tastes, by mixing aromas together and he always created excellent products ready to be vaporized, which invariably met the taste of his friend or that of some “special” customer.
Once prepared, he bottled them, each with its own hand written label. That night he created a special bottle and named it “Ainòs”. While closing the cabinet, he saw the label’s reflection on the door and smiled.
Damien looked up from his plate and looked out the window door in front of him, the one that led into the garden. What he saw would have scared another person to death.
He rested his elbows on the table, folded his hands, rested his chin on them and he kept his serene and steady gaze on the eyes of Chopin, his black cat, who was sitting on a stool on the other side of the window, stretching his front paws, with eyes that asked: “Please open up and give me a some kibbles!”.
They looked at each other for a minute. Damien tilted his head to one side and Chopin imitated him, then he waved him “hello” and Chopin imitated him, then he raised his paw as if to knock on the glass. Finally Damien got up and opened the window to let him in.
“Chopin! All day long you stray away, and then you slowly come back at the end of the day! Come in and have yourself a comfortable stay!”
The cat didn’t need to be told twice, he appreciated the rhymes, he jumped in and sat under Damien’s chair, who sat back down at the table, and handed him a bowl of kibbles.
Every evening Chopin came back home at that hour. For the whole day he was out in the company of his stray friends with whom he grew up. Giovanni found him wheezing on the ground, with a strong rhinotracheitis, so he brought him to Damien, who healed him with his power.
Giovanni showed up at the house with the cat, a few years ago and all his friend had to do was to touch him to heal him.
Every time it happened to him he felt that same sensation. Giovanni called it a “tinglingstab”. A tingling in his right or left hand, depending on which of the two touched the other person, and it almost began to vibrate.
Damien felt as if he had a nest of ants under the skin of his hand which woke up from a long sleep and began to move frantically, trying to get out of his body. Then felt a stabbing of sharp needles. And the stronger his receptiveness of the other person was, the stronger those stabs became. It was a feeling that would have made others scream in pain. Not Damien. He was used to it, since he was a boy.
Although the “tinglingstab” anticipated the effectiveness of his power in connection to those whom he touched, it was still a sad verdict. The pain he felt was strong, although he hid it very well, but he felt it, and how!
Therefore every time he touched a receptive being, he always felt the same pain. Damien never caressed Chopin. Nor did he ever pick him up. If anything, at times, Giovanni placed him on his legs, when he was sitting on the armchair in front of the television. The same thing also happened with people. For this reason, Damien could never have an intimate relationship with a woman (or a man). It was a weird spell. The individuals, with whom he could fall in love with, were always receptive to his power.
When