The gentle rays of a wintry sun reached into the bedroom and caressed Giuseppe’s face. Giuseppe slowly opened his eyes and realized where he was.
“Argh,” he groaned, tired from a long and sleepless night.
It felt as if he had fallen asleep only five minutes ago after tossing and turning for seven hours on end. He rubbed his eyes that were dry and swollen from the tears he had cried. Yesterday evening’s text message had really sunk in, stirring up emotions that he had thought to be a thing of the past.
An hour later found Deborah driving along the Nepean Highway in her purple 1976 Ford Falcon, headed for the family beach house near Rye on the Mornington Peninsula. Since last night’s dream, her mind was absolute chaos and she needed some time alone to get things straightened out.
Giuseppe Conatelli looked away from the playing field where his soccer team Empoli FC was playing a home game against Parma, to grab his mobile phone that was vibrating in the pocket of his warm duffle coat. Who could that be, he wondered slightly annoyed. Annoyance turned into surprise when he tapped a new text message. His surprise wasn’t so much caused by the fact that the message was from an unfamiliar number with the international dialling code for Australia, but rather by the name he was addressed by. He hadn’t been called so in years.
The candle had long burned out when she downed her last glass of brandy and got up out of her chair. She walked to the dining room table and suddenly felt light-headed. Standing by the table, she held on to the back of the dining room chair for a moment to come to her senses.
I must have been about four when I was introduced to the phenomenon of regeneration. At the time, I was on holiday with my family in a resort in Coya, near the mining village of Sewell in Chile where we lived. We were walking from our apartment to the swimming pool when we spotted some skinks on a sun-drenched wall. I can’t remember how it happened, but one of them lost its tail. My brothers and I were a bit saddened by this until my mum pointed out that this was the skink’s protection against predators and that it would eventually grow a new tail.