Ashes Of The Phoenix. Jane Fade Merrick
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.
âWhat the fuck are you doing here?â She asked in a whisper, barely moving her parched mouth.
âI was worried about you; I followed you and saw that you were ill. What happened to you?â
âA bit of a headacheâ she replied.
âA bit of a headache? To me it seemed like a real headache,â he replied with a mature tone.
âItâs none of your business, now go away or else...â but she couldnât 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. âDidnât I tell you to leave?â She asked with her head leaning toward the floor.
âI still havenât repaid youâ was the child's response.
âThen, as payment, I want you to get lost,â she replied dryly.
âDonât be silly,â he chuckled, finally managing to open a can of soup âI always reward those who help me.â That said he poured the soup in a dish, put it in a microwave oven and pressed the start button.
âWhat the hell is that?â She asked tilting her head.
âMulti-coloured soup, itâs good! Itâs the only food with vegetables that I eat, actually...â
âI didnât mean thatâ she interrupted him âWhat is that thing doing in my house?â
âOh, 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
âAre you crazy?â She shouted jumping up as if she was suddenly reinvigorated âThat way theyâll catch me immediately! And how do you think Iâll manage to pay the bill?â
âThe bill? You donât have to pay for it, I took care of itâ 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.
âHere you go,â 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 âWell, I guess now you repaid me, I wish you luck in your search, no matter what it is!â And she remained silent, as if she expected the story wouldnât end there. Strangely, however, the kid slid off the stool with a little jump and started toward the door. âThen goodbye ...â
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 recreated the shiny black effect of the instrument. On some points, the rubber erasures simulated reflections. The manâs face was engrossed in a serene and melancholy expression, as if he were playing music of past memories.
Fade flipped through a few more pages, until the last subject, this time designed with a red pencil. It represented the profile of a naked girl kneeling on the ground. The line her body formed remembered the slow death of a swan as it collapses. Her hands were clasped, resting between her knees and the long hair hanging in front of her face showed only a glimpse of her eye, full of anger and despair as she stared toward those who were watching her. On her left leg, a long scar broke the delicacy of her features.
She felt as if someone had just scraped her soul with a rusty spoon. She stared at the drawing, reading her thoughts for the first time. A knock on the door brought her back to reality.
âFade itâs me! Open up, I forgot something!â Said Jag from the other side.
She was caught by a flash of anger and rushed like a fury to the door, opening it wide. He didnât have time to say anything for she grabbed him by the collar, lifted him up and slammed him against the wall of the lobby.
âYouâve seen my sketchbook, right?â he said chokingly because of the thrust on the wall.
âWhat the fuck are you doing, spying on me? What do you want from me? Who are you?â She asked, keeping the handle of her knife, still stuck in the lining of the belt, and clenched in her other hand.
âNo, let me explain...â the boy hissed, his voice becoming more and more broken.
âYouâll pay for this...â she stared at him blankly, while she grasped the knife that she was about to unleash.
His wheeze, caused by her fist on his larynx, sobered her up. She released her grip, leaving him to fall on the ground.
She returned to her apartment and came out shortly after, holding his sketchbook. Having secured the door with the lock, she approached the kid and threw the album at his feet. âI donât want to see you ever againâ were her last words before slipping down the hall and leave the building.
She wandered for a long time through the streets of the city without knowing where she was going, she wanted to run, but she no longer felt the burning desire to escape; she felt strange, as if something inside her had been eradicated. She understood that it was time to return to a place where she hadnât been for a long time.
She entered a semi-hidden alley of the city when the sun was setting and stopped in a small open space which was the loading and unloading area of some warehouses abandoned years earlier. The dirt around her, the gloomy silence interrupted only by the traffic of the main road and the light that gave everything an orange-pink hue, made the place look almost surreal.
Fade thoughtfully stared