Five Urban Stories

  Five Urban Stories

  And Something Better

  Thomas Dalcolle

  Copyright © 2020 Thomas Dalcolle

  Copyright Italia - Objective Concept – www.Copyright.it

  DEP636956958025777323

  #FACDCOP00-1993116632

  All rights reserved.

  Copying and reproduction after translation in any language, of any part of this publication, for any purpose, in any form, and by any means, is not allowed without written authorization by the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This publication is a work of fiction. Any reference to real persons or facts must be considered a mere chance.

  ISBN: -

  ISBN-13: -

  A special acknowledgment to Jess Frankel for the thorough editing of my final draft

  “… The dreamed-of city contained him as a young man; he arrives at Isidora in his old age. In the square there is the wall where the old men sit and watch the young go by; he is seated in a row with them. Desires are already memories.”

  Italo Calvino – Invisible Cities

  1972 – Einaudi Editore (Le Città Invisibili)

  CONTENTS

  1. U and V, the Red and the Beauty

  2. Lost Discovery

  3. Deuce or the Merciful Mantis

  4. Dish Washing with Daria

  5. The First Bus Stop

  6. Something Better

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  1. U and V, the Red and the Beauty

  On his thirteenth birthday, Fausto received a glittering new bicycle. Having shot up in height and weight, the bike he used since he was nine had become worthless. He’d dreamed about an adult bike like that!

  After an endless sermon on risks and cautions, his parents allowed him to ride along the roads of the peaceful area where they lived during the warm afternoons of that sweet spring. They promised that they’d let him ride to school every morning if he behaved himself for a month.

  Fausto, who was aware of his stature and strength above the average, deemed their worries as bullshit but promised to obey.

  He was already the top scorer in the Under-14 soccer team, managed by the Citizen’s Soccer Society. He felt invulnerable.

  But there was one exception.

  Fausto was growing faster than his classmates, and a soft shade of thin hair already adorned his upper lip. The attraction for girls built faster and stronger every day, although he hadn’t the faintest idea what to do or how to approach one of them.

  An unbearable urge pushed him towards the loveliest of his schoolmates, but every time he tried to get closer the result was a hopeless failure.

  He felt dumb and powerless in front of this relationship challenge.

  Well, no surprise—that was the rule for a boy at that age. But his relentless attraction and his awkwardness, coupled with his pride and his physical strength, ended up creating problems of unexpected size and nature.

  *

  During his afternoon rides on his new bike, Fausto enjoyed heading west of the neighborhood.

  There, the lonely, almost traffic-free streets formed a regular grid, and the buildings displayed the captivating architecture of the years between the two wars. Every three or four buildings rose two-story villas, more elegant but yet older, surrounded by well-maintained gardens.

  In the backyards of some buildings, groups of boys about Fausto’s age gathered to talk and play simple street games, mostly improvised soccer games where a garage door was the goal.

  Fausto used to stop at the courtyard of a tall building close to his house, one that he often observed from his bedroom window. He liked the vintage shapes of its eaves and the elegant plaster moldings that adorned the windows, with different styles for each floor.

  The leaders of that group of boys were two brothers who lived on the third floor of the building.

  They were both handsome and tall and had captivating smiles. The older of the two, Claudio, was about two years older than Fausto, and he sported an athletic body build comparable to his.

  The brothers were natural leaders and inspired a genuine sense of admiration and respect from the other boys. But they accepted Fausto willingly in their troop and treated him as a peer.

  Fausto never spent much time with them, first, because his school homework, together with the soccer training sessions, left him little free time for his bike rides in the neighborhood.

  There were other reasons too.

  The brother’s well-balanced but firm disposition to act like bullies with the younger and smaller boys disturbed him.

  He thought it was pointless for them to rule through power over a group of small boys. After all, they were there only to spend their free time all together, not to accomplish any critical mission.

  Nor could he take solace in showing off his superior ability, during the improvised football matches, which often filled the backyard with shouts and acclamations. He was used to the thrilling experience of real soccer and to the incomparable excitement of the championship matches that took place every Sunday in a regular court.

  Despite all that, he was interested in chatting from time to time with the two brothers, because he felt he could learn something.

  The two—as most of the boys in the group— went to a different school from Fausto's, a less demanding professional school for accountants. Besides, they hadn't any sport training to attend, and, in the end, they had much more free time than he did. Therefore, they had already acquired, and displayed, a broader experience of real-life facts.

  No doubt that the brothers were a well-assorted couple.

  The elder was more assertive. He often indulged in the use of physical force that he applied with natural nonchalance, slapping or kicking the asses of those who weren’t quick enough to execute his orders.

  But always with a paternal, mocking attitude.

  The younger, Emilio, who had a more reflexive and piercing intelligence, often adopted a cunning type of behavior to probe the readiness and loyalty of the troop members seamlessly.

  Then, he used to report the most disappointing ones to his brother for prompt correction, or in the worst cases, expulsion.

  Together, they could successfully manage every unexpected sedition against their supremacy. This sometimes happened, mostly because of the new recruits in their large troop—a sort of boys’ club well-known and coveted in the whole neighborhood.

  It was a situation that caused the aversion of other smaller boys’ groups, as they continuously lost members to their favor. But this is another, different story.

  One afternoon, the brothers had organized a competition with darts. The two hung the target on a wall, placed in a well-shadowed corner of the backyard, then they’d divided the boys into groups. Fausto had been enrolled as the third player in the bosses' team.

  Needless to say, their team started first, and they scored three bullseyes, an almost incredible chance more than a human achievement.

  Excited by their outstanding performance, they were chatting in wait of the next turn, and something pushed them to tell each other of the most attractive and smartest girls in their schools.

  Fausto learned from them that, in his own school, there was a smart and cute girl of the last year, who was notorious for allowing lovemaking in the exchange of some favors.

  Their information was, however, uncertain about the precise nature of those favors. They believed it was ice cream offerings, gifts of fancy trinkets, or even motorbike or sports car rides.

  The girl’s name was Esther, and Fausto knew her well, being one of the loveliest and sexiest girls in his school, a kind of goddess in his mind, that he never dared approach.

  “Are you fooling me?” he asked Claud
io, smiling.

  “Why? You must trust me, Fausto,” replied Claudio with a crafty expression on his face. “You only have to put on your most confident face, approach her at the end of school, and offer her something enticing! You just have to be kind and joyful, being sure of yourself, and she won’t refuse. The thing is common; it seems she likes it. Even some incredible jerks of our school got a date with her in this way.”

  Fausto was still perplexed.

  “So, if it so easy, why don’t you try yourself?”

  “Nah! I already have someone who doesn’t ask for gifts to enjoy herself with me.”

  Then he suddenly resumed his bullish expression, while his brother Emilio chuckled.

  Claudio tapped his finger against Fausto’s chest. “And don’t get curious about her name, boy! She wants the thing to remain between the two of us. And me too, right?”

  “Come on,” Fausto laughed back. “Don’t worry about me, Casanova!”

  It was their turn again, but this time Fausto scored a modest five points; he was still distracted, thinking of what he had learned about that Esther.

  For the first time, Emilio spoke before his brother.

  “Hey, champion, now stop dreaming of pussy and concentrate on what we’re doing.”

  *

  On Thursday, Fausto had a shortened schedule, only four hours of lessons, while Esther’s class left the school an hour later.

  That day, Fausto didn’t go straight home but took a long walk in the city center and went back in front of the school an hour later. He remained outside the school gates, waiting for Esther to appear.

  He felt lucky when he spotted her crossing the gates fast and alone, and he headed straight to her with a broad smile stamped on his face.

  “Hi, Esther! I’m Fausto, do you remember me? May I tell you something?”

  The girl stared at him perplexed, without stopping. She barely recognized him, only because she recalled having heard once of that big boy of the second year, one who was the rising star of the local soccer Spring Team.

  Fausto didn’t wait for a reply and continued, “I’d like to invite you for a king-sized ice cream when you’re free! A new place has opened near the market square, and their ice creams are delicious. It’s crowded all day!”

  “Thank you. But, I’m in a hurry now. Let’s talk another time, okay?”

  Meanwhile, they were crossing the street, and a boy with a powerful motorbike stopped right near the opposite curb.

  Esther recognized him. “Hi, Lou,” she said with a joyful tone.

  The boy, in a flash, put the bike on the kickstand, removed his helmet, and faced Fausto.

  He had to be over eighteen years old, and Fausto understood that Esther had a date with him. Apparently, he was her last conquest because Fausto had never noticed him before.

  “Hey, what are you looking at, dumbass?” he shouted to Fausto. “Girls like Esther aren’t for you. Back off, or you’ll regret it!”

  Everything happened in a flash, and there wasn’t any remedy afterward.

  Fausto first felt full of shame for how the boy had treated him in front of Esther, and then a red curtain of rage fell over his eyes.

  He was still about two meters away from the guy.

  He jumped and spun in the air, aiming at the head with the right foot, as he would do with a soccer ball flying at eye level in the middle of the small area, with all his force to score the goal.

  The boy barely had the time to defend himself, lifting his left forearm before his face. But the blow went in so powerfully that it almost dislocated his arm, and the head only received partial protection. Yet, Fausto was lucky that the boy had managed to shelter his head from a direct blow, or he could have killed him.

  The next thing Fausto remembered, after jumping on foot again and collecting himself, was the boy lying on the asphalt weeping in pain, and Esther hitting him with all the strength of her small fists, shouting every kind of insult.

  “You…dirty pig! Go back to your foot games for mentally impaired and never try to get close again!”

  Fausto thought he’d just set a new outstanding record in his collection of disasters with lovely girls.

  In a minute, a bunch of people had gathered around them, someone was helping the boy and asking if he could stand up or if he wanted them to call an ambulance. Someone else comforted the girl.

  Then a firm grip clutched Fausto’s arm and pulled him out of the turmoil. He found himself face to face with the gym professor, who was also the assistant of his soccer team trainer.

  “Fausto, have you lost your mind? What the hell were you trying to do?”

  Fausto was still so upset that he couldn’t find an answer.

  The professor assumed a more protecting demeanor. “Listen, I want to help you. I know the boy, and I’ll try to settle the accident. I’ll call your father and ask him to meet the boy to avoid a lawsuit for aggression. It’s necessary, do you understand? You’re risking a serious legal problem.”

  Fausto felt like dying, as he realized the effects of his action. “Okay, I understand,” was all that he could babble.

  The professor looked at him, still concerned.

  “Go, go home! You must get away from here. Let me talk to the boy. You just calm down and rush home. Explain what happened to your parents, and I’ll talk with your father soon. Don’t worry, it’s been just a scuffle between boys. Too harsh anyway…we’re not training you to break persons’ heads, do you realize it?”

  *

  The punishment was tough.

  His father seized the new bicycle until he could make a further decision, and the soccer trainer told him he would be out of the player’s team for a month, after making him swear he would never commit such an idiotic action again, or he would be out forever.

  To Fausto it seemed too much and, for the first time, he felt full of bitterness against parents, teachers and every kind of adults' authority. Including youngsters with powerful motorbikes and sports cars to hook girlfriends.

  Only his mother had shown a little of sympathy and recognition of his problem, but had sentenced him all the same: “Fausto, I know it’s difficult with beautiful girls at your age. Just put this at the back of your mind: you must wait at least five years before they will appreciate you. Accept the fact they don’t even see you at the moment.”

  Besides, just a few hours after the feat, a real storm hit Fausto’s social network accounts. For the most part, it was posts or messages from people sympathizing with him, mainly soccer team’s mates or fans.

  The substance of their opinion was, “You gave that asshole what he deserved! You’re great, champ!”

  But many other, unknown trolls with fantasy nicknames, were fooling him with stinging irony.

  “Catching a nice girl is not the same of kicking a ball in a soccer court, idiot!” argued a post.

  Or, “It’s not by breaking heads you’ll earn yourself a fine pussy, kicking dumbass!” And so on.

  Those posts were hurting his self-esteem as burning stigmas. Even worse were a few definitely worrying posts, that promised him the right punishment for what he had done. Someone also swore to smash his face when he least expected it.

  Fausto thought he’d better raise the security level of his social accounts, allowing only his friends to reach his wall or his message inbox.

  But before changing the settings, he noticed a message from an unknown sender, different from all the others, that utterly puzzled him.

  Someone who called himself Fairtrader had said, “At your age, you showed to be already a tough guy! I have a deal to offer you. You’ll get what you’re looking for, and we’ll share some business advantages. PM me if you’re interested.”

  Fausto wanted to check which kind of deal this Fairtrader could offer him.

  He entered a reply. “What’s the deal?”

  The answer came back in a few minutes. “We should meet in person, and I’ll explain everything. You won’t regret listening to me!
”

  *

  Since he couldn’t enjoy his thoughtless bike rides in the surroundings, Fausto spent more time with the two brothers’ group near his house. Claudio couldn’t avoid mocking him.

  “Hey, champ! I told you to offer her some gift, not to break the first competitor’s head. You’ve got guts, but girls don’t like wooden heads causing too much noise around them.”

  Fausto had no pithy comeback, but from that precise moment, Claudio’s excessive self-confidence, his patriarchal and mocking attitude, approached the limit of his endurance. Actually, he had plunged headlong in that disaster because of Claudio’s allegedly superior real-life experience.

  Emilio’s remark was more bearable and not totally pointless.

  “Hey, champ, great blow! Just, next time explore the battleground better before launching the charge.”

  In those days, a new boy showed up from time to time at the six-story building’s courtyard, trying to become a member of the club.

  But Claudio seemed hardly to tolerate him. He was a classmate of Emilio’s in the professional school. Fausto called him Red, because of the bright color of his hair.

  Red was very thin and seemed weaker than a boy of his age, but he was graceful and had beautiful features. He also showed other extravagant qualities which attracted everybody’s attention in the group.

  Likely, Claudio considered him a threat to his leadership.

  Red looked like a dandy, always wearing elegant clothes that appeared brand new and perfectly tailored to fit his slender body.

  He wore sports shoes of the best brand, those that cost three or four times the price of the more popular ones. He also sported trendy sunglasses, an accessory that nobody else in the boys’ group ever seemed to need or care of.

  And, he always had the latest and most expensive model of an I-phone in his hands.