Il Falegname

Giovanna gripped the steering wheel, driving like an automaton through the dreary rain. A truly sad and colorless backdrop for what would be the last moments of her life. Her triple role as an employee, homemaker, and mother had made that day exhausting. She had often discussed it with her husband Salvatore, without reaching any solution, going from heated discussions to bitter arguments. On the other hand, he, a police commissioner, had a job with no fixed hours and frequent unforeseen events. He was a good man, she knew, and she loved him more now than when they first met as teenagers. And then there was Filippo, their wonderful child. They both doted on him, especially his father, who had made him his reason for living. A guttural sound startled her from her thoughts. Lying on the back seat, her son was sleeping, exhausted after an afternoon of playing at a friend's house. Those apneas, increasingly frequent during sleep, were an additional worry for her. She had long since scheduled a specialist appointment and knew she would have to juggle that commitment with everything else. Meanwhile, the slow-moving windshield wipers, while aiding visibility of the road, also acted as a metronome for a melancholy melody. There was no reason to be cheerful. When she got home, she would have to conjure up dinner, and in the utility room, an entire basket of laundry awaited her, lying there, waiting to be ironed for several days. The worn wipers, scraping against the windshield, made a sound that reminded her of croaking frogs. Not even this colorful reflection had a beneficial effect on her mood. The outside temperature had dropped, causing a slight fogging of the windows, which Giovanna had mistaken for the increasingly thick mist now descending. She reached for the air conditioning control, and her gaze fell on the dashboard: the fuel light was red. She let out a string of curses, which made her blush with anger and shame. She had intended to refuel that morning, but due to haste, commitments, and distraction, she had missed every opportunity that arose. She had driven many miles and now feared she wouldn't make it home. Fortunately, just a few hundred meters further, she would find a gas station, her last option. She put on the turn signal, pulling over to the right, even though the road was completely deserted. On such an evening, and in the suburbs, not a soul was out. The environment was spectral. The houses in the distance had their shutters closed. Only a faint sliver of light filtered through. "Normal people," she thought, "are already at dinner or in front of the television. How long has it been," she mused, "since I watched an entire TV program?" She couldn't even remember the beginning of the book lying on her nightstand! Stepping out of the car, she was hit by a gust of icy wind. She rubbed her hands to warm them. She looked around. The breeze coming down from the mountains carried the fragrance of laurel, which in the vicinity marked the boundary between properties. The absolute silence was broken, in the distance, only by the flowing water of the river. On that side, the darkness was absolute, making it seem like a starless universe. The pungent smell of gasoline dispelled that ephemeral pleasure, bringing her back to reality. She leaned into the car to retrieve a banknote from her purse, which she again placed on the seat, leaving the door open so as not to risk waking the child. Due to her numbed hands, she had difficulty inserting the money into the slot. She hastily typed on the display. A strange sensation was gripping her. A kind of gloomy premonition. As she pulled the nozzle from the gas pump, her gaze was caught by a surveillance camera. It looked like a giant cobweb was hanging from the canopy. Looking closer, she realized it was a rag. "What a strange way to clean!" she commented with an air of superiority. And she began to fill the tank. Turning the other way, she noticed the same covering on the other camera. Suddenly, an alarm bell rang in her mind. That premonition, which had struck her as she got out of the car, manifested again, sudden and encompassing. The sense of disorientation turned into tension as she heard a rustle of footsteps behind her. A dark figure was approaching. A wool hat pulled down over his eyebrows and useless sunglasses plunged Giovanna into terror. Two fleshy lips, clenching a lit cigar stub, opened in a malicious smile. Her blood ran cold. She turned the other way, as if to flee. Meanwhile, an accomplice, also masked, had already grabbed her purse by the handle. The woman threw herself at him to defend her belongings, but the first assailant was immediately on her. During the brief struggle, some spurts of gasoline spilled onto the ground. Giovanna fell to the ground: with her, in the commotion of the fight, the burning cigar stub also fell. It was an instant. Long tongues of fire engulfed the woman and the car. Shortly after the firefighters arrived, the police car pulled up. With the two officers was Commissioner Salvatore Mancuso.