The Red Box

by Laura Sgarella

  So Araon felt at peace with himself. His letter could turn into a weapon of injury against himself depending on Jill’s mood but it was a very elaborate expedient to woo back his wife. He was dirty and stinky. He had a quick shower, dressed up in casual clothes and left home again. Thinking of Van der Baast was the obvious consequence of his leaving home so early. He was wise and learned. He nicknamed the doctor primordial liquid in that he was able to handle any blood test perfectly. Araon organized his work clandestinely as if by magic and in total safety. As garrulous as he was it was not difficult for him to meet helpers in the street. Of course it was a kind of help that allowed Araon to be anonymous in his private investigation. He just needed to be helped to wander in the streets of Amsterdam without losing the balance of his body. It was as if he was the victim of an acid. He wanted to make Van der Baast committed to their cause with a bigger sense of self-defense. And he found himself immersed in an outburst of emotions never to be forgotten.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Amsterdam was shaken by a violent storm in the middle of that bloody winter. Such brutal weather wasn’t a good help to the homeless living in the street and begging alongside the canals of the city. Nevertheless, a forty-something beggar ran along the streets begging for charity, apparently not spoilt by the storm. “It’s the way I earn my living,” he cried aloud to some people who watched him with disgust. “Begging is not a crime and it’s not forbidden by the law,” he carried on undeterred. “My name is Ramsay. Could you help me?” he carried on. A lot of people absolutely ignored him, poor guy. But Ramsay didn’t give up. He entered a tavern to protect himself from the weather. Actually, he watched the door of the tavern and noticed something weird written in red on it. The place inside seemed to be deserted. No owner or assistant was serving drinks and meals at the tables. On the other side, only a bearded, elderly little man was inside. Ramsay was cautious in reading the door of the tavern and he realized the writing of the acrostic. L. A. U. R. A. Was written with blood. They were apparently the initials of a secret message. But what was most scary was the fact that it was marred with blood. Ramsay thought it over and decided to clean the blood from the door with a handkerchief and to take that witnessing handkerchief with him. He decided to make an investigation into the matter on his own just making sure that nobody else had seen the acrostic. “Maybe I could make some money,” he thought. But he didn’t want to report the fact to the police before he knew more about it. It was the 5th December and people were waiting for Christmas with tenderness. You could see Christmas lights along the streets and shops which were open all day long. Ramsay almost shed a tear. He was living Christmas time with sadness being unable to eat every day leave alone buy a present for the occasion. He remembered the previous year when a lady offered him a cake and asked him if he was interested in a small part-time job. But it was a big swindle. Sure enough, the manager of the firm he had worked for turned out not to have money enough to pay him. He had never been a lucky man. Even in his twenties when he was working as a shop assistant and had asked his then girlfriend to marry him. The woman turned down the proposal with anger and in a very rude way. From then on destiny was cruel to him and life started to be destructive. Now he was a bold man. The happening of that day enriched his life with joy. He had found a commitment which would make him change views on everything. First of all, he needed a lot of stamina to work on disentangling the big enigma he was going to face soon about the acrostic. He tried to decipher it and something unusual come out: Latin Aura. What a fool! A big question mark marked the solution of Ramsay’s work of decipherment. He found it strange that nobody else noticed that blood on the door of the tavern.

  He didn’t make any report to the police and this made things easier for him to sort that mystery out. He decided to use a nickname considering Ramsay as synonymous to theft. But what kind of theft? That would deliver astonishment into the entrance of the tavern. Over there he had given a glance and he thought there was no way he would sort the enigma out by himself alone! Now the day was bleak and Ramsay went to lean against the banks of the canals to have a breather. Watching far in the distance he noticed posters of refugees that made him retaliate in a bizarre way. Now he decided to call himself Mark. Mark the homeless. And this because of that damned blood on the door of a pub. He was isolated from the crowd of people who were gathering in the streets, which liven up the atmosphere again. From a hospital nearby could be heard songs of joy. All the patients were waiting with excitement to go home for Christmas and the best pastime for them was singing. But Mark diverted his attention somewhere else. He couldn’t help but meditate upon the acrostic L. A. U. R. A. Probably U stood for unattended. And as practical of the destiny, a bag had been left at the end of the corridor of the hospital. It was the first thing that Ramsay noticed when entering the hospital. He started to think over the fact more deeply. But he had to keep the secret to himself even in front of the hospital staff that welcomed him with warmth. They immediately made a check-up of his general health and offered him a shower and some food. It was clear to their eyes that he was an unprivileged.

  “What brought you there, dude?” The doctor asked him kindly.

  “Well, I was begging in the street as usual, but nobody seemed to notice me today, which is quite weird. I’m looking for any job but I am very unlucky. The street is my abode. Sometimes I enter a church looking for help but even there nobody wants to help me. By the way, thank you a lot for what you have done for me today. My name is Mark. Mark the homeless.” answered Mark.

  “You can come here to have a shower, some food and to have a place to sleep whenever you want. Now I beg your pardon. I’m very busy with my patients. I’m looking forward to seeing you here again. Oh! I forgot: you can take these coins to use the coffee machine. It’s the best coffee in the hospital. Bye for now.”

  Mark was very happy about his sudden luck. He couldn’t believe he had a home now with good food and healthy showers. But his brain started to move towards another direction. L. A. U. R. A. He had an abnormal fixed idea about that enigma. There were little pieces of advice as the sweet memory of his grandmother’s teachings. And those were regarding the word, procrastination. Well, he had to work hard and move as quickly as he could. No loneliness embarrassed him now. The friendly team of the hospital made him reverberate as he had never done before. He had a great dexterity in organizing his ideas concerning the clue he was, with stubbornness, looking for. Shining and clean he went to the library to research the name Laura. This was an ordinary name. A lot of countries boasted its presence in the dictionary. He spent all day at the computer desk with occasional pauses for a beer and toast. And for occasional pain in his right foot that ached as if he had been hurt by a nail when he crossed the street to go to the supermarket to buy his lunch. But nothing could stop his frantic research for brilliant ideas to solve his case. He thought that nails were synonymous with curvy in the clandestine code of messages in the underworld. And that was standing for L in L. A. U. R. A. He made up his mind and let his imagination make the rest of the job. The scent of coffee coming from the other room shattered his nerves. He couldn’t drink too much coffee being himself easily prone to nerves. But the smell was enough to imagine the flavor. His constant thoughts of a melody that would solve his dilemma made him more anxious than ever. He didn’t try to conceal the disgusting truth that must be hidden behind that acrostic. He didn’t believe in the ‘I heard it through the grapevine’ sort of attitude of people. He used to meditate a lot on all the general stuff he was involved in. He found something mischievous behind the smile of the L. A. U. R. A. which seemed to be condemned to have a vein of eternal youth. He didn’t want to miss the stupidity spread by all means with the conviction. He had now been rescued by some angels, he believed. He had now a shelter where to spend most of his time far from the freezing winter and do most trivial of all things: to watch TV. There was something subtle in the management of the homeless shelters where he should have received a warm we
lcome. But in the hospital things were different. Run by a very efficient and experienced staff that place seemed to be a heaven for him. These days such generosity was the exception not the rule. Poor Mark. He was finally out of the street where he had spent the best years of his life. He had now a home where they cared for him and a puzzle to dismantle. He left the library at closing time with the purpose of going there again the following day. He spent some time by the canals before going back to the hospital, his home and den. What he had witnessed in the pub door was something that drove him to an accidental misconduct. He was not supposed to keep the secret by himself, but he did it. He wondered if that stinking blood was coming from a woman menses. It was so stinking and that made Mark feel relieved that, at least, nobody had been wounded. There was a certain freedom from prejudices that made him think so. Step by step, he reached his final destination, the hospital. He was to spend the night there in his room before starting a brand-new day.

  “Where have you been all that time?” a doctor asked him on his arrival with a forlorn expression.

  “I have been to the local library all day. I had a walk by the canals at the library closing time and I have witnessed a theft. I felt impotent in front of that tragedy. Sure enough, I went away leaving the poor victim alone on the ground. Hopefully the disgraced woman was safe and unwounded. I hope you are not angry with me because of my delay.

  “Of course, Mark was lying but he had to not to be caught in a private investigation case not disclosed to the police.

  “Not at all. We were just concerned. Next time inform us about the time you will back here,” answered the doctor calmly. “Anyway, here is dinner for you and you can have a shower before you go to sleep if you want to,” he added.

  In the same moment, somebody was dealing with a similar private matter. And this was Araon. He had his hand soiled with blood. But Araon was not focused on the crime at the moment. He was thinking of his adored wife, Jill. He didn’t know how long he could stand such a situation. A secret, was it the sheer cause of all that misfortune? Araon couldn’t believe it. Incessant thoughts invaded his mind. He was going slightly mad. He was desperate and unworthy. His sleepless nights had left a sign on his still young face. Pale and with brusque manners he thrived with rebounding joy at the discovery of a single vowel of wisdom in his investigation alphabet. A Morse code was not enough for him to embrace worldly wisdom. A joyful portrait of Jill in his mind improved his mood. But now he had to come down with his own senses. What he needed now was a residence permit for a far and distant place. It could seem a summary solution but he needed time to be apart from his glamorous wife so as to meditate upon their destiny as a couple so far. He was sure that that was the right thing to do. ‘Nasty’ cried his soul. “But I am justified,” he carried out. He didn’t want to fall into temptation to have an affair with another woman. This was not what he wanted. Being loyal to Jill for all reason was the reason he believed his marriage would be safe. The USA was not a dream any more. A month spent in the States was enough to make him suffer for his absence from home. Actually, he was not going to tell Jill about his decision. He went to the nearest travel agency and organized the trip to his chosen country.

  New Jersey was his chosen place for forced holidays. The last time he had been there was twenty years earlier. His ego was strong enough to survive that emotional storm. He was sort of a ‘defectionado’. “Here is the truth,” he cried with sparkling voice, which frightened the man with the brochure. He paid it all and went to catch the first plane for his destination. A light baggage was what he brought with him together with his credit card and extra money from the cash point. Flying to New York affected his adrenalin to the highest peak. “I’m inside and I cannot escape now,” he thought to himself watching the hostess just to realize he was not the only one high in the sky with only the ocean below. And again, there was Jill in his mind. “If I arrive healthy and alive in New York, I swear I’ll never part from Jill any more.” He thought of that trembling with fear. He was sure that at the end he would become reconciled with the love of his life, Jill. Now he was steady to his seat trying to kill the time by reading the newspaper, watching a movie, listening some music, doing anything that might make him forget the fear of flying. It was needed lot of mental energy to resist the oppression of the flight. The flight attendant passed with some food to Araon’s delight. He didn’t remember exactly the last time he had eaten something nourishing. Time passed very quickly. At the moment of landing he had been sick three times. He couldn’t stand the joy when the plane touched the ground, though. He felt as if he was a little bird in his nest. He had just one dream and now he had fulfilled it. Once in the airport entrance, he started thinking again how much he missed his wife. But he also dreamt of being the writer of a detective story he had started recently at Jill’s unawareness. Virtual reality and amnesia belonged in some degree to Araon’s knowledge. The will where he used to screen all his objection was now the dark side of himself as a solitary. For a brief instant he was discouraged as if he had fallen in a trap. He even didn’t know how New York could stimulate his imagination, his faintest evidence of a crime was part of his life he had been living up to now. He had heard somewhere that in New York there was a lawyer who worked around the world with colleagues for cases similar to his. He worked with extreme secrecy. The study of that solicitor was the manna he was looking for. “What a fool!” he said aloud in bewilderment while waiting for his luggage to arrive at the waiting room of J. F. Kennedy Airport. New York was a strange city. It was similar to an octopus which embraced different enemies with the utmost foolishness. It was somehow a place where it was easy to meditate upon any subject. Take Central Park for example. Was it brilliant for wandering and thinking aloud? He reached the hotel soon and gloom pervaded him. He was thirsty and hungry but he had also the need to sleep like a baby. He undid his luggage. He noticed gladly that he hadn’t forgotten anything useful at home. So he went to lay in the bed and he finally fell asleep.

  Jill, meanwhile, decided to go back home. She had purified herself of all her rage and she was free to embrace Araon again. But what a sad surprise not to find him at home. At the first moment she had no reaction. Then she started to cry as a child. She saw all her self-esteem annihilated and destroyed suddenly. Now she had to start from scratch a new plan to win over Araon again. She tried to figure out where Araon could be. “He must be listening to his favourite radio program,” she said in a self-deprecatory tone. Anxiety and desperation didn’t allow Jill to think of the situation properly. She went to have a shower, she grabbed some toast and went to sit on the sofa. In a while she felt the most selfish woman in the world. If Araon was not there it was certainly her fault. She didn’t stop blaming herself for what had happened. She imagined herself with Araon at home; at dinner with their best friends, dancing all evening cheek to cheek. What a disaster! Araon was not there, not even a note from him was found. But in a few minutes, she was able to see what she was hoping to see: a note from Araon. And it was very visible. “I must be drunk,” she thought, considering the fact that the note had been under her eyes since she arrived home, but she didn’t see it immediately. Now she felt nervous and she decided to explore its content little by little. She was full of hope when reading the first line. They seemed a self-confession of a ravaged soul. At least, it was clear that Araon was close to her with his own mind. She burst out again in another childish cry with no hope of comfort. She got up from the chair, went to the bedroom and scattered any item from the armchair looking for other witnessing signs from Araon. Her loneliness was in tune with her empty heart. She was steady and tough. She knew that at the end she would win. The story between Araon and her was written in the stars but she didn’t know that Araon was now living a subterranean life in New York. He was waiting for the first train of the underground while a rat passed by in the tracks of the train. He looked amazed at the rat and stood still until the arrival of the train. Poor Jill! She had absolutely no idea where he
r beloved was. Feelings of guilt permeated her very thoroughly. She had another glance at the note and learnt that Araon was very far from home, but he would come back sooner than expected.