DiMurano "Soul Without Target"

In Search of the Past

I translated this novel into English so that my wife Nassima can read it more easily. I take this opportunity to tell her that I love her, even though she already knows it.

In the noisy tumult of the Bronx, I find myself swept away by the constant flow of passersby coursing through the bustling streets. Hurried silhouettes moved, some sprinting, others going about their daily routines. I notice a young man on a skateboard skillfully navigating the crowd, performing acrobatic tricks along the asphalt. The shrill sirens of police cars resonate in the background, adding a discordant note to the bustling activity. The relentless sun beats down on the car windows, creating dazzling bursts of light; it was a very hot month. It's in this chaotic scene that my car pulls up alongside a renewed establishment, drawing attention not only to myself but also to my Porsche, which seems to have escaped straight from a movie scene. This sight reminds me of a murky past, a decisive encounter that has upheaved the course of my life.

Yet, despite the city's hustle and bustle, the establishment remains an immutable haven. Recalling the atmosphere of this place, imagining the benevolent presence of the lady behind the counter, all of it is an attempt for me to recreate a moment of peace. And even though everything has changed, the entrance bell, faithful guardian of memories, continues to ring in this former café now under new ownership. As I approach the counter, a strange sense of displacement washes over me. The once familiar furniture has been replaced by modern stools and glass tables, creating a new and different atmosphere. The upper floor, once a place of lively discussions about various business matters, is now transformed into a cinema where customers can enjoy their meals while watching a movie. A veil of surprise crosses my face, as I did not expect such changes. These drastic transformations awaken a harsh reality within me: time passes, places evolve, carrying with them memories and moments that have marked my life. However, despite this metamorphosis, a fleeting emotion mixed with a hint of fascination animates me, as if the essence of the past still intertwines with the present transformation. As I sit near the large window, where I used to spend time with my former girlfriend, the outside world whirls in a constant frenzy. Yet there is an eerie calm, as if time had stopped, all customers having headed upstairs to the cinema except for an old man sitting across from me, holding a beer.

The appearance of the man catches my attention, a cross hanging from his neck, attire reminiscent of a priest's. Intrigued, I wonder what a clergyman could be doing at this hour in this café. A sudden curiosity overwhelms me, mingled with slight apprehension. I observe the priest carefully, seeking to decipher the reasons for his presence here, in this space that seems so distant from my usual universe. The priest, seemingly sensing the weighty gaze upon him, gently lifts his eyes towards me, a smirk tinged with loneliness forming on his weathered face, as if he perceives something beyond appearances, something that transcends the bounds of mere chance. A silent exchange ensues between us, a heavy atmosphere settling in the room. Determined to unravel the mystery of his presence, I abruptly decide to break the silence, paying the server for the coffee he had just brought me.

"Why do you smile so, old man?" I ask, a mix of curiosity and provocation evident in my voice. The priest, welcoming the question with a serene aura, responds with a light chuckle, "My smile is a response to your furrowed brows as you looked at me."

This unexpected comment disarms me. My attempt to unsettle the priest seemed to backfire, revealing a facet of myself that I may not have anticipated. A flicker of amusement or perhaps even astonishment briefly crosses my usually impassive face.

"Do you often come here for beers?" I inquire.

"It does happen from time to time, to unwind a bit," the priest replies.

"Why don't you join me? Our solitudes seem similar."

"I doubt they are similar, sir. I recognize your face; I've seen it on television. A thriving business and a few mysteries surrounding you."