Challenge

What was he doing there with those people, he wondered; and yet he kept seeing them regularly, going out with them each night, despite the fact that he found them … distressing; annoying, even at times; like that night.

To distract his mind, he turned his eyes around the restaurant; the usual couples, the usual groups … nothing of interest; he was really not in the right mood that evening.

There was an interesting individual, acttually; a young woman sitting at the next table, alone, and apparently not waiting for anyone; she ate calmly, almost thoughtfully. Next to her arm, there were a few sheets of paper, the top one covered with some ten lines of text written with a minute and accurate writing, with ‘t’s and ‘l’s and ‘d’s standing out like … the peaks of an ECG; what a horrible comparison. There was a colleague of him that used to write that way … no, this wasn't a very good comparison either, but at least that handwriting was … beautiful; or at least pleasurable … for him, at least.

A hand waved in front of his eyes (his neighbour's hand), and he started; somebody laughed, then the most hateful (for him) voice (not that the voice itself was unpleasant, but it belonged to the person in the group that he liked the least) said, with satisfaction:

«Boys, it looks like our {MC} just had an epiphany!» {MC} turned towards the guy just as he completed «Struck by lightning, uh?»

«There are things» {MC} answered «You could never understand, {challenger}» and nobody of you could, he added in his mind «and one of this is that it is possible to look at a person, even (and most of all) of the opposite sex, without having any intentions on her.»

«Oh, sure enough; and especially you prefer not to have … intentions. And you know why? Because you think you have no chances; and it's true, probably. You never tried, and I'm ready to bet you would never manage to catch somebody up, wether you want it or not.»

«Uhu, that's probably right.»

«I'd say so.»

«I think he can do it.» Agata intervened.

«I can bet he can't»

And suddenly {MC} asked himself: why not?

«You would? And how much would you bet on it?» he asked.

{challenger} turned towards him again, half surprised, half provocative:

«You'd take up a challenge?»

«Depends on the terms.»

«Uh, let's put it this way: 5$ if you get to talk with her, 10$ if she gets out of here with you, 15$ if you take her for a walk on the seaside, 25$ for a kiss, 50$ if you take her home, 100$ if you get your hands on her, 250$ if you go to bed together.»

You big son of a wealthy bitch, {MC} though; and he said:

«How would you check the last two milestones?»

«Don't worry about that.»

«You really think I wouldn't make it?»

«You think you could make it?»

«Lend me your lighter.»

{challenger} passed his lighter to {MC}, with a bully look; {MC} took it and put it in his pocket, then he stood up, accompanied by a «woo-oo» of the whole table. He ignored them, went up to the young woman's table and asked her, after clearing his throat:

«Excuse me, could you please lend me a couple of sheets?»

The woman looked up at him, startled; then she took up a small bunch of sheets and handed it over to him.

«Need a pen too?»

«No thanks, I already got one.»

{MC} went back to his table, followed by the looks of his companions and the young woman.

«So, big boy, put it all down in writing, and we can sign it up and call it a deal.»

{challenger} looked at him, surprised, then he burst into laughter.

«Of course, old boy, of course; even if I don't understand why you don't trust me.»

«When it's about money, I don't even trust myself.»

«Oh, sure enough. Gimme that paper.»

{challenger} wrote down two copies of the challenge, signed and let {MC} and two other friends of them sign, then he handed {MC} a copy and kept the other for himself.

{MC} took his copy and the remaining sheets and got back to the young woman's table.

«Thank you very much.» he said, laying the blank sheets on the table and folding his copy of the challenge. She smiled, drawing a cigarette; {MC} hastened to light it, and she asked, puffing out a cloud of smoke.

«Am I indiscreet in asking you what's it all about?»

«Uh, I'd say no, not at all. Actually, I was half hoping you would ask.»

«It's about me?»

«Well, I guess you could say so; yes, I'm afraid you've been involved,» he sat in frond of her «even if I'm afraid I can't let you read it, or they would notice.»

«Maybe you could tell me what's in there.»

«I would gladly, but can I ask you a favour first?»

«And that would be?»

«Turn the cigarette out.»

She giggled, and dropped the cigarette on the ashtray.

«Ok, I think I could go that far. After all, it's not really like I felt like smoking, but since you had asked that guy to lend you his lighter, I thought it could have been a way to let you stay.»

{MC} was speechless, as she went on:

«You see, I had plenty of time to observe you; after all, you were staring at me for quite a long time, don't you think?»

{MC} looked down to his hand slowly caressing the table.

«Uh, yes, I'd say so. Well, that's were it all started, really.»

«It, what?»

«Uh, well, it's like this: since I was sort of transfixed staring at you, one of those guys» he made a brief head gesture towards the table where his friends were sitting «sort of … challenged me. You see, I got fame of being rather, uhm, “unexperienced” in, uhm, picking up gals. So …»

«Is that true?»

«Well, I guess so, since I never really tried.»

The woman puffed.

«And so,» {MC} continued «since my mates noticed I was staring at you, they challenged me at getting to talk to you.»

«Oh, and why all this pseudo-official thingie with so much of signatures and all?»

«You've been watching closely, I can see.»

The waiter interrupted them, bringing the bill. She gave it a glance, commenting:

«Well, I was getting curious.» then she got her purse, continuing «But you haven't answered my question yet.»

«Oh, well, it was something more than that. But please allow me.» he took the bill.

«What's that? Some kind of joke?»

«No, but don't worry, I'm going to be fully repaid.»

She looked at him suspiciously:

«What do you mean?»

«I can explain it all, but please have a little patience.»

{MC} went hastly back to his table to give his contribution to the bill there, but Agata prevented him from doing so:

«Don't worry, we'll take care of it; you take care of her.»

So he got back to the young woman's table, to pay her bill.

«Ok,» she agreed «and anyway, I can always pay you back later.»

«Possibly, but I don't think there'll be any need for it.»

«How so?» she asked, standing up.

«In all this mess, I'm going to gain more than lose; and I'm not talking only about money.»

He held the door open for her, then followed her outside.

«How so?» she asked again.

«Well, you see, it may seem ridiculous, but I fear that letting you know more is going to spoil it all.»

«Even if that's the only reason why I'm interested in you?»

«Oh, well, in that case I have no problem answering. It's like this: they challenged me to go as far as I can, and depending on what I manage to get at, or rather take you at, they're going to pay me. They set a couple of checkpoints to reach.»

«And how far do you think you can go with this bet?»

«Well, to say it all, I didn't even know where to start; but when you … took the initiative, you gave me … I wouldn't say courage but rather … a hope.»

«Hope for what?»

«Well, you see, I sort of felt like I had done the right thing accepting the challenge. You see, I was in total agreement with the guy who said I wouldn't be able to pick you up, but one of my friends said she was sure I could, and that guy was so sure that I couldn't make it, that I felt sort of compelled to accept the challenge; just to have him cut a poor figure. After all, I had nothing to lose, except possibly my face with you …»

They were standing there in front of the roaring sea; she nodded, took a mint, offered him another, and asked:

«So what are these … checkpoints?»

«Uh, well,» {MC} looked around him, spotting his friends who were just getting out of the restaurant «I guess you can have a look for yourself …» and he handed her his copy of the challenge.

«Aha.» she nodded, giving it a glance, then handing it back to him «I'd say that makes 15?»

«Uh, I … I guess so.»

«You're getting nervous.»

«They're following us.»

«Are they?» she looked up at him, giving a quick glance towards the restaurant; they kept strolling forth.

«There's something very ridiculous in all this» said she, suddenly «and I must be quite a blockhead for falling into it. I just hope it doesn't end up like with Alice's curiouos oystiers.»

«Not as far as it depends on me. I mean, I have no intention to … force you at anything.»

{ they stroll along the seaside talking; she gets to know him }

{ the kiss: }

Just the perfect scene: them sitting on the bench, two black silhouettes against the starry sky, with a full moon to give a soft light, and the sea with his silver stripe of the moon reflex; it wasn't even too hard to picture the background music with the classic romantic violins.

«Ok, tell me the truth: you never kissed anyone.»

«That's not hard to understand; I don't even know where to start from.»

She laughed.

«Ok, sorry,» she said «I didn't mean to offend you; it's just that it seems so … funny. I know it doesn't help at all but … it's so peculiar.» she stared straight at him «I can't belive you can't think of anything.»

«Oh, that's not the problem for sure.»

«So you're afraid you could do something wrong?»

«What do you think?»

«I promise I won't slap you; I'll just push you away.»

She was still smiling, holding the laughter; {MC} looked away from her, scratching his head.

«I feel so … strange.»

«How so?»

He shook his head.

«I can't even formulate a coherent thought.»

«You must not. You mustn't think, all you need to do is … ok, look, start from the beginning, the simplest thing that comes to your head.» his lips hitched, as he turned towards her, who continued «And you mustn't talk. No need to say “I'm gonna do this”, “I'm gonna do that” … just do»

«I … I don't even feel too sure about entering your private zone.»

«It's going to be very hard for you to kiss me without getting closer.»

He shrugged.

«What's the worst thing that could happen?»

«You're still thinking. Now listen: empty your mind; don't even think you're able to think. Just let your body do.»

He stared straight at her, those large beautiful eyes, occupying his whole view, deep wells on a starry sky.

«Wow.» he wispered; in awe, he reached out for her cheek with two fingers. He could feel his own heart beat deeply, deafening him. He gently raised her chin, getting his face closer to her; she half-closed her eyes, he shut his; just a moment before, a lightning though —do or die— and then her soft, wet lips against his.

Just a simple contact at first; then a gentle skimming of lips against lips; taking each of her lips between yours, one by one; feeling her reciprocate; being fought between the urge to eat her mouth and entering it; not knowing what you're doing anymore.

A sudden need for air, her lips following his as he tried to move away.

«Wait a sec.» he managed to whisper.

«Hm.» she left him «What's the problem?» her breathing wasn't normal either.

«Let me catch my breath.» he breathed deeply, saying «Wow.» in the exale.

«So?»

«So what?»

«How's that?» she asked, making fun of him; he giggled, she echoed.

«I should ask that.»

«You're sure you want to know?»

«If I don't know what I did wrong, how can I improve?»

«You're starting to think again. That's no good.»

«Well, ok, I really don't want to know anything.»

Just do. And so he did again.

«Need a lift to go back home?»

«I thought I was supposed to come to your place?»

«There's my family waiting for me.»

«Ditto.»

«That settles it, I guess.»

«Uhu.» she shook her head «I know a place where we can go.»

{MC} puffed, quoting

Io lavoro al bar
di un albergo a ore
porto su il caffè
a chi fa l'amore^[english]

«Very funny. No, it's just our summer house.»

«Come on in.» she offered, lighting the entrance; he stepped in, and started removing his jacket as she closed the door; she took the jacket and hanged it on the hooks next to the door, placing her coat and purse next to it. Then she guided him through a short corridor, turning on other lights, to the living room.

{MC} had a good look at the place; the living room could comfortly host over twenty people; two doors (other than the one whence they came in) opened into the room: a large four-panes one, the middle two of which where open showing a dining room to match the room they were currently standing in, and a normal one open on a dark corridor; a French window led to a balcony.

The walls were covered with paintings and two bookshelves hosting, together with lots of books and ornaments, a hi-fi system.

She waited calmly for him to end his examination, and then he asked:

«How do you like it?»

«And this is just your summer house?»

«Yes. Well, ok, technically speaking this is my house, but since I prefer to live with the rest of my family, this one mostly gets used as a vacation house, or when we have big parties. See,» she took him to the balcony «that's where we live normally.»

«That red block of flats?»

«Yup.»

«So how comes you prefer to live with your parents?» he asked, as they got back in.

«I'm lazy. Want something to drink?»

«No thanks, I don't drink alcohol.»

«A tonic water?»

«Well, thanks, I wouldn't mind that.»

As she prepared the drinks, he had a look at the compact discs; she disappeared for a second, to go fetch lemmon and ice, and when she got back, Paolo Conte was singing in his rough voice:

Una
di queste notti
viene a trovarti
la tua
felicità
Quanto rimane
da dove arriva
così va il mondo
mai si saprà
sì ma intanto
così va il mondo
c'è un gran bel tempo
stanotte qua.1

«Hint, hint, uh?» she grinned «Restart it.»

He obeyed, commenting «'twas for me, anyway.»

Una collana scintilla per terra
una mano l'appoggia più su
vicino al telefono
nell'oscurità.
Poi due orecchini con un orologio
si aggiungono a quel che c'è già
si avverte il segreto
di un'intimità.2

She finished preparing the drinks, and handed him a glass

«Your tonic water.»

«Thank you,» he took his glass «and what would that it be that you're drinking?»

«I don't know, it's Martini, vodka and tonic in equal parts.»

«The hacker drink.»

«The what?»

«Hacker drink. You know hackers, the people that crack passwords and other protection mechanism? They teach you a Zen approach, and Grand Masters suggest a drink like that to help relax and concentrate.»

«It's more likely you'll lose your concentration that way, rather. I mean, alcohol really doesn't help for that. And anyway, are you trying to suggest a comparison between me and these … informatic pirates?»

«Corsairs, rather: they do have some sort of ethical code, accepting this sort of hidden challenge thrown in by the programmers who invent the protection systems. But really, I wouldn't make any comparison. How could I even think about comparing to anything?»

«Shut up.» she smiled.

«Well, I thought a little romance could … warm things up.»

«You really want that money, uh?»

He looked at her, surprised.

«You really think I'm doing it for the money?»

«No.»

«So why did you ….»

«Just stirring you up.»

«Oh.» long seconds of silence, then «Actually, I totally forgot the challenge, after the kiss; I mean, I couldn't really think of anything; there was just this …» he made a vague gesture «this …» he kept in silence for some seconds more, looking for the right word; not managing to find it, he started over «I cold only think about the absurdity of this story; about how in some misterious and maybe magic way I kissed someone for the first time, and that this … it seemed to be not unwelcome to this person …» his voice was now somewhat forced, even if still low, and he looked amazed «I think I fell in love; no, I mean,» his voice went back normal «I always thought of this feeling as it were falling in love, but maybe it's just … I don't know how to say it. I find you to be … desirable, I think. Oh rats» he shook his head «words, words, damn, I …» again amazement, as if the idea had just struck him «Yet there's one thing I can't understand, and it's …» he stopped, with the thought “I'll spoil it all.”

«It's what?» she asked; she had been listening to him attentively.

«You.»

«What's the problem with me?»

«I don't understand this … indulging to me.»

«Indulging?»

«Yes. I mean … I can understand at the beginning, curiosity, the oddity of the situation … but then? I mean, why not just cut it out? What …»

She raised a hand to stop him.

«Ok, it's true. We could say it was just curiosity, in the beginning. But in …» she guestured to mean “and then, and then” «as time went by, I mean, listening to you, studying your ways, I think I understood you.»

«Understood me? It's not like I tried to explain anything, did I?»

She shook her head, taking one more sip from her glass.

«No, no, I really mean I understood you. I understood what you are: a shy person, sensible, maybe too much, pedantic, in a certain way, and a perfectionist, in such a way that you're continuously, infallibly afraid of doing something wrong, creating obstacles for each action. Somebody hidden behind an enormous, impassable wall, or shell; locked in, prisoner of a free-fall spiral, with no hope of salvation from the inside, with a possibility to be freed only by chance, by some external intervention. And maybe I saw myself as this intervention. But that's not all …»

As she spoke, he had sat at a table, propping his elbows on it and crossing his fingers, letting the chin rest in on the thumbs and forefingers, staring at the void.

«Offended?» she asked, reaching his chair, putting her glass on the table next to his elbow, embracing him from behind; he felt her breast leaning on his back, and started; he shook his head, but said nothing; she continued

«I hope you're not offended, but I'm not finished. There's much more that has been going on in my head since you spoke to me. There are many reasons why I'm letting you stay here, but this premise was necessary, because if I'm mistaken then we're basing it all on a misunderstanding, and it should be cleared now.» he still said nothing, so she went on, leaving him «You may find it odd, if I got you right, but I somewhat … like you; I say that you might find it odd for at least two reasons: you probably don't think you are particularly attractive, and that's probably true, in a certain way: you're not the most beautiful man in the world, even if not even the worst one; and you may find it odd because I'm sure you don't think much of love affairs with little or no sentimental involvement. Am I wrong in believing you believe in the One Love For Life? Possibly you yourself understand how absurd such a thing might be, yet you can't clear your mind of this thought; because of the spiral I was talking about, possibly, or because of your fear of unrecoverable errors; or maybe just because of the fear of not having the courage to look someone in her eyes after the affair is over —and much more so if it was the first time. Oh, I'm sure your mind is perfectly able to evaluate pros and cons, oddities and exactness of such a thought, and it probably does; so I shouldn't talk about it, since it would be useless, boring, and why not, annoying.

I'll say one thing only, and in the worst possbile way, since I can't think of any softer way to break it to you: I want to help you grow up, sentiment-wise. I have no idea of how this relationship can turn out, and I don't expect anything from it, either positively or negatively. And this is the way you should take it: don't consider it a one-night affair, nor the germ for the relationship that'll accompany you for the rest of your life.»

«What else is there? This is what has tormented me until now: what's between the two extremes?»

«You're afraid of your possible future suffering. Yet you know perfectly well that suffering builds character and helps you mature: you can't learn driving in a straight road without obstacles, just knowing there can be traffic and bends. And likewise it's stupid not wanting to learn to drive just because there are accidents, and people die of them.»

«One learns to drive gradually.» he answered «Theory first, practice then, with double commands at first, and as the instructor control gets less and less, you end up —usually— knowing how to drive.»

«I know what you're aiming at; driving is something you learn step by step, and so one should mature; but in love there's no theory, and as for practice … well, I doubt double commands would be a great idea. But you're playing the devil's advocate here. My comparison, like all comparisons, can only be taken up to a certain point. To say it in a language you understand better: a comparsion is not necessarily an isomorphism.»

«Yes, I know, I always play the devil's advocate. I chose this role: one of the many stupid things I made in my life, as you know.» he sighed «I feel so odd listening to someone telling me those same things I kept repeating to myself … you know,» he turned to look at her «I think you're the first person, outside of my family, who really understood the way I am.»

«This wouldn't surprise me, as I'm sure I'm the first person you dedicate enough attention to, that kind of attention that moves the other into studying you.»

«I thought it was quite automatic. I do it with every girl I meet.»

«Every?»

{MC} remained silent, thoughtful; then:

«I see what you mean. True, there must be something that triggers your interest. Something they say, or do, usually. Yes, you're probably right.»

She sat in front of him. «You're such a strange guy. You think so much … too much, really.»

«It's my safety net.»

«It's just the way you run away from reality.»

He nodded. «Exactly, and it's something I need to do.»

«Nope.» she shook her head «not something you need. Just the easiest way you found, because you're lucky enough to have a functioning brain. It's good you keep it in exercise, but you shouldn't turn everything into plain reasoning. Feelings can lead to errors, that's true, undoubtely true, especially when they are passions, wild passions. And may —probably— feelings can lead to errors more often than reason.

But even reason can commit errors, for thousands of reasons, firt of all the fact that premises are almost always irrational, and second because reason is often bent to astounding irrationality, deceiving itself to provide a sense of rationality.

Moreover, reason without feeling is sterile, miserably sterile. You know that well, even in math reason has to come after intuition, not before.

And finally, there are things where reason has no field, at all, and these are things one cannot leave without, not being a sane human being.» she stopped, shaking his head «I'm turning into a preacher. I know you know all this, and I know it's useless for me to bring it forth to you, since you're perfectly able to do it by yourself, and you probably did a thousand times. I'm only spoiling the atmosphere.»

«Oh, no, I like the way you say these things. It almost sounds like you've been think a lot about it yourself.»

She looked at him, starled, as if he had catched her red handed.

«Well, ok, I can't deny it. I'm a thinker, too. I love thinking, it can give you satisfactions you cannot find in real life. But …» she shook her head «no, I don't want to get it started all over again. And this» she raised her glass «is getting to my head.»

There were seconds of silence, then she proposed:

«You should take some too. It helps you relax.»

«I don't like alcohol.»

«Because it slows down self-control?»

«No, I don't really like the taste.»

She looked at her glass. «Oh well, de gustibus …» She emptied the glass.

Silence covered the space between them.

«Don't look at me this way.» she complained after a while.

«This way, how?»

«You've got that look of the pub again.»

«Oh.» {MC} blinked «What's wrong with that look? Does it annoy you?»

She shook her head.

«Uh, no, it's not really annoying. I don't mind people staring at me, usually. But you have a particular look … like when you stare into a fire without seeing it, except that one can feel perfectly well you are seeing them … it's like when you were going to kiss me, except that this time you were not looking just at my eyes, but all of me. And you're not going to kiss me. There's not just desire in your eyes, it's like if you were seeing somebody else in my place, and that somebody else is me, again. What do you think about, when you look that way?»

Now it was {MC}'s turn to shake his head

«I don't know. Many things. At the pub I was thinking about your handwriting, and me losing time with those guys. On the bench … I wasn't thinking at all; I could just see the Void, there in your eyes. You got black eyes.» he stood up, got closer to here «Completely black eyes, you cannot tell the difference between the iris and the pupil.»

«Maybe it's just dilated pupils.» she stood up next to him. He shook his head.

«No, even dilated pupils can be told from the iris; and the light is too strong for you pupils to be that dilated.»

«Too strong, the light?» she reached for the switch, and turned off the main light replacing it with diffused light «Better this way?»

She turned to him, finding his face close to hers. His voice was a whisper:

«You got flares in your eyes.»

«And fire on my lips.»

Wake up suddenly, alone, hungry, in a day-lit room, with a blinding sun filtering through the scales of the shutters.

Realize you're naked, still feeling her warmth next to you, your head filled with confused, mingled memories, and not one thought —a total brain brain black-out, with phantome memories playing games with the light of the everburning candles in our head.

Move slowly, in the rustling of the crumpled sheets still holding the impression of her body —and still not being able to think, staring at the void, the dust dancing on the rays of the sun.

Brownian motion. That's it. Start up the brains —our duty and source of safety3

Move. Sit up. Have a good look around, to see

• a small table
• a bedside table
• a double bed
• a built-in wardrobe
• a shelf
• a carpet at the feet of the bed

Get closer to the border of the bed, still sitting there, pushing with your arms and pulling with your legs, untill you finally sit on the border, legs haning out.

Start feeling the physical reality of life, the non-poetic side. Sheets still wet; strange odors; strange aches.

The clothes lying there on the carpet, an untidy heap; everything so different from how you would have liked it to be —ordered, sequential, consequential, even this.

Move on to the bathroom, feeling how even the most simple things, like urinating, require an effort, because some parts of your body, involved in the process, want to rest some more, they're tired and aching —or maybe that's just the way your brain —always him— interprets these new —yet not really so— signals.

Look at the mirror.

What have you done, {MC}? You killed someone. You killed the one you were, the one you still wanted to be, to become what?

You had a woman —or she had you —or the two of you simply went to bed together.

Simply. There's nothing simple about it at all, nothing obvious or predictable, and of all the things happened you know little if anything at all —and yet it's so strange, since even if she started it was you finishing —and how is it possible that less than five minutes separate an infant from a veteran? Five minutes —or less— for the first battle. But how much time between the beginning and the end of the war?

Stakanoff, she had called him the fourth time; not that she looked tired. And she was always warm and moist and cosy, tiring host. And exausted, you and her, you both slept body against body, her clinging to your arm, you almost turned the other way, the way you never sleep, since the beds are too short to host you and you only sleep comfortable in a foetal position —and it was her sleeping that way, not you.

And the day after —that is now— you feel like a worm, completely emptied of yourself, with a feeling of shame that the shower you're having won't help in cleaning away.

Shame, but why? Because that's the way you feel after, and maybe this is the difference between making love and the plain, aseptic having sex —when you make love, you can drown your disgust and shame and misery and the feeling of being muddy in a cuddly embrace.

And what now, instead? Instead, you now feel disgusting, and even if the shower can wash away the filth, there's no tender cuddling in which to drown the shame. Ok, but why now, if yesterday you only felt satisfied and relaxed?

So you get back to the bedroom, put something on —your underwear, your shirt— and you remember you're still hungry.

And she's still there, in the living room, reading somethig and drinking something else from a short and wide white cup.

She looks up to you, smiles and says «Hi there» and everything —shame misery disgust mud tiredness— disappears in her smile; and you're magnetized to her face, your eyes transfixed in her eyes, her neckline just at the borders of your field of view.

She stands up, wavering seeing you're heading towards her so steadly.

«Hey, {MC}, what's up? What's … hey, no, wait, wa … stop, wait, wait a sec, hey, oh my, I unleashed a Fury!» she giggles.

Now that's pretty embarassing, since it all stops suddenly —or as fast as these things can stop: like when someone opens the mouth of a bollon … p‌f‌f‌f‌f … deflated. Except that she's still there, her back on the table, and you're still there, between her legs raised and locked behind your loins.

«I said something worng?»

«Uh … yes, I think so. No, I mean, no, but you … you made me think of a friend of mine.»

«The bet guy?»

She starts putting herself together —she sits up, closes her dressing gown, gets off the table— as you drop on a chair. Over and out.

«Bet?» {MC} raised his head «What bet? Oh, the bet … no, no, definitely not. I wouldn't even call him a friend. No, no, I meant a real friend.»

«And?» she inquired, worried, sitting next to him.

«And, nothing. I don't know, it's just that I saw him in front of me and … well, we could say he's not as attractive as you.» he smiled at her.

«Oh, I feared something had happened to him.»

«No, not really. At least, not until the last time I met him.»

«So why did you think of him?»

«Because the Fury thing came out when I gave him a book as a present, and it was like givin dynamite as a present to a bomber. Nothing,» he waved «forget it.» still some seconds of silence, then he continued «The usual brain spoiling it all. Click, click, click, click» he gestured as if he was turning a handle next to his temple «think, always think, link, associate, distinguish, enumerate … rationalize, to sum it up.»