Читать книгу Clouds Of Smoke… The Story - Gianluigi Ciaramellari - Страница 17

That Saturday afternoon, there had been a lot of VAPE users and beginners at the Clouds of smoke store. Regulars always liked to laze in the store a little more than on other days, to chat with each other and with the owner. Damien enjoyed offering them useful tips and demonstrations on the use of the various systems, spiced up with ironic jokes and wisecracks. In short, the atmosphere was always cheerful and time passed unnoticed.

Some customers even regretted having to go back home, after all, they enjoyed Damien’s company; he was a friend, they could tell him all about their lives and he listened with an unlimited patience and curiosity. He treasured everything they told him as if it was a gift. Someone once said to another customer: “This man knows how to listen with so much attention that you expect him to ask you how much he owes you, for what you have given him”.

However, many of his customers wondered if Damien was indeed a happy man. This was not a question they could ask him, it was written in Braille on his hand. If he handed you his hand, even though you didn’t know how to read the dots of that code, the physical contact with him it was enough to for him to get his message across: “Welcome to my house, but don’t ask me how much I paid it!”.

By the way, Damien’s home was big, cosy, warm and full of beautiful antique items, sometimes mixed together with modern pieces.

It reflected his soul, his manners and his qualities. Few people had had the privilege of being invited to that home. Those who had been there, at least once, longed to have the same, some day.

Likewise, his personality was also full of assets, such as kindness, cheerfulness, wisdom, a keen sensitivity to visual arts and music.

In the shop he loved to play jazz, blues and classic melodic music discreetly in the background.

On the walls of the shop he displayed posters of old black and white movies and 50s and 70s colour movies; on certain shelves he placed some comic strips such Alan Ford, Tex Willer, Mickey Mouse and the Italian cartoon Tiramolla.

There was no lack of magazines on topics such as science, politics and economy, resting on a colourful wooden plank, from time to time updated with new issues. Damien had decorated the shop with recycled materials and industrial furniture, revised and adapted to a different use and better suited to the needs of his business. The solid wood counter came from the atelier of a retired tailor; looking at it, one could imagine that craftsman, unrolling measures of precious materials onto it, while he cleverly scissor cut the square footage that the lady in turn chose, following the expert’s advice.

When Damien suggested a vape cigarette or a liquid, he perfectly replicated the precision of the tailor to whom the counter had belonged, as if he had also inherited his soul.

The store was beautiful. It was so for new customers and it looked more and more beautiful to those who returned there, because every time they were surprised to discover strange objects that had nothing to do with the items for sale. There was a display case dedicated to small items, souvenirs for friends and family.

If Damien’s store was his business card, his house was his curriculum vitae and the world exhibition of his trophies...

That Saturday night, as many other times, it was late. Usually at seven-thirty, Damien pulled down the shutter, whereas that night it was past eight o’clock and inside the store were still two customers: Massimo and Sonia.

Massimo had returned to stock up on liquids; it was already the third time he came back on a Saturday. A bottle of ten millilitres of liquid lasted only three days; therefore he bought at least two at a time.

Sonia, instead, returned that afternoon, following her morning visit. Damien had sold her an electronic cigarette complete with cord to carry it around her neck, while Sonia would have preferred a small pouch to store it in her handbag, so she decided to return to the store to make that second purchase. That’s how the two of them met by chance in the shop and Damien was happy to present them to each other.

At first, Massimo seemed rather intimidated by Sonia’s beauty; luckily Damien was able to act as a link between them, involving both in the matters that were brought up during that late afternoon in the store, also encompassing the other customers.

Damien asked Massimo what how he felt about using the steam cigarette and Sonia was very interested in his experience, therefore, from a simple question and answer, he started a conversation between several people that lasted until the evening, and by then they felt at ease in speaking to each other.

When Damien noticed that the two of them already got along well together, although he had just presented them, he was reminded of a scene that he’d already seen several times, during his Sunday walks in the tree-lined streets, particularly in the fall. He had observed a fallen leaf on the ground that was being carried away by a gust of wind, until it reached another leaf that was very far from it, and then, a small whirlwind, suddenly created by the atmospheric conditions, sent the two leaves dancing in a circle, and eventually they fell to the ground, sometimes overlapping each other.

It wasn’t essential for those two leaves to be of the same kind or the same size. It was irrelevant how and why they had fallen off the tree, or if they had fallen from different trees. Also irrelevant was their colour and shape. The small whirlwind took them both and lifted them from the ground and, although one of them was blown sideways, while the other was blown from below, they both received the same force to which they resisted in different ways, still meeting at the same height, on the same level.

Just like those two leaves, Massimo and Sonia met, spoke to each other, jumping from one subject to another, then they said goodbye to Damien, who could finally close the store.

Once they left the store and had already walked a few steps away from it, Massimo stopped to looked back at the store and saw that he was lowering the shutter.

“Sonia, wait a minute. - He said to the girl who was still at his side, who also turned to look back - See? Damien closed the store but he’s still inside!”

“Of course, - she said – he said he had to finish his accounting, tidy up and check his stocks.”

“Okay, - said Massimo - but last Saturday I stopped out here to talk to another customer of his, we were out here for at least a half hour, yet he didn’t come out. In my opinion, - Massimo’s tone became suspicious - Damien will spend the night in there!”

Sonia was baffled by Massimo’s words. However she wanted to support him and decided to wait a little longer to see if he was right.

They waited another twenty minutes, chatting about this and that and keeping an eye on the store, mainly keeping their eyes on the thin line of light shining from under the shutter.

After a while the light went off and they waited for the shutter to be raised and for Damien to come out. Instead no one came out. They waited another five minutes, looking at each other drawing their lips and chin together in an expression that in Italy means “beats me!”

Sonia finally decided to go home; she decided to order a pizza. She said goodbye to Massimo, so he shrugged and went on his way, still wondering about that strange behaviour.