The Archangel of a Black Feather. Al Crown
“How is Claudio dealing with his issue, he is alright?” Said Tony to his brother… “Same, he has not improved, specialists say he will have to deal with it for the rest of his life. Once the damage is done it is impossible to heal it completely. Losing his mother was a profound trauma.” Presenting a fragile body, Tony moved his hand to remove the glasses, “He is a good boy, he will find his way in Vancouver and I am sure he will surprise us all. Specialized doctors do not always have the answers to comprehend our minds.” With a more strong-shaped body, Giacomo faced his brother: “I don’t expect miracles anymore, it is what it is. The boy has always been unsure and unconfident, resembling more Lidia’s character. I tried to chisel Claudio in a straightforward manner, but it was useless. Since Lidia died, his temper has become even more timid and insecure, afraid to face life.”
He caressed his thick foliage down the neck, bothered about Tony insistence on Claudio. He was a realistic man with no illusions about life. “Claudio, just to let you know, has developed a kind of paranoid sense of order, far-fetched from reality. He is obsessed with putting everything in order, you should see his room!”
Tony countered, trying to sober his brother’s rough temper: “That is not bad! On the contrary, I wish Michael were the same, his bedroom is like a dump… nothing is in order. Claudio is a responsible young man, and he is trying to cope with a great loss. Give him some time.”
After his brother arrived in Canada, Tony moved with his family from the south side of Vancouver to Lynn Valley in North Vancouver, just on the opposite side, separated from the Pacific Ocean and united by the Lions Gate Bridge. They had an only son named Michael (born March 17), one year older than Claudio (born March 20, three days after his cousin’s birthday). Giacomo moved to Vancouver because the economic situation in Italy was unstable, getting even worse after 2009.
Giacomo arrived holding his permanent resident, adrenalized…wait- ing for the citizenship application in few years. He was happy for his achievement, and the chance that his daughter could decide to join the family in the future was palpable.
“I can tell you anyway that Claudio is trying to survive his mother’s death, followed by a specialist. Since Lidia died, he had horrible nightmares about deaths and grotesque presences. Back in Italy he has regularly seen a psychologist, a family friend, while Laura was his guardian angel. You know, as I already told you, he was a kid when Lidia died, never forgetting how she passed-away,” abundantly explained Giacomo.
Tony interrupted: “Don’t be sorry! We are talking about your son, my dearest nephew. I want to know, and you need to let out your emotions, you have always been reserved. Keeping our thoughts inside doesn’t benefit our health,” gingerly observing. “Thanks Tony, I appreciate your sympathy. Claudio has a slow-motion image printed forever in his mind. Lidia died in a respiratory crisis, choking just before him. We tried to give her oxygen, while Claudio was screaming and kicking the air tanks. She was looking for him, to whisper her tearjerker last words. Claudio saw his mother losing forty kilograms in ten months, she was bones and skin. One day by mistake he entered the bathroom, while I was cleaning her…she was a walking dead, a destruction of the human body. Claudio got scared, running away in despair, and acknowledging that cancer was the devil consuming his mother. He saw God forsaking Lidia in her time of need. She was a believer and a humble good person, as we you know,” emotionally expressing. Tony placed his hand on his shoulder, as a sign of comfort, “He lost his faith. The wind of death got his lost soul,” concluded an afflicted father.
Teammates gathered at the presentation session of the new athletes, now officially engaged with the club. The training was easy, and the boys started to know each other better, deciding the roles and the substitutions in case of necessity.
Everybody was trying to impress the coaches, showing off their skills and qualities. Everyone stopped on the field, marveled at the bright rainbow created by the light rain, and a timid sun hiding between the tender clouds. It was a colorful passage bridging the field to Grouse Mountain. Claudio’s eyes were amazed as he praised that natural painting, while his coach’s hand fell on his shoulder, like a welcoming compliment; he felt a strange feeling eyeing the hills under the mountains.
Clouds were darker, as if something was moving inside, and a shiver entered inside his body. He felt a fearful sensation of solitude…something was happening, but he did not fully comprehend what it was, perhaps the beginning of a new adventure of a young man living in a new country.
Soon after the training Claudio prepared for the welcoming party at the pub. He looked lost and down in his temper, while his father started questioning about his first day of training, and the new friends he met on the soccer field.
“Let me hear how was it? I wish I was you down there, playing my best and…” Claudio looked at his father with profound eyes, whispering something he could not clearly hear, something about a trail and a path going up the mountain.
He left running outside…jumped on a car that drove away. Giacomo: “What the hell! Did I say something wrong? If I dared to behave like that with my father, God forbid!”
The night was great, and all the boys had a good time. Claudio was introduced to some girls, and one was curious to meet him, Isabel from Vancouver. She was a gorgeous twenty-year-old fit girl, with a deter- mined strong-willed temper. Claudio recoiled back in a defensive mode, feeling an infatuation.
PART II
He was embarrassed, trying to hide the shyness, while his visage was a mirror of truthfulness where one cannot abscond.
“I am attending the university too, and I love running; it makes me feel better and more relaxed. I use this sport to let out my stress and think about my writings,” said Claudio. Isabel: “Writings? Are you a writer?” Claudio felt important, and in his insecure thoughts decided to impress that gorgeous, interesting girl.
“Kind of, I write poetry, short ones. I always have a pencil and a little notebook with me. Inspirations are always behind the corner!”
Isabel was flattered by his assertion, and felt well-versed toward him, pushing the conversation more confidential. “Wow! I met a poet, a real poet. I love poetry… only if you have a deep love and passion for life can you create such poems. I like that!”
They liked each other at first sight, and were feverish to inaugurate a new friendship, conversing with the other about their nicknames and favorite jokes. Claudio confessed that back in Italy his friends used to call him Dante, because of his admiration for one of the greatest Italian poets of all time, Dante Alighieri.
It all began when his mother’s brother, Loris Rotondi, introduced Claudio to the mystical and mysterious figure of Dante, narrating the obscure times of the Late Middle Ages.
Loris used to sit outside his garden during summertime, adorned with sublime and odorous olive trees, reading with theatrical gestures the three parts of Dante’s Devine Comedy (Paradise, Purgatory, and Inferno). The boy’s imagination was mesmerized and frameless, flying with his original fantasy in a dark dream. When his mother died, the Inferno descended upon his life, sparking a kind of poetic refuge for his damaged soul. Loris’s country house in the Roman hills of ancient Tibur (Tivoli, an ancient town close to Rome) became his sanctuary and cultural cradle, isolating the lad from the cruelty of the world. Lidia died in that house, bought by his brother after retiring from the University of Florence, where he used to teach literature. Isabel’s eyes glinted with mystery, “I was scared about the figure of Dante Alighieri, all his mysteries and visions created a unique Inferno. I always thought he was a black poet, but I feel that you are a white poet.” Awakening from his shyness, Claudio observed: “I can be both black and white, depending on the mood. I was always lured by Dante’s obscure side, even if he was a devoted man. His fearful Hell is for those who committed horrible and treacherous misdemeanors in life, I should say a positive black side on its own.”
Isabel neared the boy, glancing at his shirt, “I like your Italian jersey, very cool!” A pause, “What is a jersey, Isabel?” She explained, “Your shirt, la tua maglia, as you say