Loe raamatut: «An Ice Cream For Henry»
Emanuele Cerquiglini
ISBN: 978-88-93064-30-9
Questo libro è stato realizzato con StreetLib Write
Indice dei contenuti
1 Cover
2 Author, title and translator
3 Info
4 Dedicated to...
5 âThe Characters
6 Quotation
7 Prologue
8 Chapter 1
9 Chapter 2
10 Chapter 3
11 Chapter 4
12 Chapter 5
13 Chapter 6
14 Chapter 7
15 Chapter 8
16 Chapter 9
17 Chapter 10
18 Chapter 11
19 Chapter 12
20 Chapter 13
21 Chapter 14
22 Chapter 15
23 Chapter 16
24 Chapter 17
25 Chapter 18
26 Chapter 19
27 Chapter 20
28 Chapter 21
29 Chapter 22
30 Chapter 23
31 Chapter 24
32 Chapter 25
33 Chapter 26
34 Chapter 27
35 Chapter 28
36 Chapter 29
37 Chapter 30
38 Chapter 31
39 Chapter 32
40 Chapter 33
41 Chapter 34
42 Chapter 35
43 Chapter 36
44 Chapter 37
45 Chapter 38
46 Chapter 39
47 Chapter 40
48 Chapter 41
49 Chapter 42
50 Chapter 43
51 Chapter 44
52 Chapter 45
53 Chapter 46
54 Chapter 47
55 Chapter 48
56 Chapter 49
57 Chapter 50
58 Chapter 51
59 Chapter 52
60 Epilogue
61 A note from the author
62 The author
Cover
photo by Veronica Louro
Author, title and translator
EMANUELE CERQUIGLINI
Finalist, Il Mio Esordio 2015
AN ICE CREAM FOR HENRY
EIGHT MILLION CHILDREN GO MISSING EVERY YEAR. HENRY IS ONE OF THEM.
Translated by ANDREW FANKO
Info
EMANUELE CERQUIGLINI
AN ICE CREAM FOR HENRY
ISBN | 978-88-93064-30-9
Copyright © (Patamu:52441) 07-12-16 by Emanuele Cerquiglini
https://www.facebook.com/ungelatoperhenry
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the authorâs imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, places or people, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Thanks to Roberta Graziosi and Sarah Verdini for helping me to improve the first draft and for their support, patience, and advice.
Thanks to my old friends Luigi and Andrea, who always want the best for me.
Thanks also to Livia Risi for giving me the details of her âPizzo Jersey BuyByâ dress, which I chose for Barbara Harrison to wear in one of the chapters.
http://www.liviarisi.com/#!about/cjg9
While conducting some online research into the Second Amendment and the firearms culture in the U.S., I was inspired by a Matti Ferraresi article
entitled â U.S. Army, tutti al poligonoâ. Published on the Panorama website on February 12, 2013,
http://www.panorama.it/news/esteri/stati-uniti-armi-poligono/
the report describes an Italian journalistâs visit to the New Jersey Firearms Academy.
Dedicated to...
For my mother and father, who protected me as a child, have always supported me as an adult, and have enabled me to embark on a career in the world of fiction. I â m well aware that not everyone is so fortunate. We â ve had moments in the sun but also dark days, and we â ll continue to face those dark days as we always have: without fear. After all, the sun is always there at the start of a brand new day â¦
Thanks, Mom and Dad.
Emanuele
âThe Characters
THE CHARACTERS
CHILDREN
Henry Lewis, nearly 11
Joanna Longowa, nearly 11
Nicholas, nearly 11
LAW ENFORCEMENT
Barbara Harrison (FBI Supervisory Special Agent)
Gordon Murphy (Sheriff of Toms River)
Gonzalez (Medford district cop)
Clive Thompson (member of the Secret Service)
Iron (police dog)
ADULTS
Jim Lewis (Henryâs father, a mechanic)
Ted Burton (retired U.S. Marine Corps Major)
Winnipeg âWinnieâ Moore (ice cream vendor)
Jasmine Lewis (Jimâs sister)
Robert Brown (Barbara Harrisonâs partner)
Zibi Longowa (Joannaâs brother)
Shelley Logan (Jimâs lover)
Miss Anderson (math teacher)
Mr. Johnson (history teacher)
Leland Wright (chief of the Firearms Academy)
Dalton Clark (retired nurse)
Samantha Monroe (Daltonâs wife)
Dalisay, known as Delicious (Tedâs second wife )
Ronald Howard (wealthy gentleman)
Coach Kyrle (gym teacher)
George and Paul (Samanthaâs sons)
CHARACTERS FROM THE PAST
Emily Butler, 6
Allison Parker (Emilyâs mom)
Luke Butler (Emilyâs dad)
Ryan Green (Allisonâs second husband)
Richard Harrison, 12 (Barbaraâs brother)
Donald Coleman (friend of Barbaraâs dad)
Quotation
â When a man with a .45 meets a man with a rifle, the man with a pistol will be a dead man.â
Ramón Rojo(Gian Maria Volontè)
A FISTFUL OF DOLLARS (1964)
Directed by Sergio Leone
Prologue
A ppearances are not always misleading and monsters do exist. Children need to be made aware of this and shown the world for what it really is â itâs for their own good. Wrapping them up in cotton wool can be dangerous. Dualism exists in this world: understanding good without knowing evil is like denying the existence of free will.
Children need to be told that, although all men are born equal, they are defined by infinite differences that make each individual totally unique. These differences are created by various influences, be it family, schooling, society or geography. They combine to determine an individualâs cognitive, physical, and spiritual development. Shaped by these influences, the individual develops and, upon becoming an adult, chooses how to act. Being able to distinguish good from evil, and acknowledging the existence of evil but rejecting it in favor of a life of good, shows an ability to understand dualism and go through life with more self-assurance and self-awareness.
Human beings have always discussed evil, with each era approaching the topic from different perspectives. Every era has its own evil, which must be acknowledged and confronted rather than ignored.
But is it really an alternative to good? Is it really a choice we can make?
It may just be that evil comes about through being continually deprived or through yielding to something that preys on human flaws. To truly understand this issue, we need to look beyond material answers and seek a more thoughtful and enlightened path.
Only humans as spiritual beings, having achieved a state of completeness, can discern good from evil. If an individual somehow falls short of this state of completeness, discerning good from evil can be difficult, if not impossible.
Dalton Clark was walking hand in hand with his wife as dawn broke. He loved the fresh air of Medford Lakes - it was a great place to be retired.
âWeâve waited so long, dearâ said Dalton as they reached the quay. âBut the day has finally arrived and we need to be ready. A bit of exercise will do us good, both physically and mentally.â He let go of his wifeâs hand so he could untie the clove hitch that was securing the canoe to two wooden fence posts.
Samantha Monroe watched and said nothing. She was used to indulging her husband, a man who years earlier had saved her and brought her back to life. Dalton had listened to her and understood her like no-one else could, not even her sons and her first husband, and for that she would always be devoted to him and trust him implicitly. Dalton was a giant of a man. He wasnât the most agile, but he had plenty of physical strength and character, and although he wasnât particularly warm with Samanthaâs boys, she knew that behind his gruff and surly exterior beat the heart of a good man who was able to overcome situations that forced most others into submission.
Dalton pushed the canoe more than halfway into the water. Samantha handed him the paddle, and he wheezed as he sat his considerable frame down in the rear of the boat.
âCome on, dear, donât be scared. Iâve got you.â
Samantha rolled up her linen pants below her knees and stepped aboard the canoe with no little difficulty. Her joints were not what they once were and her back often hurt, but she was determined to float out to the middle of the lake with her Dalton on this fateful day, waiting for everything to fall into place just the way they had imagined and prepared for over the years - well, the way Dalton had prepared for and she and her sons had faithfully accepted. Perhaps today would be the day when all her suffering would finally end and she would avenge what her whole, defenceless family had been forced to endure all these years.
Dalton was sure of things that Samantha was not. He knew of things that others could never have imagined, and most importantly he had solutions which, although disconcerting on the surface, were the only possible course of action and had to be seen through.
â There are forces at work beyond our normal understanding of good and evil, and we need to respond to those forces in the only language they understand⦠You have to accept that, Samantha, if you want to set yourself free, otherwise they will come back stronger than ever and finish the job they started all those years ago: hurting you and your familyâ¦â That was what Dalton would say whenever she showed any hint of doubt, even though she never went so far as to criticize the man for his theories and beliefs. Dalton had already saved her once and he would do so again. Samantha was just pathetic and ignorant and she knew she wasnât able to understand everything, but she also knew she had to trust in him to give herself and, more importantly her sons, another chance.
As Samantha steadily lowered herself into the front of the canoe, Dalton balanced the paddle across his knees, plunged his giant hands into the muddy bank and pushed with all his might, sending the canoe out into the water.
A few minutes later, as the sun rose and its rays began to warm their surroundings, Dalton and Samantha found themselves bobbing up and down in silence in the middle of the lake, listening to the morning song of the birds hidden among the tree branches. The brilliant sunlight glistened on the ripples caused by the motion of the canoe, the only thing disturbing the stillness of the lake
Chapter 1
(day one)
I t was too warm that Friday morning to put his old New Jersey Nets hoodie on under his mechanicâs overalls, so Jim Lewis pulled a not-too-creased denim shirt out of the closet and put it on over the red cotton tank top with two holes in the right side from a clumsy cigarette burn some years earlier.
Jim loved that tank top, even though it was faded and frayed. Wearing it made him feel like he was still young, and he loved the way it showed off his wiry physique, with the pronounced veins under his skin running down his neck and branching off along his arms.
It was more like a piece of body armor, that undershirt. It was part of him: Jim âred tank topâ Lewis.
Having worn it all day, the first thing he would do when he got home was wash it by hand and lay it out to dry so he could wear it again, worst-case scenario, in a couple days.
Once he had buttoned up his denim shirt, Jim slipped on his overalls, fastened the suspenders, and put on his oil-stained sneakers.
It was before seven, and his son Henry was still fast asleep in his room.
Jim went down to the kitchen, opened a can of Red Bull, switched on the TV for the morning news, then set about making his usual breakfast of a burger topped with a thin slice of melted cheese.
NBC was showing images of a gay rights demonstration that had ended in a few scuffles between the colorful, peaceful protesters and a small group of skinheads bearing swastika tattoos. One of the arrested skinheads was shouting about the dangers of same-sex marriage, something about it being a one-way ticket to Hell. From the look of his bulging eyes, complete with heavily dilated pupils, it was more likely that the Hell to which he referred was coursing through his veins in the form of drugs. Also under arrest were a handful of fanatical neo-Nazi conservatives who somehow felt the need to defend the anal virginity of others.
Jim Lewis had no time for far-right extremists, who struck him as nothing more than a bunch of hotheaded imbeciles, but he had a genuine aversion to anything that didnât belong in his own world of heterosexual desires. â Those faggots and dykes, theyâ re asking for it. Theyâ re always gonna wind these people up,â thought Jim, totally incapable of thinking deeply enough about the issue to understand the importance of demonstrating for the inalienable rights of these people, just because their sexual preferences were different than his own.
By the time the news bulletin had reached the weather forecast, Jim had already devoured his breakfast. It looked like being more of a summerâs day, and that put him in a good mood.
He got up and took his plate over to the sink. Ever since he had been widowed, he had learned that it was better to wash everything up immediately, rather than be left with a pile of dirty, smelly dishes.
The kitchen clock told him it was twenty past seven, and it would soon be time to wake Henry and take him to school.
He grabbed a carton of milk from the fridge and his sonâs favorite cereal from the sideboard.
He set the table, trying to make it look as nice as Bet, his wife, had always done when she was still around.
It was tough for Jim raising a child on his own, but he hadnât been interested in a long-term relationship since Bet died. He was happy enough with the occasional one-night stand heâd pick up from those long Saturday nights at the Road to Hell. Jim always got free drinks there after heâd restored the ownerâs old Harley-Davidson 883, which had been crushed against a wall by a drunk truck driver reversing blind out of the parking lot.
Most people would have written it off and waited for the insurance money to buy a new one, but for Steve Collins that bike was the only thing he had to remind him of his dad, who had given it to him when it he was still too young to ride it as an incentive to work harder at college.
On Saturdays, Jim would leave Henry at his older sister Jasmineâs house. In spite of her ongoing health problems, Jasmine had always tried to be a mother figure to the young boy.
Before going in to wake his son, Jim entered the bathroom and looked in the mirror, stroking the two daysâ worth of stubble that had made him look older and more grizzled. He unclasped his suspenders, pulled his overalls down over his knees and sat on the toilet. Before offloading, his mind turned to Shelley, the latest twenty-something broad heâd brought home from the Road to Hell.
He masturbated furiously. He had become kind of an expert at fitting in all the household chores, but there was one thing heâd always find time for: his morning jerk-off.
â Shelley, Shelley⦠we really need to hook up again,â thought Jim as he pulled some toilet paper off the roll to clean himself up.
âHey, buddy! Rise and shine!â shouted Jim as he returned to the kitchen.
âYour breakfastâs on the table!â
Henry appeared a few minutes later, looking sleepy but, as always, with a smile on his face.
âYouâll catch cold going round the house topless!â warned Jim, mixing the cereal into the milk so it got soggy just the way Henry liked it.
âBut Iâm not cold, Dad, itâs warm again today.â
âYouâre right, bud! The forecast says itâs gonna be around seventy-five today. If it stays like this, next Sunday we can take a trip to the lake or maybe head straight for the beach. Which would you prefer?â
âBeach!â cried Henry as he took his first spoonful of mushy cereal.
âDid you remember you need to go to Aunt Jasmineâs after school?â Jim asked, adopting a more serious tone.
âSure, Dad, I packed my bag last night. Everythingâs in there, Iâm all set.â
âGood. Look, Iâm sorry I canât pick you up and Iâm leaving you with that heavy backpack to carry round, but the Howards need their car by lunchtime and I need to work on Tedâs Jeep first,â Jim said, attempting to justify himself to his son.
âIâm grown up enough to look after myself,â replied Henry proudly.
âYou havenât even taken your elementary school exams yet, thereâs plenty of time to grow up!â
âThe exams are less than a month away, so you canât go on thinking Iâm just a kid!â
âOK, Henry, weâll resume this conversation when youâve done the exams. Enjoy being ten, because Iâm telling you things get a lot tougher...â Jim said, unable to disguise a certain level of bitterness.
âIt canât get any tougher than the math test Iâve got today. I hate Miss Anderson. She looks like a fish!â replied Henry, giggling to himself.
âKid, math was never my strong suit, but youâd do well to learn....at least until you can afford a calculator! Come on, eat up!â Jim said with a chuckle, before turning back to the TV.
Chapter 2
P unctual as always, Jim dropped his son off outside the school and paused briefly to watch as the hordes of five-to-eleven-year-olds entered the main building, their chatter and squeals of laughter creating a familiar schoolyard buzz. It was a sound he liked. It reminded him of his childhood and brightened his mood. Jim stood trance-like among the other parents, watching the moms chatting to one another and daydreaming that his wife was among them, imagining how great it would feel to be there with Bet alongside him, catching up with the other moms and dads before going to work.
It was just one of the many experiences in life that he had been denied the minute his wife had been snatched away from him by the cruel hands of fate. A fate which, even all after all these years, Jim had still refused to accept.
Chapter 3
I t was nine thirty, and the sun filtering through the gaps in the auto repair shop shutters was already a problem for Jim, a guy who could sweat for America.
The Howardsâ Mercedes was a genuine antique: a 1954 300 SL with gull-wing doors. It had taken Jim weeks to find an original replacement muffler, and on top of that heâd had to make several secondary repairs. The car parked in his repair shop was worth more than four million dollars, and the job was set to earn him a cool ten thousand. The Howards were filthy rich and Jim had been lucky enough to befriend Ronald Howard at college, long before he married Carol Spencer, a woman who somehow managed to be even uglier than she was rich. Carol was probably one of the ugliest women in the entire United States, her looks irredeemable even with the most advanced plastic surgery, but for Ronald it was always about the money: â There ainâ t no piece of ass can compete with a private jet!â heâd always say when one of his friends asked how on earth he managed to sleep with that woman.
At Ronaldâs request and expense, Jim had taken his business to â Frankieâ s Luxury Car Partsâ, whose owner could get his hands on anything and charged accordingly. Frankie had friends and collectors of all ages as clients, and he counted many of the countryâs car thieves and junkyard workers among his loyal associates. Frankie actually was the nickname of his great-grandfather Franco, the son of Italian immigrants who came to the United States in 1882. Franco built up his business alone, using methods that were effective if not always legal and ensuring that luxury car parts would provide a life of luxury for all his descendants, including Tommy, who now ran the company and was known to everyone as Frankie, after his great-grandfather.
â I donâ t know how much you paid for this muffler, Ronald, but itâs been a real bitch to fit,â thought Jim, dripping with sweat as he lay under the car.
He could really use those ten thousand big ones. Jim couldnât afford to take on any employees because he needed to save to put his son through college and to pay his mortgage, which had becoming crippling after the financial crisis.
His was a small repair shop and most of what business he did get came in the form of repairing old clunkers. Clients like the Howards were as rare as hensâ teeth. People with new or luxury cars took their business to authorized repair shops, leaving Jim to deal with his friends or people even worse off than him who would haggle over a twenty-dollar job. Ted Burtonâs aging Wrangler, which was what kept Jim busy most of the time, was another story. The Jeep spent at least two months every year in Jimâs repair shop, not because there was anything wrong with it in particular, but because Ted was an old friend and now that heâd retired, he had nothing better to do than stop by once or twice a week to have the engine serviced and chew the fat with Jim.
Just like its owner, the Wrangler was rough and ready, good for another fifty thousand miles in the toughest conditions, even though it had rumbled in complaint ever since the time Ted forgot to top up the antifreeze and it blew up on Ocean Drive, an incident that resulted in Ted always carrying bottles of antifreeze in the trunk and bringing the car in for regular checks.
It was unbearably hot as Jim wheeled himself out from under the Mercedes where he had been working on the damned muffler. His face and hands were covered in oil. Jim had never managed to break the habit of using the palm of his hands to wipe the sweat from his brow rather than his wrists,which would have been the only way to keep his face clean because he didnât wear gloves.
He got to his feet and went to check his paperwork in the tiny room at the back of the repair shop that doubled up as an office and chill-out zone. It was the only distraction in his place of work, apart from the tiny adjoining john.
â Bills, bills, bills. For Christâ s sake!â Jim said to himself as he put the papers back in order. He picked up the phone from the tiny square desk fixed to the wall and dialed the number of his sister Jasmine.
He informed her Henry would be coming over at lunchtime, asked her how she was and told her that, sooner or later, he wanted to take a trip to Ireland so he could once again take in the emerald-green hills and introduce his son to the clean, fresh air of his homeland. Jim Lewis was no poet, but behind his knitted brow and hardened expression lay a fairly sensitive and melancholy soul.
He had changed a great deal since Bet died, losing some of that sparkle that had enabled him to see things in a very different, positive light. He was very close to Jasmine, even though they were fifteen years apart. Jim was nearly forty-eight and Jasmine over sixty, the other difference being that Jim was in perfect health while his sister had been breathing with just one lung for several years.
Jim came to the United States first, having spent the first ten years of his life in Cork, Ireland. His American dad had married a beautiful Irish girl and gone on to have two children with her, those fifteen years apart. When Jimâs mom died when he was ten years old, his father returned to live in the States and brought Jim with him, while Jasmine stayed behind in her job and crossed the Atlantic only as she approached forty, with her own health already suffering and her father coming to the end of his life. Morgan Lewis died a slow death, eventually succumbing to Alzheimerâs at sixty-two. He had little to leave his two children, apart from the opportunity to embrace the American dream.
Jim used most of the money he got from selling his fatherâs house to pay for his sisterâs health care. This made him, in spite of his numerous character flaws that included stubbornness and a lack of education, appear worthy of peopleâs respect.
He switched on the radio and tuned in to a country music station. He liked country music, especially since learning to dance to it at the Road to Hell on Saturday nights.
He got to work on the engine of Tedâs Wrangler. As usual, he just needed to give it a once over and then top up the oil and antifreeze.
All his focus really was on Ronald Howardâs Mercedes-Benz. Now the muffler was done, he had to make sure the driverâs door opened smoothly.
After a couple hours work, the gull-wing door once again opened effortlessly as if it had just rolled off the production line back in the days when the world was full of hope after a decade spent recovering from the horrors of the Second World War.
No sooner had he finished the job than Ted Burton entered the repair shop with two bags of fried chicken and a four-pack of beer.
âJeez, Jim, that babyâs gotta be worth more than your house and mine put together! What happened? Did it have a run-in with a Rockefeller?â Ted said in his baritone voice.
Jim smiled: âItâs the jewel in Ronald Howardâs collection.â
âIs that your pal whoâs married to the Loch Ness monster?â
âYep, thatâs the one.â
âAnd he leaves this Fort-Knox-on-wheels in your repair shop? If I were you, I might have found a way to make it disappear by now!â said Ted, laughing heartily.
âI canât deny Iâve given it some thought, Ted, but here, let me show you something. Look over there, across the street...â replied Jim, pointing to an armored car with two men inside.
âIâd spotted that car. Who are those two guys?â asked Ted curiously.
âTheyâre private security guards hired by the Howards. Theyâve been out there three days and nights. They change shifts with another two guards every eight hours. But thatâs not it; come look out the bathroom window. Thereâs another armored car keeping watch over the back.â
âJeez! Money talks, huh?â muttered Ted as he followed Jim into the bathroom.
âMaybe marrying that brute wasnât such a dumb idea after all, huh Ted?â Jim said, taking one of the bags of fried chicken from his friend.
âYouâd better believe it, even if itâs meant having to get Viagra on prescription refill, the old dog!â
âMaybe he likes it...â
âJim, thatâs gotta be worse than going with a guy. He canât possibly enjoy it. Heâs just thinking of the interest in his bank account!â exclaimed Ted knowingly.
âThereâs nothing worse than going with a guy. Iâd rather fuck a sheep, as long as it was female!â replied Jim with a look of disgust.
âBud, my ex-wife used to say that homophobes were actually repressed homosexuals...â replied Ted, snickering as he bit into a piece of chicken.
âNot in my case. Look, Iâve got nothing against them...itâs just that Iâd rather keep them at armâs length. Whatever they get up to in their own time is fine, but I donât wanna know about it and I donât want them anywhere near me. Thanks for the chicken and beer, by the way. Make sure you donât choke on it!â said Jim, before tucking in to his first piece of meat as he watched Ted spluttering because his had gone down the wrong way.
âWash it down, my friend. I donât want a dead body lying in my repair shop!â he added, as Ted recovered from his episode by downing half his can of beer.
âHowâs my Jeep?â asked Ted, having finished his beer and thrown the can in the trash.
âOh sheâs doing great, Ted. Sheâs like a tank!â
âThey donât make âem like they used to, bud. Theyâre just heaps of junk nowadays!â said Ted, cracking open another beer and taking a big mouthful.
âAinât that the truth...â replied Jim, looking down at his watch. It was nearly twelve.
Ted Burton let out a huge belch of such volume it caught the attention of the two guards hired by Ronald Howard to watch over his Mercedes.