Until the last breath. Chapter Three: Devil's Gardens
The hard day's work is over. Most of the cleaning work, collecting dirt, and cleaning offices, I do alone. The damned Frank puts a lot of pressure on me at work. He doesn't want to exhaust his mistress, Lucia, or his beloved, Vera
I finished work late. I went home, bringing some simple food with me. I sat eating and drinking tea in my grandfather's room, where my grandfather and I used to eat while watching television. I couldn't stop thinking about Chiara. I tried to keep myself busy cleaning the house, which looked like a garbage dump
I actually did some cleaning work inside the old house. I looked at the small cellar that my grandfather used to close tightly. I could not open the cellar or ask my grandfather about it before, but today I am in front of the cellar and my grandfather and my father have gone on a long trip. Who is preventing me from opening the cellar and entering it? I actually opened the cellar, which was emitting a foul odor, as it had been closed for a long time
In the basement there were no significant things other than some old clothes that seemed to be evidence of poverty and humiliation, and a very large box in which I found old papers that appeared to be in my father's handwriting. Yes, they were my father's handwriting. I did not care much about it. I found a piece of leather with a map or drawings drawn on it. I did not understand what it meant or did not care about it. I put the papers and the map in the box, closed the basement, and went to my room, thinking only of Chiara
I did not know the secret that made this girl haunt me in my dreams and wakefulness. I had never thought about women in this way before. It was enough for me to grind my penis and ejaculate while thinking about sleeping with any woman, and then I would feel happy and relaxed, but after I saw Chiara, I became haunted by her appearance, her body, and her scent all my time. I began to think about the big party that I would go to and be the first to organize it and the first to attend, but I would not be one of the participants
Tomorrow we will go in a company car, me, damned Frank, Lucia, Vera, to Avalon Island. I started thinking about the island and about Chiara until sleep killed me and spared me from thinking. I woke up in the morning and rushed to the company headquarters, and it was only a few hours until we reached Avalon or David Black's palace
We arrived a little before noon and were greeted by Mrs. Maggie Fitch. She seemed to be of African descent. Her dark skin suggested that. The reception was good. She seemed to be cheerful, despite the extreme sadness that appeared on her face. We entered the palace and began to wander around the place
Approaching the palace, one does not simply walk; one ascends. A grand staircase of white marble, so pure it seems to glow under the sun, leads the way. Each step is flanked by slumbering lions carved from crystal, their eyes gleaming with sapphires that watch over the entrance with silent majesty.
Beyond the towering golden gates, inlaid with lapis lazuli, lies a vision stolen from a forgotten dream. The gardens are a symphony of scent and color. Fountains, not merely of water, but of liquid silver, dance in choreographed patterns, their rhythmic splash the only music needed. The air is thick with the perfume of night-blooming jasmine and Damascene roses, whose petals are so velvety they seem to blush under your gaze. The lawns are not green, but the deep, vibrant emerald of crushed jewels, perfectly manicured to guide your eye toward the centerpiece.
There, the main palace rises. Its walls are clad in alabaster, veined with gold leaf that traces stories of ancient heroes. But it is the pool that steals your breath—an infinity pool that appears to be a mirror of the sky itself. Its floor is paved with mother-of-pearl, and the water is not clear, but a translucent turquoise, warmed to the perfect temperature of a summer sea. Gilded statues of mythical creatures—winged horses and benevolent serpents—stand guard around its edge, their surfaces shimmering with a warmth that makes the gold seem alive.
Inside, the grand hall is a forest of pillars wrapped in climbing roses of solid gold. A chandelier, the size of an ancient oak, descends from the dome. It is made of a thousand teardrops of rock crystal, each one holding a captive rainbow that scatters light across the mosaic floors—floors that depict the story of the cosmos in fragments of ruby, emerald, and sapphire.
This is not merely a palace; it is a poem written in stone and light, a place where the divine and the earthly are indistinguishable. It is a piece of heaven, anchored to the world.
I could not believe what I was seeing. Could someone own this palace? Am I in a dream or reality? I kept staring and staring at the place. Mrs. Maggie brought some tea and looked at me and said, "What amazes you, my son?" I looked at her and was silent. This is the first time I heard the word "my son" in years. I smiled and repeated the question, "What amazes you, my son?" I smiled and said, "It is the gardens of paradise." She smiled and said, "Don't be surprised, it might be the devil's gardens."....