Another couple of days go by again when I emerge from the study. I go straight for the sink and quickly wash up. Just a bit longer. I almost got it... I yawn, putting on a clean shirt. Isaura's door is open. I take a look inside. The bed's empty and made? Huh? Laughter comes around from the kitchen. I step into the view. A bunch of ladies sit at the table. Old ladies. Well. Older. They stop the chatter and stare at me.

“Morning.” I nod.

“It's noon.” Ma says turning around from the stove.

“Where is she?” I ask.

“Work.”

“Didn't she have a fever till last night?”

“She left a note saying it dropped. Where are you going!” She yells to me, I return.

“To go check on her. Obviously.” I mumble.

“Comb your hair, you louse!” Ma disses me. I roll my eyes at her and stick my hands under the running water and through my hair. I wipe the hands off into her apron. She's fighting a smile. She lost weight too...

“So this is the famous traveling son?” The younger old lady speaks to me. “Why don't you sit down and share some of your exciting stories with us?”

I grin. “The world is vast and beautiful. There are no words to describe it. One needs to experience it for themselves to be able to truly taste it.” I smile again and walk out. The chatter and giggles roar up again. I roll my eyes and go out. Where the hell is the damned office anyway? I ask directions again from the same kiosk where I got my smokes and get some more while I'm at it. I check the time on my wrist. It's almost lunch time. I hurry. A bunch of men walk out of the office. I see Vince among them. Good. I walk inside and come up to the receptionist. It dawns on me that I have no clue what her last name is... Here goes nothing.

“Hello, I was wondering if you could help me?” I speak to the lady.

“It's lunch time. Come back in an hour.”

“I'm looking for Isaura. She works at sorting? May you please get her for me?” How many Isaura's can there be? I keep smiling like a moron. The lady points to the long corridor.

“All the way to the back.”

“Much appreciated it.” I nod and go in the direction provided. Sorting. The sign on the door tells me. I open them and step inside. A whistle slips out me. I'd choke in here after an hour. I start walking around. I stop a post worker and ask for help. He gives me a stupid grin and points to the side. I thank him and move on. I spot Aura amongst the other women. It's barely noon and she looks worn out already. Idiot.

“What are you doing?”

“Working.”

I grab her hand to stop her and pull her face to mine. “You're burning up.” I tell her with our foreheads pressed together. “We're going.” I pull her away from the stacks of letters.

“I can't! I need to work!” She struggles. Adorable.

"You're sick and need rest. You can come back once you're well again.” I pull her with me as I walk.

“They'll fire me if I don't!”

“Good! You'll have plenty of time to get better!” I turn around and tell her. “Now come on.” I keep pulling her and she keeps resisting. The hell with this. I grab her and throw her on my shoulder.

“Put me down!”

“No.” We walk back to the reception. I stop by the window again where the lady enjoys her coffee.

“Please inform whoever is in charge that Isaura...”

“Citranelli!” Oh? Good to know.

“That Ms. Citranelli will be returning to work as soon as she gets over her cold. Thank you.” I carry Aura out into the street.

“Put me DOWN!” She screams. Fine. I set her down, but not let go.

“Yes?”

“What the hell!” She yells at me. She's pale.

“You're sick. Get back to the house and rest. You'll pass out any moment.” I tell her. She tries to shake my hand off and sways terribly. I catch her to me.

“Told ya.” I wrap her arm around mine and we stand still for a long moment.

“Can you walk?” No answer. Right. “TAXI!” I wave and a car stops by the side walk. I open the door and let Aura in. I get in too, shut the door, give the address to the driver and pay up front too.

“Why where you working during lunch? You should've taken a break.”

“I missed too much work...”

“It's sorting, not surgery!” I snap and quickly shut up.

“It's all I have!” She snaps back. The car stops. I get out first and help Aura out next. She walks a step and tumbles. I pick her up again and carry her inside. The heat isn't helping her condition.

“Ma! Get some cold water!” I yell, carrying the struggling kitten back to her bed. Ma stumbles into the room.

“Sweet child! What were you thinking!”

“Water! Towel! Now!” I tell her, taking Aura's shoes off for her.

“I'll do the rest.” She kicks me off. Fine by me. I step back. Ma comes back in and begins her ranting. She almost rips the shirt off the girl. I leave the soon-to-be-the-murder-scene and lock back inside the study. That's all she has, she says. Tch.

“You'll sing for me once again soon. You'll see.” I tell the dismantled typewriter and hunch over the desk again. Hours go by. I reach for the bottle. Dry as a desert. Damn it. I take it with me and head out. A hammering noise reaches my ears. The bedroom? I step inside the room, that's to the further right to the living room. Right across from the bathroom. Ma's busy sewing. I close the door again and leave her be. I fill up the bottle with water straight from the tap and get back to my repairs. It takes me a lifetime to finish... It's already night, huh? I stretch out in the chair.

“Ok. One final test.” I slip the paper in, adjust the settings and press down. Clang. Another clang. Another tap.

“It works!” I grin tapping away. I clean the grease and the ink up off the surface. I take some fresh pages and stack them neatly. I carry them, along with the typewriter, into the living room. I leave everything on the desk and pass out on the ragged couch in the study.

    “Well, it's not his best work, but...” I hear giggling coming from the living room.

“Does he write poetry?” Aura.

“He did. A little...” Ma.

“Did something happen?”

“More or less...” More or less... That's a fun way to describe it... “My husband, Marco, he used to love to write. Poetry was his secret talent. He had a dream to become a famous poet. He was going to change the world with his words...”

“How noble.”

“Yes well... Life had other ideas for him. Unfortunately.”

“What happened?”

“The war. We were married for about a year when our son was born and when the whole world went mad... Again…” Ma pauses. “It only took us three dates before we said yes. How silly.” I smile.

“How did you meet?” Aura asks. I cross my hands on my chest and lean back, with my back against the wall.

“A book store. I always loved to read. Not many boys or men like that trait in a woman.”

“Tell me about it...” They laugh again.

“But it didn't bother him. He even brought a bunch of his poems for our first date to show me, asking for my thoughts.” Ma pauses again. “I have to say, I too, thought he was a weird one at first, but soon I realized how the rest of us are truly weird.”

“How so?”

“Priorities. We give way to backward priorities. Marco asked me what I was afraid off the most on our first date. I stared at him, clueless, till I blurred out a single word: death. He shook his head to me and said that there are worst things in life.”

“Really? I find it hard to imagine.”

“That's what I told him.” Ma laughs. “He said: getting your dream stolen from you is a faith far worse than death. Something that you want more than anything in the world, reaching for it, working for it... To have all of that effort ripped out of you... That was his greatest fear... That and that some other smooth talker will steal me away from him.” Laughter again.

“I can't say I disagree with your husband...”

“Neither could I. We talked so much about our inner worlds that by the end of date three he asked for my hand in marriage and I said yes on the spot. We both were 16... Fast or rushed aren't the words fitting, to describe it. Of course, we spent the next four years dating and preparing for our lives.” Ma giggles. “We spent all that time getting to know each other. Things we agree on and disagree on and learned how to compromise too... I learned so much from him... The more we talked the more I realized what was truly missing from my life...”

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

“What was it?”

“Depth. In a word. The more I listened to Marco, the more I tried to understand his way of thinking, the more I realized how shallow our lives are... Once you see that you can't un-see it...” Ma dies down a little again. “Of course, the sex helped too.” I smile at their girly giggles. “But that alone is not enough...”

“Pardon me, but how did you know? What's the biggest difference...” Isaura bites her tongue.

I hear Ma smile. “When you find yourself talking about things that you usually keep to yourself or restrain yourself from talking.” Hmmm...

“Thank you... So how did you manage?” Isaura asks again.

“Well, at the time neither one of us had anything. I was helping my mother at the tailor's. As a family of immigrant-descend we always struggled. I knew how to sew at the age of five. I've been doing it ever since. More or less... I never earned enough to save up for anything except a book. So that's where I put all of my money. We didn't marry till later, because of reasons, but also because we had no place to go to or anything. So, we worked a little bit to save enough. Marco's grandparents left him this house when they heard he wanted to get married. His parents and their parents never really got along. So, this did not sit well with them either, but he didn't care. We moved in and lived with his grandparents for a few years before they passed away, one after another...”

“Sorry for your loss...” Aura says.

“It's alright. It was nice to have them help with our boy, but to be honest between feeding five mouths and three...”

“I understand... My family is also of immigrant-descend, we never had it easy either… Except that they never really tried to fit in… I never understood that…” There we go. That explains the kindred spirits and the name…

“Neither did I. My family always did everything they could to blend in…” They laugh a little again. "It’s not easy adjusting your life to something you don’t know, but you need to understand one simple thing: you’ll need to put in extra effort to change your spots. Otherwise stay where you were. Don’t try to bring your home with you into the new land. Rather build a new home in the new land…” Ha! True… Ma continues.

“You know. Out of all the hardships, we never fought about us.” Oh? “The problems we had were always from the outside...”

“Must be nice. To love someone this way.”

“It is. But love alone is not enough. He was matured far beyond his age. He liked to say: the years on the body do not matter if the mind does not catch up.” More giggles. I smile too, to myself. “I learned so much from him... About life and values... He had only, but one weakness really. He was too weak, no, rather sensitive... He had a difficult time re-living the sadness and the troubles of others even if he wasn't involved with the people...” Sensitive, huh?

“Anyways. The war happened.” Ma continues. “Making it difficult to provide for ourselves. So, he put his dream on hold and did whatever he could to support us. On top of that, he couldn't bring himself to ignore the madness outside either, which only strained him even more... I wanted to help, even if it were just a little bit, so I went back to sewing as soon as I was able again. I even did men's clothes, which didn't sit right with Marco.”

“Why not?”

“He didn't like random men coming over to the house. It made him jealous. So, I stopped. It cut my clients and income in half, but women love clothes enough.” Another chuckle. “As long as they could provide me with the fabric, I would make anything they wished. With a child on hands, I barely had enough time to cut and sew, let alone run around town looking for parts.” Ha! I smile to myself again.

“I can understand that.”

“The first thing we, well, he bought with our savings was a typewriter. The same one here... It took him a while to figure it out, but he never looked happier then when writing...” Another pause. “Some time's he'd get soo into it that he'd even speak an entire conversation in lines.” More soft laughter.

“Sadly, life had other plans for Marco... Soon enough he typed less and less... He'd work for days without coming back for whatever work he could get... It got worse each day... Even after the war ended, Marco's spark for poetry did not come back... Till one day, our six-year-old son asked him to teach him how to use the typewriter... The smile on the boy’s face breathe a little life into Marco's eyes again...”

“But? I feel like...”

“A new factory came to be here and they hired a bunch of workers for good money too. Marco didn't even think twice about it. He dived in head on. Our living picked up a little again but... But all of that hard work started eating Marco away again... Our son was eight? I think... When I found his poems in the study, while he was at school. They were beautiful... I told him to show them to Marco that same night, as soon as he got back from work. I was sure he'd be thrilled...” Ma's tone changes there a little... I know what's coming up next...

“I left the house to deliver a dress for a very persistent witch... To hell with that woman... She couldn't wait till morning for me to finish so I rushed it and took the damn thing to her place. While I was out, Marco came back, drunk as ever... My boy, being as good as he was, did exactly as told. He showed his father the poems...” Another pause.

“Marco went insane. He beat our son up... Chasing him all over the place... He caught him in the study and beat him bloody... He even smashed this into the wall... By the time I got back...” She chokes up a little... “By the time I got back, Marco had hung himself in the study...” A gasp and a pause.

“In a fit of rage and fear he did the unthinkable... In an instant of sanity, he committed suicide... He was too weak to handle the weight of reality. Poetry meant everything to him. Seeing someone be better at it... He couldn't handle it... Reality had broken him... Perhaps if he had never stopped writing he would have been able to acknowledge his son's work as something to be proud of, but instead he saw it as a threat to his one and only dream...”

“I'm soo.. soo sorry...” Isaura sounds weepy...

“The only thing I am sorry about are the idiots that don’t know any better. Marco was a great man and a wonderful personality and even a better father. He loved our boy more than life... Yet the people only remember him as a suicidal drunk and a child beater... Worse thing about that part - Marco never liked alcohol in the first place. That time was the one and only when he drank in his entire life... I never stopped regretting being the one to cause the tragedy... If I had only been home then...” She gives in and breaks down...

“He would have never done it! He loved Leo! He loved me too! How I hate myself for it!” Ma cries quietly... He beat me up so much that I passed out. When I woke up, he was dead and gone... I never understood what happened... I figured he hated me... I thought that the reason for his death was because he was simply tired of living...

“Oh dear! What are you doing! Standing there like that!” Ma's voice reaches me from somewhere. I turn to it. “Are you crying?”

“Why...” My lips move... “Why... Why did it take you so long to tell me?”

“You were a child... I thought it was too heavy for you to understand...”

“Well it ain't any easier now...” I walk past her and out the door.

“Leo! Leo! Wait!” She runs after me... I keep walking... I walk to the beach, sit down on the sand, light a smoke and stare at the sea...

“Is this seat taken?” Someone sits down next to me. A slim hand gathers up my cigarette buds and puts them in an empty, metal tea box with a lid.

“Feeling ok, there?” The same voice asks me again.

“No.” I spit out.

“I'm sorry...” I finally look at where the sound comes from. Isaura.

“Sorry for what?”

“For what happened with your father and right now...”

“You and me both...” I take another cig. “You shouldn't be here. You're sick.”

“The fever's down. It's fine.” She says, I don’t answer and we sit in silence like a pair of idiots...

“Roses are red,

Violets are blue,

I am an idiot

And so are you.

It's never too soon,

Only too late,

So begin anew,

And move forward too...”

“Quoting me to me? Really?” I glare at the girl again. She giggles.

“Is that supposed to be an apology?” She looks at me. I look away.

“I'll take that as a yes.” She says, dragging her hands across the sand. “I liked the other side better though...”

“Whatever makes you happy...” I mumble.

“Why did you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Fix the typewriter? Leave it there for me?”

“I'm the reason your work was ruined, I had to fix it. So, I did.” I shrug my shoulders and light another cig.

“Too bad all that hard work of yours will go to waste.”

“Meaning what?” I take the smoke out of my mouth.

“I don't know how to use a typewriter...”

“That's easy. I'll show you.”

“Maria said you left home when you were fifteen.”

“I did.”

“Why?”

“I figured I was being a burden on Ma, so I left to ease that for her.”

“She thinks you hate her. That's why.”

“She never wrote back to a single one of my letters. And I wrote plenty in the beginning. I only knew she was fine cause of our neighbor. She answered to me.”

“She didn't know what to tell you, your mother...”

“Her? Out of words? No way.” I mock the idea of my loud-mouth mother struggling for words.

“Why did you come back?”

“It just happened. I didn't plan on it.”

“Were you ever gonna?”

“No. Maybe... No clue.” I take another smoke and light it. “Why are you here?”

“Because Maria's worried about you.”

“I mean here. Renting a room.”

“Family of five. I’m the eldest. Never being alone or doing anything I want... I got sick of it and ran away.”

“Is that why you work at the Post office?”

She shrugs her shoulders. “More or less.”

“They pay you scraps.”

“It's not like I can ask for more having no skills or experience... All I ever knew are simply jobs...” She's just like me...

“Ever dream of something else?”

“Sometimes.” She answers.

“Like what?”

“I'm not telling.” She says and giggles. I turn to see her. She smiles, looking into the sea. A growl rumbles from inside her body. I laugh my ass off at it.

“Hungry?” I ask Aura, roaring.

“I was on my way to breakfast when I saw Maria by the desk and...”

I get up. “Come on. Let's go.” I offer her a hand. She takes the box and my hand. I help her up. We go back to the house. Ma's missing in action. I take a bite from the pan and put the rest for Aura.

“Aren't you hungry?”

“Got these.” I shake the empty smoke pack. I make some coffee next.

“Thank you.” She tells me as I switch her plate out for the cup.

“Come with me. I'll show you how it works, before I pass out again.” I nod to her and go into the living room. She follows me.

“Sit.” I point to the chair and the girl sits down. I stand behind the chair and lean over her. “Right. Here. Insert the paper like so. Adjust it like so." I move the knobs a bit. "And write like so.” I type "Isaura - Aura" five times.

“Aura?”

“Better than "Isa," no?” I wink at her.

“Why?”

“Because the first word that kids learn to write is their own name.” I smile at her again. “Once you get to the end, you just slide it back and repeat.”

“Very funny.” She rolls her eyes at me. I laugh and step back.

“Play with it a bit and you'll learn.” I leave her. “Just don't break it!” I yell closing the door to the study.