Midnight Train

December 24, 9pm.
Here I am, I did it as fast as I could: two hundred miles an hour with my Carrera in the dark on icy country roads, risking killing myself at every turn. I had a lot of fun! But what's going on?
I'm sick, Freddy.
You're in a terrible state, little sister. Abortion?
Help me... I can't do it, I'm suffocating.
Lift your skirt, let me see. No, no blood, it's not an abortion: it's a panic attack. You can recognize it by the following symptoms: palpitations, tachycardia, fear of losing control or going crazy, feeling of dizziness and instability, fine or large tremors, sweating, feeling of suffocation, pain or discomfort in the chest...
Stop it, you're making me feel worse!
I just wanted to let you know that I have the situation under control.
But what control? I can't breathe, I can't breathe! And all you do is recite your stupid lists!
But what can I do?
I don't know, aren't you the one in control of the situation?
Right. Let me see: I massage your shoulders, it should work. I have to put some energy into it, otherwise it won't help.
Without exaggerating, please: don't dislocate them.
How is it going?
It works quite well: I feel a little better.
I believe it: I learned the technique from the masseur of the Giovanile Torino Calcio.
Are you a Torino fan?
Of course. At this point he always said "breathe." So breathe.
I'm breathing.
Good, so... Now count the sheep and visualize a camel.
What sheep?
The ones you need to visualize.
Okay, I'm visualizing them. But what does the camel do?
I don't know, he's walking on the edge of a well.
And doesn't he fall?
No, because the owner of the well kicks him down.
And then?
The owner loses his balance and falls into the well.
What a stupid scene!
Actually, the goal was to make you laugh. Is that better?
Yes, a little better. Thank you, Freddy, really.


You ate?
I don't feel like eating.
Why don't you go and stay with your mother?
I don't want her to see me like this.
Yeah, you're in pretty bad shape. Do you miss him that much?
I miss them.
Do you miss “them”?
Yes, I miss them both. I was already feeling terrible about missing Emmanuel, but I didn't think I'd miss Michael that much. I left him, it shouldn't work like this. I'm going crazy, the two things together are unbearable.
Kellermann junior is gone, my dear, let's forget him. But Kellermann senior seemed quite fond of you: doesn't he ever come to see you?
Yes, of course he comes. He comes by my place about once a week; he came today too. He brings me supplies, makes sure I'm okay, takes me to the gynecologist, treats me like an old friend. As long as he's there, anyway, I feel at peace: but then he kisses me goodbye on the forehead and goes away, and at that point I feel suffocated.
Panic attack, I told you: without him you're scared. You should have thought of it before, little sister: some trains pass only once in a lifetime, and you missed that train.
What kind of train are you talking about? It's not like Michael was a train for me, I don't know, some kind of career opportunity to be seized on the fly. I'm not interested in being a luxury kept woman, I don't care about the villa and the swimming pool. I'm fine here, in this little country house.
Supported by him, by the way.
Sooner or later I'll support myself: now I can't find a job in these conditions.
Given your current waistline, you might want to try getting a job as a publicity balloonist.
Thanks for the compliment, eh.
It wasn't meant as a compliment.
Anyway, Michael has changed, I don't recognize him anymore: it seems to me that he's also changed jobs, but he never talks to me about it, as if it were none of my business.
It isn’t, actually. But yes, I can confirm it: he changed jobs.
From what I understand, he only occasionally works at the Biella fabric factory, he's started working as a trader.
A broker, not a trader.
What's the difference?
I'll explain it to you in two words: you see dear, today a trader cannot place his orders directly, but needs to rely on a financial broker or his own bank and ask them to place a purchase or sale order. The types of orders that can be issued are almost all related to stocks or futures: the Forex market is not easily accessible to a private investor. The main obstacles that a trader encounters today are: difficulty in obtaining information on updated prices; difficulty in carrying out operations: you can only operate by telephone or by physically going to the bank's securities counters; slowness in placing orders: it takes a few days, and in the meantime the prices can fluctuate and vary from those requested; high spread and commission costs; lack of analysis tools and scarcity of macroeconomic information. In short, either you are part of the world of finance, or it is really difficult to operate. And to think that it would be enough to create a trading platform: with an internet connection it would be possible to operate in the markets with a few simple moves. But since the platform is not there today, we are forced to resort to a broker like your Kellermann. The boy has a nose for money, little sister.
Thanks for the concise explanation.
The synthesis ability is one of my strengths.
Excuse me, why do you say I missed that train?
And you ask me? He's with someone else, he fucks her every day, isn't that enough for you? Not that she's a classy woman: a brunette with lots of curves, rather vulgar. Sooner or later he'll have to decide to find a wife who's as good as him. But that's not the point, little sister: the point is that he doesn't want to be with you anymore, is that clear to you?
Yes, of course it is clear to me. And rightly so, because I left him. In fact I don't understand what I want from him.
Anyway, cheer up: he comes to visit you, he considers you one of the family, a sort of second cousin, and that's something, right? Well, why are you crying now?
You do this on purpose, right, Freddy?
On what purpose? You know I like to be honest.
Leave me alone, can't you see I feel terrible?
Here we go again. Can I do something for you? Something I'm good at, I mean.
Please, no: there's the baby. You have no sense of proportion, I don't want him to be born an idiot. That kind of thing is not done again for at least a few months, understood?
As you wish. Then I'll go, since I'm of no use.
No, please, stay.
What am I left to do?
Please, I don't want to be alone.
All right, I'll stay, but what do we do? You don't even know how to play bridge, besides the fact that there are only two of us.
Three of us.
The baby doesn't count, it's still in the belly. Well, at least he's a boy: good news; and if he takes after his father, he should grow up to be a handsome boy, too. A future tennis player.
Oh, because instead, if he takes after his mother...
I'm not saying that. You're pretty cute yourself, when you're in shape. I think he gets red hair from you: frankly, a tennis player with red hair has never been seen.
Freddy, seriously: is there really nothing you'd like to do with me, other than sex?
We don't have much in common, little sister.
No, but there must be something you'd like to talk about: I know how to listen, you know that.
Talking bores me to death. I'm a man of few words.
And many lists.
Now I'll explain something to you, my dear: chatter is a waste of time. I don't waste my energy developing useless thoughts to express with words: I'd rather learn random lists by heart and recite them. The result is the same, believe me: nobody listens to anyone.
You said something pretty profound, Freddy, you know that?
I don't know and I don't care.
Anyway, thanks for sharing it with me.
You're welcome. Anyway, yes, there is something I'd like to do with you, and it has nothing to do with sex.
Really? And what is it?
I'd like you to question me.
Question you? Did I understand correctly?
What's strange? You're a teacher, it's part of your job to question.
Yes, but not you! And I'm not a teacher.
You will have to become one, if you want to support yourself.
For goodness sake, I hate the school environment!
You totally lack realism, as usual.
Anyway, let's hear it, what subject would you like to be questioned about?
History. In high school, at the Jesuits, I was unbeatable, I won all the contests.
What kind of contests did you have at the Jesuits?
All kinds: date contests, Greek verb contests, math contests... Each time there was a medal at stake, and I won several. I knew the dates by heart and I knew in great detail the military strategies used in all the battles. Test me.
I have to get a history book, Freddy: I don't remember all the dates, I know mostly those from ancient history; and as for strategies, I know little or nothing.
Typical of women. Take the book, even more than one.
Here it is: a three-volume history textbook. It's still the one from my high school: I've kept many of my schoolbooks.
Me too. I'm ready, tell me any date.


1571.
Too easy, come on! Lepanto, Sunday 7 October 1571. I remember everything.
What do you remember?
We were led by Don John of Austria: as an excellent strategist, he had decided to leave the six very powerful Venetian galleasses isolated ahead, as bait, one of which I was also on board as a non-commissioned officer of the Serenissima. We Venetians had an excellent motive: to avenge the death of Niccolò Dàndolo and the horrible end of Marcantonio Bragadìn, martyred in Famagosta by the beasts of Lala Kara after brutal torture and mutilation. He was a handsome man, our governor, as well as an excellent rector: he did not deserve such an end. We opened fire first and struck! Seventy ships of the infidels sank like stones. That Ottoman dog Ali Pasha attempted to board Don John's ship to try to kill him, and being outnumbered, he tried to surround our fleet. His attempt, however, failed and...

That's enough. 371 BC.
Leuctra. July 6, I remember it as if it were yesterday: it was stiflingly hot. The climate of Boeotia is more continental than that of Attica, due to the conformation of the country surrounded by mountains, which limit the influence of the sea. Rainfall varies between 500 and 700 mm., with peaks during the winter months. Leuctra is located a short distance from the plain of Copais, where the heat is unhealthy due to the fumes from the marshy areas, and in addition a special hot wind blows there, descending from Parnassus and Helicon, which according to the Greeks is responsible for the slowness of understanding of the Boeotians, hence the motto “dirty Boeotia”. Unfortunately for us, we were camped in the middle of July in that shitty place. I was part of the Sacred Theban Battalion, composed entirely of gay couples.
What? Were you gay?
Oh yes, of course. I was with a certain Gorgidas, I even had to screw him, but for the sake of the country that and more. The brilliant idea had been Epaminondas’, who by the way, as you know, had been courted for months without success by Pelopidas, who had inherited a fortune from his father, but then had given up everything to be with him. This proves once again that love makes you stupid. Epaminondas was brilliant on that occasion as on others: he deployed the Sacred Battalion and the other elite troops on the left, right in front of the Spartan king Cleòmbrotus, arranged in fifty ranks: the so-called oblique phalanx. The Spartan king had guessed our intentions and tried to outflank us, but we of the Gay Battalion forestalled him with a deadly frontal attack and broke through the enemy lines, until...

Okay, perfect. 1588.
One of my favorite dates.
What happened?
I was serving under Elizabeth I at the time: I was steward of Martin Frobisher, whom Sir Francis Drake wanted with him in an attempt to defeat the might of the Invincible Armada. Thanks to his cunning we avoided boarding, the mediocre fighting technique in which the Spanish were specialized, and we held the fleet of Medina-Sidonia in check by imitating Themistocles' tactics at Salamis: small and agile ships like mice among elephants. On that occasion we demonstrated to the world our technological superiority: the naval carriage of our guns allowed for faster, more precise and disciplined fire than that of the Spanish guns. We were lucky that August, or perhaps someone up there had decided that our heretical queen should triumph over Catholic Europe: three very violent storms hit the Spanish, the first on August 12 off the Orkney and Shetland Islands, the second on September 12...

December 24th, 11.30pm.

...I was with Germanicus in the Teutoburg Forest when, in 15, he wanted to go personally to see the places where the three legions of Quintilius Varus had been massacred, and then, shocked by what he had seen, he threw himself in pursuit of Arminius. Ironically, fate wanted me at the time to be Flavus, Arminius' brother, a soldier extraordinarily faithful to the Romans and missing an eye, lost following a wound under the command of Tiberius. My brother, the renegade traitor that he was, asked for a private interview with me, and Germanicus granted it. I went to the bank of the river: Arminius had the Roman archers on the other bank removed, as well as the Germanic leaders who accompanied him, so that he could speak with me in relative intimacy; however, we had to shout, so that we could hear each other from one bank of the river to the other. My brother was very handsome, blond like me, and was struck by the disfigurement on my face. He wanted to know what compensation I had received: I mentioned the salary, the necklace, the crown and the other military gifts, but he insulted me for those insignificant compensations to my servitude. He reminded me of the sacred value of the homeland, our freedom, the gods of the Germanic nation, the prayers of our mother. I loudly asked for a horse and weapons to be able to fight against my brother, while Arminius interspersed the insults in our language with mocking expressions in Latin. We came to the clash. That infamous serpent tried to repeat the trick of the previous time and lured us towards a swamp, but Germanicus deployed the legions and managed to spread panic among the enemies. Thus we saved ourselves. He was a great man, Germanicus. As for me, I was proud to deliver to the Romanity my son Italicus, the future king of the Cherusci.

Magnificent, Frédéric. I'm speechless.
Thank you.
I'm the one who has to thank you: I felt terrible before listening to you, but now I feel perfectly calm.
It's normal, and do you know why?
No, tell me.
Because this is so much more satisfying than a fuck, even if it's a difficult concept for a woman. Consider it my Christmas present.
It's a beautiful present.
And now let's go to sleep.
Are you leaving?
No, I'm too tired and I don't want to ruin the Carrera: I'd go and smash myself against a wall. And I don't want to be alone tonight: this is the second Christmas since my mother died. I spent the first one alone and it wasn't nice.
I'm really sorry, Freddy.
So I'm sleeping at your place.
Where?
In your bed, of course. Each on his own side, like two old friends.
Done deal! You look gorgeous tonight, you know that?
I know, I'm always gorgeous: I think it's schizophrenia that keeps me in shape.
It's almost midnight, Santa Claus is coming soon.
Wake me when he falls down the chimney: we will hide the body somehow.
Merry Christmas, Freddy.
Merry Christmas, little sister.