THE UNEDITED

I dared opening my eyes. Vision blurred.

Light. Shadows. Some undefined silhouettes moving around.

Then all of a sudden, Brinks’ voice just next to my  ear. His breath - bourbon plus Camel. Should have recognized him from the start.

“Your illness made all of us join you in this end of the world refuge. Strange attitudes of our Corsican bedfellows. They called a certain Gavino, Gavino called Mario. They arranged my trip in one day.”

“They all manage American English, you know…” my own words blurred to my ears. My breath horrible.

“For sure, kid. I had things goin’ on with them long before your own birth.”

I immediately guessed French Connection times.

“You believe it or not, they have this old relative of them in Chera. You met her before coming up here. This woman, let her name be Lucie. Well, she is reputedly a sorcerer.

They call her own kind culpatori. They dream sorts of magical hunts. They chase wild-boars. They kill them. Then they claim someone will die soon. They call the name. The guy dies in a matter of days.

She woke up, she called Pierrot, she was out of the blue. 

She claimed she was confronted by a powerful sorcerer, an enemy of her family.

She said she saw you in her hunting dream.

She said your life was jeopardized by that hostile sorcerer.

She said she wrestled him, relented him, but that sorcerer - she used the word surpatore - was bloodthirsty for you. 

She said that surpatore put his L’occhiu on you.

He’s trying to kill you, Zulfikar.

He’s a demon from long gone past time.

She called Pierrot, I said.

Pierrot is some kind of a tribal chief. 

She urged him to bring here at your bedside someone you trusted. 

Pierrot called his Sardinian liaison, his longtime friend Carlo.

Carlo called Mario, he and the corsicans arranged my trip.”

The old woman with the black scarf appeared from the darkness.

She handed me a bowl. 

She gestured me to drink.

Some kind of hot soup, bitter tasting. Just a small sip.

She urged me to drink all of it.

“Beie,” she said in a soft tone. “Sognu di me’.”

I drank.

Brinks by my side.

Bitter, hot. 

I fell asleep again.

I sunk into the weirdest dreams.