26
Last wills
I had been medically discharged and was watching the sunset from the top of a bridge, fulfilling Dante's last wish, embraced by my wife. My voice wasn't fully recovered, but at least I could communicate without needing to use the whiteboard.
I thought about everything that had happened during my stay in the hospital until I got here.
Irene came to see me when my wife was resting at home, and she offered to take care of my dressings when the doctor indicated.
I told her it wasn't necessary. Nikita had suggested hiring a specialized nurse. My friend dismissed the idea; after all, she had that qualification and worked in a clinic; yes, it was a cosmetic surgery clinic, but for our purposes, a cure was a cure.
I never agreed because, although she intended to smooth things over with my wife, Nikita’s untamed nature made me think it was best to discuss it with her. I didn’t want any misunderstandings. Although Irene didn’t seem to take the hint and kept insisting she was the best option for my wife to understand that there was nothing between us anymore, just friendship. It was clear she didn’t know her...
We spent part of the afternoon remembering Dante. She talked, and I just wrote on the whiteboard when necessary. Irene also appreciated him a lot, and it was good to share; that’s also what mourning was about. Although I couldn't continue to feel guilty, this was the second death of a friend I had accumulated, and the burden was becoming increasingly heavy.
I had reviewed over and over everything I could have done to prevent the tragic outcome, the same happened with Yuri, and I always came to the same conclusion: that I hadn't measured up.
Guilt is tough; it's that little voice full of reproach, constantly telling you everything you haven't done right. It eats away at you, corrodes you from the inside to the core of your emotions, without you being able to stop it. It coils around them and suffocates you until you have no other choice but to face it and realize that, no matter how much you've messed up, life neither stops nor waits for you. You become both engineer and passenger, as well as the only one with the power to decide whether you keep going or get off.
The tolls of guilt are usually expensive, and the longer you stay trapped in its car, the more difficult the journey back becomes.
It wasn’t until late in the afternoon that Nikita appeared with a smiling Adriano. My son seemed to have been wound up, and she, although still looking tired, had a special sparkle in her eye.
Why was that? Maybe because they had finally accepted each other. Just a couple of days without me had created an amazing complicity between them. My son couldn't stop singing her praises and confirming that "Aunt Nikita was his new heroine, who had gone after the demon from his nightmares and had taken care of it." Adriano mentioned that his aunt had given him a sort of little bottle containing the blood of the creature that had terrorized him in dreams, and that he should carry it to show that if it ever appeared again, Aunt Nikita would go after it, even if it was just a nightmare.
I raised an eyebrow, wanting to know more. Nikita, who caught my gesture, simply said, "I'll tell you later," which made me doubt what might have happened. Knowing her, it could have been anything.
Adri was waving a transparent pendant in front of my eyes, filled with a red tint that looked like blood. Was it really blood, or just a well-made reproduction to give the boy something to hold onto?
I was dying of curiosity, but my head was foggy from the painkillers, and I couldn't think straight. I would delve deeper into what had happened when I got home.
I was surprised and delighted that Nikita had earned her nephew's trust and managed to get him to share the origin of his nightmares.
Adriano kept calling her "Aunt Nikita," with that emphasis and a growing admiration he couldn't hide. Seeing them so close alleviated the pain from Dante's loss and made me see that perhaps a happy home was possible.
I offered a smile to my wife that got caught in the green of her eyes. Hope, that was what my wife offered me, making the impossible seem attainable.
Once I recovered, I would give her the surprise I had planned to give in Santorini; she deserved what was taken from us, and I intended to see it through to the last consequences.
Aleksa showed up half an hour after Nikita and Adri. He was accompanied by álvaro San Juan, the trusted man sent by Uncle Giuliano.
My man was serious and looked like he had rested little. We were all the same. He didn't even greet Andrey, who was stationed in a corner of the room. He simply told me that he had everything ready for Dante's farewell, that everyone was informed, and that when I gave the word, we would fulfill his last wish.
"Do you have the pendants?" I wanted to make sure.
"Of course. Everything is arranged just as we discussed, down to the smallest detail. Dante deserved no less." We agreed on that.
"Thank you, Aleksa." My man glanced at Andrey.
The Russian looked like a wax museum figure. He hadn't blinked since Aleksa entered. Maybe he had fallen asleep standing up and had the ability to do so with his eyes open. Soldiers learn to do amazing things in war.
Adriano got hungry, and Nikita offered to take him to the vending machine in the hallway to buy him a chocolate bar.
I turned back to my man, watching my son's hand brush against Nikita’s as they left the room.
I thanked Aleksa for handling everything while I had been confined to the hospital.
"My father told me this morning to go to his house with álvaro; he wants to meet with both of us."
"We're going now, and I hope they discharge you tomorrow."
"Me too. I wish it wasn't just me getting discharged," was the last thing I said.
"Don't think about that; you know that in the state he was in, deep down, it was for the best. Dante wouldn't have endured living in such a cruel way, deformed, in pain, and with devastating aftereffects. Knowing him, he would have blown his brains out. If he were here, he'd surely exclaim, 'Last one to do it is a pansy.'" That made me smile sadly. Aleksa was right; that was so like him. "Rest," he murmured before leaving.
The room fell silent, and my mind drifted back to that night when the three of us shared how we wanted our funerals to be. We promised that when one of us was gone, the others would fulfill his last will.
It was one of those promises made when you're quite drunk and start talking about things with some significance, like the first time you shave your balls, or whether you prefer your omelet with or without onions.
We ended up talking about death and our own visions of our funerals.
Dante had mentioned that he didn't want to be boxed in; tight spaces were never his strong suit, especially since he was once held in a tiny cell for forty-eight hours to extort us.
His decision was to be cremated and return to the origins; we all wanted to become ashes, although we agreed that a small part would be preserved in steel pendants shaped like bullets that Aleksa had seen in a jewelry store. We would buy three, and there they would wait for the ashes of the first, anticipating those of the other two.
The rest of the ashes would meet different fates.
Dante's ashes would be ridden on a Harley on a route involving all the Angeli dall'inferno. He chose it at that very moment; it was his favorite on the Costa del Sol, starting from Marbella, passing through Puerto del Viento, and reaching Tajo de Ronda; a gorge that extends to the Guadalevín River, five hundred meters long and one hundred meters deep, which was a spectacle in itself.
Once there, we would watch the sunset and deposit them in a hole dug in the midst of nature, where we would plant a baobab, also known as the tree of life. It was his way of not dying, or not entirely. Dante would become nourishment for that tree and eventually become part of it.
His idea was that, in this way, if he was the first to go, the rest of us would have a place to come and chat with him. And if he was the last, it would be a beautiful contribution to nature.
After planting the tree, we would return to Marbella for a small celebration where alcohol and rock music would flow.
I saw him half-leaning on the club's bar with a beer in hand.
"Don't cry over me. If you want tears, go to an onion peeling festival."
"You're more into peeling cocks, and if you cry, it's out of pity for seeing the size of some," Aleksa quipped.
Our friend let out a laugh and clinked his bottle with Aleksa's.
"Amen. Some have it so small they look like balloon knots. Luckily, we are well-endowed."
I watched them with a foolish smile on my face and the certainty that, although we had discussed our funerals, death would catch us as old men.
How wrong I was! In a world like ours, Death could come visit you at any moment, even disguised as an enraged journalist. That's why it was better not to get caught up in trivialities and go after the important things.
As expected, the doctor discharged me in the morning, so we scheduled Dante's last goodbye for that very afternoon.
We made the journey on motorcycles. I didn't care that I wasn't fully recovered; it was the least I could do for my friend.
Nikita drove and I rode pillion, reminiscing every landscape I had visited with him.
I had never taken a journey sweeter, salty, acidic, and bitter. Each flavor exploded in my chest, filling it with joyful memories and regrets.
The last rays of sun faded with my fingers embedded in my wife's waist. She was my anchor, my engine, and I let her know by murmuring it into her ear.
The mocking smile of the moon lit a sky full of stars. I thought I saw Dante swinging on it, raising his middle finger to shout his "last one to do it is a pansy." He was already in heaven, filling it with his unique essence.
The pendants shone on my neck and Aleksa's. Dante's would be kept until it was placed in a place of honor when the club was rebuilt.
We planted the tree, and Irene, who came with one of the guys, wanted to dedicate a few beautiful words to him.
Nikita said nothing about it, though from the look she gave the redhead, it was clear she still disliked her.
"She's not as bad as you think, you should give her a chance," I whispered against her neck.
"That's for you to do," she remarked, pulling away from my embrace.
"What do you mean?" I asked, not understanding.
"I don't know; don't you have anything to tell me about her?" I thought she was referring to Irene's offer to come and treat me, somehow she had found out and I hadn't had time to inform her.
"Look, Nikita, you know I love you, I've told you, and it's not as bad as it might seem to you. I've known Irene for years, it's normal for us to have a close relationship..."
"Close?"
"You'd think differently if you knew her, give her a chance, she's willing. We'd do it in front of you and it would only be once a day until you got used to it. Who knows, you might even like it."
"Fuck no! What the hell do you think I am? Some fucking furniture?"
"Better her than some stranger we don't know at all to look after me." Deep down, I knew it was a lost argument. My wife would not stand the idea of Irene treating me, but I owed it to my friend to try.
"Look, Romeo, I'd prefer to leave this conversation for when you're a bit more recovered, but since you've brought it up, I want you to know that I will not tolerate you fucking that redheaded whore while I watch. The last time you did, it ended with her having a gash on her forehead, and if you touch her again while we're married, there won't be a gash, but a bullet."
Everyone had fallen silent, even me. Nikita's voice was the only one that resonated strongly, accompanied by a little shriek of consternation from Irene.
Aleksa cleared his throat and I stared in amazement at my wife's face, boiling with anger.
"What the hell...?" I muttered under my breath. She had misunderstood me!
I took her by the hand and dragged her to a more private place to clarify things.