. It's 857 words. Pain.
It’s that constant and sharp ache, stimulated by the jolt of nerves in an affected area. It’s that imperfect flow of blood, thick and unwanted.
It reverberated through his leg like a dark, heavy cloud engulfing a sunny day. As soon as the cloud would start to subside, it would develop in the second leg, as Nonno Pino made his way up the stairs. A walking frame assisted his climb; there was no rail in the old house. Pino’s legs were throbbing, his heart pounding by the time he reached the front door. A loud horn sounded behind him, as his grandson – nipote Juliano – drove away in his flashing car.
Pino was getting old; his joints were crumbling, his back hunched and his hearing was virtually gone but he would always recognise that horn. After all, he heard it twice a day. Sandra, Pino’s daughter, forced her son to visit Nonno Pino once a day. Pino knew why. She knew he was going to die soon. He didn’t deny this belief and besides, he wasn’t going to go against it because he enjoyed the company, even though Juliano clearly didn’t. Pino knew that the only way he could make Juliano smile in some way was by giving him an allowance; a monetary favour for being a guest.
Pino sighed. He continued his walk through the frontyard of his home and placed himself on his favourite armless rocking-chair on the front porch. Impulsively, he thought, “I’m going to die on this chair someday”. But he shoved the idea away instantly. He didn’t like to think about death. He wasn’t ready for it. All the old folks were gone, yes. But surely, he could find someone before he passed? A lonely death just wasn’t right.
Pino picked up his cup of tea from the table in front of him. He dipped his biscuit in it so that it was soft enough to chew. It had been 15 years since Pino bid hail and farewell to his last tooth. Toothless he had come out of his mother’s womb and toothless he would go into his grave. Sandra had bought him a set of false teeth for Father’s day but they hurt his gums and so, he would only wear them when he knew Sandra was coming. Pino chuckled and thought about when young Juliano was a kid. The perfect thing about children is that they’re too innocent to discriminate based on age. Throwing himself out of his mother’s car like the local kids running for Dr. Jones’ Ice Cream, he would rush into Nonno’s arms, crashing into his chest. Sandra would watch, with her sunglasses on, in her modern attire, as Nonno and nipote would tussle on the soft grass without a care in the world. Sometimes the neighbours would watch, with quizzical expressions. Pino would just laugh harder and Juliano would join along. One neighbour even came up to them once and told Pino – “you’re an ol’ man, be careful!” Pino told him not to worry, in a thick Italian accent and Juliano added, “Yeah, we’re like brothers!”
The neighbour shook his head insultingly and got back to his gardening duties, ripping away the dirt in front of him with his pick and breaking the earth as if he was slaughtering an animal. Juliano always looked at him suspiciously, imagining at times that they were at war and that he must be captured, just like the stories of old that Nonno had told him; stories of a war that seemed so far away and so long ago.
Juliano was no longer that kid.
Ah well...
Pino could see that the shadows around him, from the trees and the lone green street lamppost, had considerably stretched, indicating the sun had begun to give up for the day. It was quarter past six and he wasn’t doing too badly for an ol’ man. He really needed to get up or the stiffness of his legs would settle in like iron. But he couldn’t. The cloud of pain was too great and had now enveloped every bone of his body. It wasn’t a physical pain though. It was the pain of loneliness forcing him into the rocking chair, suffocating his nerves and paralysing any motivation he had. Would he ever get up? Was this truly his place of death? On Martin Street, outside his sixty year old house, on the left side of his front porch, forever dazing alone, forever hurt alone, forever rocking back and forth, back and forth, pop goes the weasel...
There were too many clouds. Too many clouds. He needed an early sleep. Yes, that’s what he needed. Just for a bit. There was no sin in that. Not at his age...
***
When Pino woke up, he was looking at his eyes. The eyes of Juliano staring back at him. The same eyes of his mother.
Instantly, Pino became angry, “Why didn’t you sound the horn? You know I hate it when I don’t come to you first! Guests should be greeted.”
Juliano laughed nervously, “I did! Three times. You must have been so exhausted. I needed to come out to make sure you were okay. I even shook you once and you didn’t respond.”
A tear rolled down Juliano’s right eye.
“I got scared, Nonno. Let me get you up. Who knows how long you’ve been on that chair.”
Pino was lifted from the chair, but his mind was elsewhere. What was he really worth? Would it take the possibility of his death to realise some kind of familial compassion? Or was he really just an ol’ man, with too much time on his hands?
“Let’s go for a walk?”
And Pino nodded immediately. He needed to abolish that cloud. He needed that moment of clarity.
Gender:
Points: 1763
Reviews: 8