The Red Box

by Laura Sgarella

  She was still busy with her dusting and cleaning of the house but she stopped to have a break and prepare a cup of tea for Araon. She was surprised by Araon’s icy attitude and she wanted to keep an eye to sort everything out. “Darling, this is for you,” she said to her husband giving him a cup of warm tea.

  “Thank you so much. I think this is what I most need right now. Going through the newspaper lines sometimes is a cathartic experience but today’s news is driving me mad,” he answered keeping cool. Jill gave him a kiss on his lips and went to carry on with her duties.

  Araon was now ecstatic. Jill’s kisses had the power to sooth him deeply. As an absent-minded by nature he was driven back to reality by a noise from outside. “It may me the rascal of the other day,” he thought while Jill was so absorbed in her own matter that she heard nothing. He summed up all his useful memories and he came to a solution. He thought that the best thing to do was to go to the crematorium and ask for information about all the cremated people of the last six months. The abandoned corpse at the Van Gogh museum case must have found a sort of shelter in that place. This would cause further trouble and Araon didn’t deny the possibility of never finding the dead body of the murdered person. The first instinct was to believe that the corpse might be one of a woman. Something made Araon reflect that the case had a link to the low life of the prostitutes displayed in the windows of nearby Piazza Dam. He probably needed to go and admire the exposed beauties to have a clue. “If only there was a spark of intelligence in me…” he thought. The warm weather helped him a lot in setting on his beautiful scenario. There were the ideal conditions to go for a walk in the chosen place.

  Once in Piazza Dam he went away from the corner and found himself surrounded by vulnerable beauties exposed in the windows of the brothel to sell their bodies to a stranger for a coin. Jill, of course, didn’t know where he was. He had just said bye before going out and assured her that he would be back home at lunch time. He was confused and prone to fall into a spasm of anger. He couldn’t shout in sign of victory until he was able to come to terms with that situation. The exposure of the prostitutes to the public stopped his anxiety by consuming his thirst for knowledge of the truth. The women were close to being harassed and that was an infringement of the law. Only a few people used to abide by the law. It was frightening to see all their customers coming around. Araon felt ashamed of being a man for the first time in his life. He was searching inspiration in that black and dreary place. None of those women could give him the answer he was looking for. They were well protected by the government and the absence of only one of them was signalled right on time before she could disappear without leaving traces. He had to begin all over again.

  Jill was waiting for him with a surprising anxiety. Before lunch she would have liked to go to work and check if everything was OK. She was gifted with the famous female intuition and she thought she could address words of blame at Araon on his arrival back home. She was sure that he had something hideous to hide. But she decided to be the usual sweet, submissive wife. She waited patiently for him to arrive home.

  Araon had, on his turn, taken a note on all the intuitions he could perceive at the presence of the prostitutes and approached another kind of perspective in his investigation. He was sure Jill would be angry to see him arriving home late but he had a lot of work to go through. He was all soaked and wet and he didn’t know what excuse to devise once at home with Jill. Sure he didn’t want to witness bursts of anger from his sweet better half. It was definitely not easy, but at least, he could have a try. But when he was finally at home dealing with Jill meekness made him feel relieved. “You look lovely in that red dress,” he said with admiration.

  “This is because I want constantly to be wooed by you,” she joked.

  They watched each other deeply and had their passion burst out with all those kisses. It was a little frame of life that split Araon’s being into two parts: the guilty one and the peaceful one. Jill was his for keeps. “I am a sinner,” he said suddenly.

  “What the hell are you thinking of right now? I thought that our previous moments were a gift from above,” said Jill embarrassed.

  “I was just thinking that you are too good for me. Your naivety is overwhelming. I just want to share with you my bleak emotions. I had a really bad day. Something was obstructing my mind. And when I am not with you, I am always messed up. I love you Jill. Don’t forget this. The flame of our passion will burn any incomprehension between the two of us,” he said innocently holding his wife very tight. And then there was stillness to placate them.

  The following day, Aaron took a genteel decision. He took with him to work the tool to work on canvas. He wanted to draw a portrait of Jill among the workmen. Jill was at first reluctant but at the end she decided not to oppose the will of her husband. They had got up very early that morning and they left the flat with breakfast still steaming on the table. Jill was aware of the consequences that that gesture would bring to them when facing the matter in front of the workers. The men worked hard either in the presence or in the absence of their boss. They were ten in all. (there had been a cut of personnel because of lack of money) and all the responsibility of the administration was in their hands. They were surprised by the arrival of Araon and Jill with the canvas. Araon was a painter for one day. Jill had difficulty in smiling wide and she showed a certain nonchalance at the drawing of the first traits little by little. She was in front of ten employees who were prompted to work quicker. Here it was the face: striking, stunning, luminous. The employees didn’t know that behind that painting there was something bigger to hide. They simply considered it a means of entertainment while giving a glance to their proceedings. They had always been brilliant and experienced, which made things easier. They had nothing to conceal from their boss. Araon used gloomy colours to complete the painting. He had worked on it the whole day. He did it to identify himself with the reverence a murderer could have in front of a painting. They were some of the innumerous ideas he had been overwhelmed by to try to disentangle the truth from the lies regarding the mystery of the Van Gogh Museum.

  Jill was very annoyed by that weird act. She started to speak when she became more confident: “You see Araon, we have reached the limit of the turning point. I have never seen myself as a great beauty, so I cannot see any excuse you would bring to me because of your wish to give me everlasting fame. By the way, I’m learning only now that you are a terrific painter. Where do you think to expose this piece of art? I suppose the sitting-room will be the best place for it. I surely don’t know what to suggest to you. I am half happy. I would have liked a portrait of myself with you,” said Jill patiently.

  “You are my muse, my only source of inspiration. I don’t want to lie to you, that’s why I confess to you I have always been ashamed of devising gestures of love bigger than this. I think you are right, the best place to put this portrait is the wall of the sitting-room. Maybe we can ask a novice to make a portrait of us two together. But this one should be reserved for the bedroom. I know I feel weird sometimes but now I feel at ease with this work of art,” said Araon meticulously. His device had worked. He couldn’t use his painting to fill Jill with outstanding reverence.

  Flows of ideas ran abundantly in his mind. He was considering that the murderer of the missing corpse at the Van Gogh Museum wanted simply to reach half fame. Maybe the sort of reverence he had paid to Jill was a way to stop any sense of guilt for his misdeed. He had witnessed a crime after all. Or maybe it was all accidental. Araon was optimistic that he was following the truth step by step and the image of the murderer was coming in his mind little by little. He saw himself as a mythomaniac all sweated and satisfied when he asked his wife to stop standing for a pose. Their day at work came to a halt. They reassured the employees that they were terrific workmen and that they would come soon to see them again. Araon took the canvas with him and went back home hand in hand with Jill. It was an exhausting day. They were both happy to see the portrait o
n the wall of the sitting-room. Araon sank into the sofa and sought a way to relax himself. He was strenuous and meek but he needed a rest. Jill was an accomplice of him as usual. She went to have a rest in bed reading a book. The tiny cat was mewing softly as if he was looking for food. He had eaten everything they had given to him earlier in the morning, so Jill let him carry on moaning.

  The book she kept was quite boring. Actually, she was losing the joy of reading lately maybe because there had been something harsh happening in her life. She switched off the light and she allowed her imagination to make herself busy with something enjoyable. She thought of the lovely frame of her portrait. But she went further with her thoughts. She thought to be at The Seychelles with her adored husband. She saw herself as dark as black at the exposure to the sun. She saw herself with a big belly with a baby kicking inside. It was not time to sleep but a certain torpor caught her. She didn’t want to offend her husband, she put on her sleepers and went in the sitting-room to sweeten herself in the presence of Araon.

  “I love you,” Araon whispered hiding a bit of arrogance.

  “I love you too,” added Jill.

  The two watched each other, face to face, struck dumb by the circumstances. The noise of the washing machine was not strong enough to spoil those lovely moments. But Jill went immediately to stop it and to hang out the washing. Araon followed her just to give a hand with that little duty. They could admire the stunning landscape from above while being busy with all that washing. They admired that sight from the window where calm and confusion interlaced meticulously. And it seemed to them that the hint of the melting pot was crawling softly to provoke people’s reactions of empathy.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Mark the homeless’ thirst for knowledge could compromise his job at the riding school. Not that he was not fond of horses and horse riding, but there was constantly in his mind the big question mark concerning the acrostic written with blood on the pub door. He considered himself very lucky to have a job to pay the bills and that allowed him to think of his own business. Sometimes the people who went there to take horse riding lessons were a source of inspiration. The people were of all ages, from the fifteen to fifty years old. Even elderly people arrived sometimes driven by the curiosity to mount a horse. Mark was more at ease with the small children than with the adults. Young guys learnt quicker of course and they had a wild love for nature and animals. A number of the grown-ups present, were more concerned with the benefit that the sport could bring them. One day Mark saw a mature lady literally flying from the horse, which broke her meniscus. All people who joined the club were protected by an insurance but that time Mark had to pay for the whole thing himself. He promised himself that he would care more about his people, praying to God that nothing bleak would happen again. He wore every day a black suit, which made the necklace with the acrostic written in red more visible. He looked after all the jockeys present and every now and then it came to his mind the memory of Jill and Araon. They were so nice and smart. Though Jill was not at her best when she joined the horse-riding Mark had been very impressed by her posture. They had a long chat and it seemed that they had known each other for a long time. Araon left Mark puzzled. He was a club joiner with a bit of bitterness. Mark remembered very well the attention Araon had given to his necklace. He resembled an analyst of the situation. And maybe he looked like somebody who was holding a dirty secret. Mark hoped he was wrong and he carried on undisturbed with the reflection of the case. Arrows of jealousy crossed his mind. He considered the disentangling of the acrostic as something done in competition with somebody else. He was scared but confident. At the end of the day there was not a reason for which he considered himself not the only one to have witnessed that mystery. He saw in any tiny woman the mystery of L. A. U. R. A. The last thing he thought was that the acrostic was coming from a name. It would be so easy. Actually, Laura was not a Dutch name. He thought over and over of the association with the acrostic he would do but he had no clue. With an eye he gave a glance to the horse riders and with the other eye he examined carefully the ambiance of the place. Sure, he would come back to his shelter, the hospital, very exhausted at six o’clock. And, after all, boredom would take possession of him very aimlessly. It came to his mind the figure of Araon. He was a young, charming guy who seemed to have acquaintance with the world of mysteries though he didn’t want to show it. He had an innate ability to mount a horse and a trivial way of chatting. Actually, Mark didn’t remember well the subject matter of their discussion that day. He only remembered Araon’s inquisitiveness regarding his necklace. Araon was likeable. Araon was a friend. Araon was everything. Mark wouldn’t burst out with enthusiasm more than due. Anyway, that was something belonging to the recent past. Now Mark wanted to focus his attention on his case with further details. He tried to concentrate on the door of the glass, as he called the pub entrance door. He didn’t happen to go to that place again. Dazed as he was, he went to grab a sandwich and waited for his lesson with the jockeys to end.

  He arrived at the hospital very quickly. Here he mingled in his imagination the letters of the acrostic in his own way. He imagined crimes, blood, torture. He was up to nerves for not being able to disentangle the puzzle. His world of imagination was infinite and limited at the same time. He yawned and realized his stomach was a bit empty. Exactly at that time, a nurse arrived in the kitchen with the dinner. Mark loved to eat. He didn’t know if it was a blessing or something dangerous for his health. His taste buds were gratified. He was a pleasure seeker by nature and the hospital personnel were doing more than due to make him happy. Time to go to bed arrived soon. He lay on his bed and, after abandoning himself to his constant thought, he decided to watch TV. There was an interesting documentary on the UFO. He swore to himself that when he was a child, he had been kidnapped by an alien who brought him back to planet Earth full of wires everywhere in his body. Somehow, he had enjoyed himself a lot being young and unconscious of the circumstances. He held that episode as a secret to himself. Nobody else knew what happen to him, they would see him as a nerd now. He felt extremely sleepy and when he placed his head on the cushion, he entered glamorously the realm of dreams. The following day he felt renewed and younger thanks to his sweet dreams. He was lazy and bold, which made him unwilling to go to work. Hopefully his sense of duty and his respect for the hospital personnel’s generosity made him change his mind. He must be there at ten am. The doctor knocked on his door with some news. There were letters for him. He thanked the doctor and immediately looked at them. Most of them were from anonymous senders. The others were written so badly that Mark couldn’t read properly the name of the person who had written to him. But the text was very clear and alarming. They talked about mysterious murderers that were bringing bleakness to Amsterdam. The first letter had even a drawing of the corpse of an old lady found near a channel. Mark was so disconcerted that he thought it was a hoax. They couldn’t be a threat to him who was the sole holder of a big secret. He sat patiently in the chair and looked for a solution to the disentangling of the situation. Nobody knew he had witnessed a bloody acrostic: he was sure of it. In the end, he decided to tear the letters in very small pieces and throw them into the dustbin. He took off his pyjamas, his sleepers and, after a shower, he was free to go away. He forgot to shave himself and he realized it only when he was at the riding school. He didn’t find himself at ease with the look of a homeless man when he was surrounded by people who were thirsty for knowledge about mounting a horse. Of course Mark’s mind never stopped touching the issue of the bloody mystery. A quiet vibe made him calm down and focus on his jockeys. He had forgotten the fact that nobody could rescue him from the calamity he had been driven into that bleak day. A glass of water and he was ready to start working.

  Doctor Van der Baast was very busy at work as usual. He had to cope with the fact of the stem cells usage to cure a diabetes case of a man who risked to lose his leg. He had to face difficult choices and he had to be sincere with the relat
ives of the patient as much as he could. For the first time in his life he was fascinated by the idea of a career. Since then he had seen his job as a dirty thing for unnamed religionists. He felt to be at the top of a ladder upon which he had located the slightest ambitions. He was also very brave. He worked strenuously until eight pm. And after that the patients had been given to the nurses and unpaid personnel. Sometimes he dealt with the fear of becoming redundant and to end his life in the bleakness of the street. Frivolous man. He was consumed with his bizarre thoughts. Early in the morning, he had to face his routine with the concern for the diabetic. All the relatives of the patients were there waiting for the situation to improve. Van der Baast shared a few words with them assuring them that there was nothing to be worried about. It was needed a simple intervention. He was very optimistic about the health condition of the man who was the number one priority at that time. He apologized and said that he had to go to visit other patients. After he had seen all the persons of the hospital department, he went straight to his office. Here he had to deal with the case of the blood analysis mistake. Earlier, somebody had changed the blood of a person with another one and whoever did it risked to lose their job. A mistake of that calibre was something absolutely new in that hospital. But his immediate worries were marked by the dilemma of Araon and himself. He was wondering why he had not contacted him recently and he did it now. Hanging on the telephone he realized he had dialled the wrong number. A tender feminine voice answered him: “Who’s speaking?”