Gunpowder, money and a glass of red

– His father fell ill. He went back home to see the old man.

– So the kitchen is out of service now?

– No, not really. The kitchen is working. Before he left, he found someone to cover for him for a while.

– Really? And how does he cook?

– At least the food hasn’t lost its taste.

Taking a deep breath, Massimo said in a calm voice:

– Well, that’s already great.

Murillo was pleased with that response, but his face remained at ease.

– And I see you have a new waitress.

Murillo made a small correction:

– To be more precise, a second one. Karla asked to be let go early. There were too many customers for one person to handle.

Massimo fell silent for a while. It was clear from his furrowed eyebrows that he was thinking deeply about something. Soon his thoughts were interrupted by his own voice:

– Listen, I’ve been wanting to ask for a long time, but I keep forgetting. Do you have any relatives left in Cuba?

Murillo shook his head no.

– In 1955, my brother and I buried our father, and two years before that, our mother. We had no one else in Havana. We immigrated here and settled in this area. Already here my brother got married in the first year. Immediately nine months later my niece was born. A year later – the second niece. That, in fact, is all the relatives I have. True, there’s one more. As a child, he’d help me at the bar, and in return I’d pour him lemonade or treat him to a hot dog.

With a grin, Massimo added:

– Or even pour him some wine.

They both smiled wryly.

Murillo continued to carry on the conversation while serving customers at the bar. The conversation lasted for almost an hour, after which Massimo decided to leave. When asked how much he owed for the wine, Murillo politely asked him to go to hell for an answer. In response, Massimo thanked the Cuban again and went home.

Climbing the stairs, Massimo passed his floor and went to the roof. There he crouched on the edge of the ledge, his legs dangling in the air as his eyes scanned the vast expanse of Little Rome under the cloak of night. Somewhere, behind the residential high-rise buildings, he could see a few things outside of Little Rome. For example, a towering TV tower, the last few floors of the Eden Hotel, and the luminous, multi-colored spires of a suspension bridge. From the east, the lights of planes taking off and landing at the city airport were often visible. On the western side, in the distance, the spotlight beams glittered at the stadium, where world-famous disco stars were giving a concert. Spending time here, Massimo imagined how somewhere beyond Little Rome, life was in full swing, and crowds of people were scurrying about. His hypnotic gaze seemed to be examining an alien planet, where everything functioned completely differently. Everyone was in a hurry to get somewhere. Everyone had a reason to hurry. It was the busy everyday life of the middle class, a world that was alien to the residents of Little Rome. Yes. It was an alien planet, and it was so far away.

Massimo was mesmerized by the views from the roof. He rested his hand on the edge of the ledge. Suddenly he experienced a strange sensation. Something crunched under his hand. He pulled his hand away from the concrete and examined the strange object that had cut him. They were shards of broken glass, most likely from a soda or beer bottle. Massimo noticed that his palm was bleeding. He examined the cuts in several places. And yet, the feeling was very strange. He felt his blood spreading over his skin, but he felt little pain. It was more like a slight prickling sensation, as if he’d gotten five or six splinters.

Murillo? – thought Massimo.

He guessed that it had something to do with the glass of wine that Murillo poured him at the bar.

Out of curiosity, Massimo decided to press on the wounds to make the pain worse. But nothing happened. Massimo’s body seemed to ignore the open wound, and his protective instincts were completely absent.

For a while he was distracted and continued to examine the lights of the night city. He thought it would be nice to have a cold drink or a cup of coffee right now, even a hot one. He wanted to sit on the roof in an atmosphere that was at least a little reminiscent of the movies. His mind was suddenly filled with vivid images. He imagined himself getting behind the wheel of a beige Cadillac convertible, driving along the boardwalk, and watching the ocean waves crash and the clear moon rise. He also vividly imagined himself sitting in a restaurant at a table he had booked in advance. He saw a waiter offering him a menu, and the head waiter approaching to ask if everything was to his liking.