The Sense Of Courage. Martyn Fogg
to come in?” replied her son, irritated by her far-fetched caution.
Reassured, she opened the door for Marco, who came into the house.
Lucia was a fifty-five-year-old woman of average height and looking well-cared for.
She had died blond hair, always kept perfectly in order, and a pleasantly shaped face, but at the same time lined with evident wrinkles, reflecting the atrocious suffering that had afflicted her over the course of her life, among which there stands out the premature death of her husband, struck down many years earlier by a merciless cancer.
“You look upset. Has something happened?”
He really wasn’t capable of hiding his emotions.
“Yes. Now let me explain everything, without bombarding me with questions” he begged her, fearing that his plea would not be listened to. “I must talk about a very serious matter, and I’m asking you to stay and listen to what I have to say without interrupting. When I’ve finished, you will be free to express your opinion.”
“As you prefer”, she agreed, sitting down on the sofa, waiting for her son to start talking.
“Some months ago, I received from the United States an offer of an unmissable job opportunity and today I told Mr. Russo that I would be leaving soon” Marco declared drily, taking the weight off his shoulders by the disclosure.
Although it was evident that Lucia had received the blow like a stab in the heart, she managed to maintain her usual well-known cslm and objected: “But - what will happen to Francesca? Have you already given her the news?”
“She will no longer be part of my life, that’s all. That’s not a problem.”
“What’s happened between you two?” asked his mother. “If I’m allowed to know, obviously”, she quickly clarified, struck by her son’s hint of irritation.
“When I told her that I had accepted a job in New York and that I would have to move she didn't take it well, because, according to her, I should have waited to check if she was prepared to come with me.
Therefore, she accused me of being a coward, and for that reason I decided to leave her”, replied Marco drily.
“She must have exaggerated using such heavy words, but don’t you think she was right? Effectively, given that you live together, she had good reason to want to be actively involved in such an important decision.
In fact, deciding to leave your own country and the people you love is very difficult, and requires a careful evaluation of all the pros and cons”, Lucia replied wisely, but the look of furious disapproval that Marco gave her persuaded her to stop.
“I, instead, think that the irrepressible Francesca” he accused her with clenched teeth, “she could equally understand that opportunities of that kind arise only once in your life and any hesitation would have run the serious risk of pushing the firm in question to turn to a different candidate, who would have been given the job that I had the good sense to not miss out on.”
Gathering that there was no room for discussion, Lucia opted opportunely to give in, knowing the resolve of her son.
“When do you intend to leave?” she asked in a more agreeable tone.
“As soon as possible. I will share this experience only with my colleagues and my boss, therefore I don’t see any reason to delay my departure”.
Having said that, he put an end to the conversation and went to the bedroom in which he had slept since adolescence, its wall still plastered with posters of Juventus footballers, the team closest to his heart.
For some minutes, sitting at the desk in front of the computer, he was busy searching for a flight that would soon take him to JW Corporation, thousands of miles away.
Finally, he found a flight scheduled for 11.30 the next day, leaving from Milan-Linate airport, and booked an expensive first-class ticket, aware of the increased financial resources he would soon have available.
Then he entered the telephone number of a Milan taxi firm on his smartphone and called them.
“Hello?”
“Good evening, I would like to book a taxi from Castrezzato to Linate.”
“I should advise you that it will be rather expensive, it’s quite a long way.”
Marco smiled smugly. Obviously, they didn’t know how much money he would earn at JW Corporation.
“That’s not a problem.”
Having booked the taxi for 8.30 p.m., he went back downstairs, where his mother was already preparing the last meal she would share with him before he left for the United States.
Marco stayed watching her for hours, fixing in his mind every single gesture, aware that he would not see her again for a long time, sharing in her sadness about their imminent separation.
They hardly spoke a word to each other during dinner, both busy thinking how much their life would soon change.
Suddenly, a car horn aroused them from their thoughts.
Lucia looked at her son with a questioning air, startled by that unexpected sound.
“What was that?”
“The taxi’s arrived. I’ll spend the night at the airport.”
At these words, Lucia threw herself into her son’s arms, deeply moved. “Promise me that you will phone me every day, otherwise you know I get worried. Especially knowing you’re far away.”
“You can count on it” he reassured her, returning her gesture.
After long seconds, Marco freed himself from her embrace and, collecting his suitcase from the living room, said goodbye to his mother.
Then he tapped with affectionate sadness on the bonnet of his Maserati, destined to remain unused for a long time, and sat in the back seat of the taxi, which left at a moderate speed onto the road made slippery by the snow which was still falling on the asphalt.
For a moment, his mother remained on the threshold of her house to watch the car go off, until it disappeared round a bend and she could no longer follow her son with her eyes.
The taxi-driver, in the meantime, was driving through places that had been the background to the life Marco was hurrying to leave, asking himself when he would see them again.
Calling on all his will-power, he banished from his head all those thoughts by starting up a conversation with the introverted driver, as professional as he was silent.
When, finally, the robotic voice of the Satnav announced their arrival at their destination, putting an end to the monotonous journey, Marco paid the fare and calmly got out of the taxi, wanting to be able to get some rest in anticipation of the long flight the next day.
Then he entered the airport dragging his bags behind him and, having also put behind him the emotional day of which he had been the protagonist, took a seat on a bench, thinking again about all that he was leaving behind and that he had always loved so deeply.
“At least I won’t have to see my dear friend Morgan again” he reflected in search of comfort, with a grimace that encompassed all his antipathy for that person.
In that moment, the image of his most hated acquaintance formed in his head.
About 6 feet tall, he had a pointed pale face, straw-coloured hair and brown eyes framed by spectacles with squared-off lenses, that didn’t however manage to give him an intellectual air, totally irreconcilable with his moronic expression.
His wide mouth often emitted expressions of hilarity with a hysterical sound, typical of those trying to hide the absence of other people’s laughter at the witty remarks with the auditory evidence of his own laughter.
This mix of odious features was added, moreover, to a rather unpolite behaviour towards Marco.
In