The Gardener - (Part 14)

 

Part 14.

- Dada is neither my child nor my heir. - the Padrone began in a quiet voice.

The Gardener stared at him, frozen.

- Surprised, aren't you? That the owner of such vast wealth has nothing to leave to his ward? But what should I leave? I possess nothing myself.

Now, cynicism had mingled with the Gardener's look of surprise.

But the Padrone continued:

- All of this that you see and everything you don't see, all this property, movable or immovable, it all belongs to Dada already. She is not just an heir; she has been the owner for a long time, though she doesn't even know it. She simply isn't interested. For her, property has no value. Spiritual peace is far more precious. If it becomes necessary and she wishes, she will distribute everything immediately, as long as no one disturbs her and no one dares to touch her innocent world in a bad way. Dada is the most trustworthy, kind, and elevated soul. Hurting her heart is equivalent to a crime against humanity. Among the most innocent on the face of the earth, she is the most innocent being. Because of my sins, even if she wanted to, she could not be held accountable, because we do not share a single drop of blood, and therefore she is free from all my vengeful enemies. A rich, beautiful young lady, though she lives her own life in her own world, she has many suitors, yet she hasn't let anyone close yet. She hasn't been able to grasp anyone well enough to let them near her soul. - The Padrone fell silent for a moment and looked even more intensely into the Gardener's eyes. - And do you even know why she has taken an interest in you?

The gardener's throat went dry, and he swallowed with difficulty. He could not speak.

- So, you don't know! Very well, then I will tell you! - the Padrone continued, not taking his eyes off the gardener. - She was simply looking for a desired model, and here, on our estate, among the local inhabitants, she chose you as a muse. Or rather, as one of her muses, since she has painted almost all the residents of the estate. That is all there is to it. And as for her caring for you, you can inquire well—she is like this with everyone and demands the same from others, do you remember? She thought you were some poor, wretched old man. Her heart ached at the sight of you, and she couldn't even eat. She immediately let you in, fed you, demanded that everyone respect you, and gave you work. She even protected you from Zeki. That is how my girl is, my little girl. For her heart, I will stop at nothing, even though I possess nothing. She is my only wealth, and because of my sins, she cannot be held accountable. She is the only innocent being I have ever met in my life.

The Padrone paused for a moment, trying to imprint upon the gardener's mind that he should not harm the girl in any way; on the contrary, perhaps he might pity this innocent creature and even help her.

- Dada is not my child, and no one knows this secret except Zeki. He brought her to me; she was very small, wandering the streets with vagrant children who were tormenting her and mocking the mute girl. To this day, I don't even know if she was born that way or if something happened to her. It might surprise you, but even the cruelest and most heartless Zeki felt pity for this little girl; he took her in and removed her from those filthy city streets. - The Padrone embellished the story of Dada's arrival in his life just a little, perhaps so that the gardener would feel even more pity for the girl.

- Zeki is a ruthless and relentless man. Ever since the day Dada appeared, he has protected her; that is why he had such a reaction and lunged at you so furiously. It is true that he went too far, but I neither blame nor justify him; it was a manly act on his part to protect a helpless girl. Even though he didn't even know what was happening, what he saw was enough for him to rush out like a madman to defend Dada.

The gardener still had a clear scar on his face from an old wound; at the mention of Zeki, the scarred side twitched slightly. The Padrone noticed this too and looked even more intensely into his eyes. Hugo continued to stare, frozen, and remained silent. What surprised Hugo most was the Padrone's sharp mind; he perfectly understood the essence of this conversation—the man was protecting his ward, and that was why he had confided the secret. He realized that with this, the Padrone was asking the gardener to protect Dada, and in return, he was ready to offer himself as prey to his enemy.

The Padrone intended to say much more, but the door behind him opened, and Dada entered the room, followed by a servant carrying a large tray.

At Dada's entrance, the gardener's eyes lit up, and he did not hide this joy; on the contrary, he greeted her with a smile. The Padrone stood up from his chair. He skillfully hid the weapon. There was no point in staying there any longer. As he left the room, he looked back at the gardener; in his eyes, the gardener noticed both anger and a plea.

The Padrone locked himself in his study. He secretly reinforced the security again, both in the house and in its surroundings. He slumped into the chair at his desk, sipped some cognac, and kept his eyes closed for a long time, starting to analyze everything just as his grandmother had taught him. He went over every mimicry, every breath of the gardener in his mind more than once.

"I wonder who he really is? I hope he understood me. Perhaps he truly likes Dada? Maybe that is why I should have more hope that he will really protect her.

Just let no harm come to this girl, and I would leave this world this very day! What is my life worth on this cursed earth if I cannot even protect an innocent being! To hell with all this property and all my wealth!"

Then he suddenly remembered Zeki. He was nowhere to be seen again. Zeki did not like the cold; as soon as he felt winter approaching, he would migrate to warmer lands like a crane. How could a pure-blooded Gypsy stay in one place? He managed perfectly well everywhere, and he never hesitated to resort to robbery elsewhere either. Thanks to his charm, he had a place to spend the night in many places. He was also generous; he would reward the ladies he charmed quite well. And they, in turn, wanted nothing more—they always greeted the appearance of a handsome young man with joy.

"Could Zeki really have done this?"

thought the Padrone, sipping cognac with his eyes closed.

"Zeki is a willful, unscrupulous boy, but he is not so foolish as to notice something and decide to act without me, without my intervention. Perhaps he himself wanted to settle scores with the man who was sent here? But Zeki is arrogant; he would not have hidden it—he would have told me with such pride that he had destroyed the enemy. But what if he did it, then found out that the man survived, and is hiding it from me?

But when he was planning the murder of this one man, he should have thought about how many more tails would need to be cut off behind him, or why didn't he warn me?

I didn't even notice his car these past days. Perhaps he snuck in quietly, stabbed him, and then rushed back out?"

Zeki could run for a long time without stopping; thanks to his old experience, it was possible he hadn't even used a car, as that would keep him more unnoticed. While the assassination attempt did resemble the cunning Zeki's style, there was still something suspicious that the Padrone could not yet explain.

"Did he really move against me?

No, no! It bears Zeki's mark, but...

But perhaps it was them...

If they realized that Ugo has truly grown fond of Dada.

Perhaps the gardener begged for mercy for her?

'I cannot harm this girl,' he might have said...

And that would have shattered their entire scheme.

Perhaps that is why they decided to eliminate the gardener themselves—and in such a way that...

In such a way that the blame falls on Zeki!

And then, Zeki and I would turn against each other...

Hmm, if that is the case, if it is really like that, they know me far too well.

They are weaving a much smarter and more cunning trap to destroy me!

Perhaps!

Perhaps!

Perhaps! I no longer know what to think!"

The Padrone jumped up. He clutched his head with his hands and began pacing the room. His head was bursting from his thoughts.

"Dada! Dada!

My poor girl!

God, what a mess I have dragged you into! Perhaps it would have been better if Zeki hadn't found you at all?

Someone childless or a large-family woodcutter would have adopted you.

You would have lived peacefully, quietly in a poor hut, and nothing would have threatened your life!

But now...

How can I protect you? How?!"

Ever since he had made his grandfather kneel, he had never felt so helpless, although he was just a child back then and afraid of that cruel man; that fear had been justified. But now, he despised himself for turning out to be so helpless and pathetic. A man of immense wealth and influence, who lacked the power to protect one small, innocent girl.

Furious with himself, he grabbed the bottle and smashed it against the wall. The noise jolted him out of his thoughts. He quickly regained his composure and carefully picked up the shards, but still managed to cut his hand. A little blood seeped through the wrapped napkin; the Padrone smiled.

"If Dada were here now, she would make such a fuss at the sight of blood."

Suddenly, he grew gloomy, feeling a terrible weight in his heart.

"Dada! Dada! God help her. Even if they kidnap her and demand a ransom, it will be Dada who has to pay from her own fortune, and then to hell with it! Let them demand anything, I still have nothing to lose! Let her distribute it if necessary! Even if she takes it from the hideout and hands it over! The main thing is that she is well and they don't harm her.

I have no fear of the future at all! We will start everything from scratch! We will settle on a rock and build our lives there! I will still have my way, and I will not leave this world without seeing this girl stand firmly on her own feet!

Dada! God! Protect this girl from all evil!"

LEX, February 26, 2016, Friday

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The Gardener - (Part 13)

 

Part 13.
- My name is Ugo, sir. - The gardener said in a barely audible, muffled voice, without even blinking.
The Padrone stared at him even more intently.
"You fool! Who do you take me for?!"
He thought to himself.
But out loud, he said something quite different:
- Ugo! A wonderful name, Ugo, and by the way, you look wonderful! - The Padrone’s face brightened. - Yes! You look good, and not like a miserable gardener, if we don't count the incident for which you are here now.
Cynicism and hidden sternness could be felt in the Padrone’s soft voice, yet the gardener did not even twitch an eyebrow.
The Padrone stared at him so sternly that it was as if he wouldn't even let him blink.
"Hmph, they have trained him well."
He did not seem like a man who was easily frightened. Not just not easily, but he was staring back at the Padrone with such a calm face that it seemed nothing at all could scare him.
For a quite handsome, young man, it was not difficult to charm the opposite sex, and as for Dada—what would it take to charm her?
"They have calculated this well too; they want to destroy me from every side! Let them wait; they still don't realize who they have tangled with!"
The Padrone thought, observing the gardener with a piercing gaze, who was awaiting his verdict with astonishing calmness.
Dada was the Padrone’s only warmth and solace. Since childhood, it was only with this girl that he had felt what is called "kinship," even though he was neither her parent nor a blood relative. On the other hand, Zeki was his only relative. He did not love the boy; at times he was even terribly unbearable, but because there was at least a drop of blood connecting them, he still felt obligated to look after him until the end.
He had even witnessed Zeki’s birth. They had made him hold the infant. They even made him give his word that he would be his patron and protector forever and would never abandon him in times of trouble.
Such were the rules of the camp at the time. The camp where the Padrone grew up. A large mixed group, a lawless mob of bandits, and a ruthless band of gypsies as well. No one remembered when they had united. Usually, gypsies always protected their own camp and did not easily let outsiders linger, but here, thanks to some deal or common business, they had blended together so much that it was often difficult to distinguish who was of which blood.
The Padrone grew up there, just like Zeki, though he always stood out from them—quite intelligent, sharp, and well-read. On top of all this, thanks to his gypsy grandmother, he was gifted with the ability to foresee events. He could easily guess others' thoughts, an ability he already possessed, and his grandmother often gave him life lessons—lessons of the life he was living at the time and how he had to survive.
She would make him sit for hours in the tent. She would make him close his eyes and re-analyze everything he had seen or heard throughout the day. She would force him to find even the smallest mistake that had caused heartache or harm, even if it were trivial. In this search, the main focus was on the cause, not just what had already happened or been committed. And he had to find an explanation and figure out the reason not only for his own actions, but for everyone and everything.
His grandmother also taught him to read, though she herself found it very difficult. Sometimes she would read with great effort, syllable by syllable, and sometimes she would rattle it off. From childhood, the Padrone realized his grandmother’s trickery; what she read well, she had already memorized and was reciting by heart. Later, when he learned to read for himself, he would read thick books to her. His grandmother would listen to her only grandson with rapt attention, her heart filling with pride.
Zeki was from his grandmother’s family, but unlike him, he was a pure-blooded gypsy boy. Proud, stern, relentless, and arrogant. The Padrone would force him to sit in the tent and listen to what he was reading. And he could not wait to get away and rush outside.
From childhood, the Padrone hated this nomadic life. His dream had become a small hut filled with books, and nothing else in this world interested him. Neither plundered, stolen wealth, nor name and glory. He wanted nothing in this world but books.
In the camp, they even secretly mocked the child, saying, "What kind of man will he ever become?" But no one dared to say it out loud for fear of his cruel and ruthless grandfather, who did not even know his own origin—who he was or what breed he was. He knew only one thing: he was not a gypsy. A vagabond, a petty thief, a lad willing to stoop to any abomination, he had attached himself to the gypsy camp and had never left it since.
The Padrone did not love his grandfather; at his appearance, he would curl up in the corner of the tent in fear. The grandfather had given up on him, constantly reproaching his own son—the Padrone’s father—for the boy’s "unmanliness."
"The boy isn't growing up to be a man," - he would constantly yell at him.
The Padrone’s father was no less a bandit and a villain than the grandfather. Furthermore, he was an incorrigible drunkard. He always smelled of vodka; the child couldn't stand his father either, though unlike the stern grandfather, he didn't fear him at all, so the Padrone’s only comfort was his grandmother. A loving, warm, and quiet person, she also took the place of a mother.
His father spent his life in drunkenness, and when he died, the Padrone did not shed a single tear. He was even surprised at why his grandmother wept so much over that drunken villain.
The Padrone's father was over forty when he accidentally learned that the girl, whom he had once seduced, caused to lose her home, and robbed, had borne him a child and had gone into hiding with the baby. Fearing the bandit, the girl’s family had moved elsewhere; they didn't want such a robber for a son-in-law. They wouldn't even let him near them, and they even hid the fact that he was to become a father, disappearing without a trace before the child was born.
Furious, he spent a long time searching for the family with his gang of bandit gypsies, and one fine day, his luck turned—he found them. They snatched the child from the sleeping mother so skillfully that they erased every trace of him forever.
The kidnapped infant was handed over to the grandmother, and since then, the Padrone’s only comfort was his loving, kind grandmother.
This is how he grew up in the gypsy camp. His bleak childhood passed in constant wandering, back and forth, and in the endless pitching and folding of tents.
He always had the desire to run away, to escape from this mob of bandits, but where could he go? Who would then protect his helpless grandmother from his cruel and ruthless grandfather?
However, one day everything changed and took a completely different turn.
He wasn't even twelve years old when, seeing his grandfather burst into the tent in a rage, ready to beat his grandmother, he stood in front of her. With all his might, he grabbed the swinging whip with both hands and twisted it so hard that he nearly dislocated his [grandfather's] arm. He brought his grandfather to his knees and struck him hard with the snatched whip. Everyone was stunned. Until then, no one had dared not only to fight but even to argue with the fierce and ruthless grandfather. Terrified and frozen in place, they watched the spectacle, convinced that the boy had passed a death sentence on himself. They knew he would not forgive him, and no one could protect him from this terrible man, but the grandfather understood. This was no mere resistance. This was a man's sacrifice. The boy was protecting the person he loved most, for whom he would stop at nothing, at the cost of his own life.
The man smiled bitterly. He didn't even strike back. Perhaps if [the boy] had struck him many times, he would have fought back, but for him, that one blow was enough to recognize a man in his helpless grandson, rather than the small, frightened boy huddled in the corner who wanted nothing in this world but to read books. The grandfather didn't even get up; he looked up from below at his enraged grandson, then took his hand—the very hand that had struck him with the whip—carefully brought it to his lips, kissed it, stood up, and left without looking back.
From that day on, everyone treated the youth with respect. They often sought the advice of the sharp-witted boy. He, in turn, firmly decided that it was time to attend all the camp’s gatherings, to keep an eye on their activities, to participate himself, and to accumulate enough wealth to leave, to get away forever, and to move far, very far, from these cursed people.
Later, many years later, his wish came true. And as fate would have it, Dada also appeared to grace his life. What more could he want in this world, other than peace and joy?
The Gardener and the Padrone did not take their eyes off each other. The Padrone chose to compromise again. He stood up, turned the chair around, and sat down, crossing his legs. He rested his hand—the one holding the weapon—on his knee, the muzzle still pointed at the Gardener. The gold-plated Parabellum with a wooden grip and a long, narrow barrel shimmered dazzlingly. A large ruby adorned the end of the grip.
The Gardener glanced at the weapon, and it was evident from his face that he had assessed it well. The Padrone realized this too; Hugo was also well-versed in weapons.
"Hmm, a know-it-all!"
The thought flashed through the Padrone's mind, and he suddenly asked:
- Do you like it? - he gestured toward the weapon with his hand.
The Gardener was certainly not expecting such a question and even startled slightly.
LEX. February 19, 2016, Friday.

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Il Giardiniere - (Parte - 13)

 

Parte 13.
- Mi chiamo Ugo, signore. - Disse il giardiniere con voce a malapena udibile e soffocata, senza nemmeno battere ciglio.
Il Padrone lo fissò ancora più intensamente.
"Sciocco! Per chi mi hai preso?!"
Pensò tra sé e sé.
Ma a voce alta disse tutt'altro:
- Ugo! È un nome meraviglioso, Ugo, e tra l'altro hai un aspetto splendido! - Il volto del Padrone si illuminò.  - Sì! Hai un bell'aspetto, non certo quello di un misero giardiniere, se non contiamo l'incidente per cui ti trovi qui ora.
Nella voce morbida del Padrone si percepivano cinismo e una severità nascosta, eppure il giardiniere non batté ciglio.
Il Padrone lo fissava in modo così truce che sembrava non volergli concedere nemmeno la possibilità di sbattere le palpebre.
"Hmph, lo hanno addestrato bene."
Non sembrava un uomo che si lasciasse spaventare facilmente. Non solo non facilmente, ma fissava il Padrone con un volto così calmo che sembrava che nulla potesse spaventarlo.
Per un giovane uomo piuttosto attraente, non era difficile affascinare il sesso opposto, e poi, quanto ci voleva per conquistare Dada?
"Hanno calcolato bene anche questo; vogliono distruggermi da ogni parte! Aspettino pure, non si rendono ancora conto di chi hanno sfidato!"
Pensava il Padrone, osservando con sguardo penetrante il giardiniere che, con sorprendente calma, attendeva il verdetto.
Dada era l'unico calore e conforto del Padrone. Fin dall'infanzia, solo con questa ragazza aveva provato ciò che si chiama "parentela", sebbene non fosse né suo genitore né un parente di sangue. Zeki, invece, era il suo unico parente. Non amava quel ragazzo, a volte era persino terribilmente insopportabile, ma poiché c'era almeno una goccia di sangue a legarli, si sentiva comunque obbligato a prendersene cura fino alla fine.
 Aveva persino assistito alla nascita di Zeki. Gli avevano fatto tenere il neonato tra le braccia. Gli avevano persino fatto dare la sua parola che sarebbe stato il suo protettore per sempre e che non lo avrebbe mai abbandonato nel momento del bisogno.
Tali erano le regole dell'accampamento di allora. L'accampamento dove il Padrone era cresciuto. Un grande gruppo misto, una folla di banditi senza legge e anche una spietata banda di zingari. Nessuno ricordava quando si fossero uniti. Di solito, gli zingari proteggevano sempre il proprio accampamento e non lasciavano che gli estranei si aggirassero facilmente, ma qui, grazie a qualche accordo o attività comune, si erano mescolati così tanto che spesso era difficile distinguere chi fosse di quale sangue.
Il Padrone era cresciuto lì, proprio come Zeki, sebbene si fosse sempre distinto da loro: piuttosto intelligente, perspicace e ben istruito. Oltre a tutto ciò, grazie alla nonna zingara, era dotato della capacità di prevedere gli eventi. Poteva facilmente indovinare i pensieri degli altri, un'abilità che già possedeva, e sua nonna gli impartiva spesso lezioni di vita, lezioni della vita che viveva allora e su come doveva cavarsela.
Lo faceva sedere per ore nella tenda. Gli faceva chiudere gli occhi e rianalizzare tutto ciò che aveva visto o sentito durante il giorno. Lo costringeva a trovare anche il più piccolo errore che avesse causato sofferenza o danno, anche una cosa insignificante. In questa ricerca, l'importante era la causa, non ciò che era già successo o che era stato commesso. E non doveva cercare spiegazioni e ragioni solo per se stesso, ma per chiunque e per qualsiasi cosa.
Anche a leggere gli insegnò la nonna, sebbene lei stessa facesse molta fatica. A volte leggeva a fatica, sillabando, a volte invece lo faceva a memoria. Fin da piccolo, il Padrone aveva intuito l'astuzia della nonna: ciò che leggeva bene era ciò che aveva già memorizzato e recitava a memoria. Poi, quando imparò a leggere da solo, fu lui a leggerle libri voluminosi. La nonna ascoltava il suo unico nipote con profonda attenzione, il cuore colmo di orgoglio.
Zeki proveniva dalla famiglia della nonna, ma a differenza di lui, era un ragazzo rom di sangue puro. Orgoglioso, austero, implacabile e arrogante. Il Padrone lo costringeva a sedersi nella tenda e ad ascoltare ciò che leggeva. E lui non vedeva l'ora di liberarsi e correre fuori.
Fin dall'infanzia, il Padrone odiava quella vita nomade. Il suo sogno era diventato una piccola capanna piena di libri, e nient'altro al mondo lo interessava. Né beni rubati o bottini, né fama o gloria. Non desiderava nient'altro al mondo se non libri.
Nell'accampamento, il bambino veniva persino deriso di nascosto, con frasi come "Che razza di uomo potrà mai diventare?". Ma nessuno osava dirlo ad alta voce per paura del crudele e spietato nonno, che nemmeno lui conosceva le proprie origini: chi fosse o di che razza fosse. Sapeva solo una cosa: non era uno zingaro. Un vagabondo, un ladruncolo, un ragazzo disposto a qualsiasi bassezza, si era agganciato all'accampamento zingaro e da allora non se ne era più andato.
Il Padrone non amava suo nonno; alla sua apparizione, si rannicchiava nell'angolo della tenda per la paura. Il nonno aveva perso le speranze su di lui, tormentando continuamente suo figlio — il padre del Padrone — per la "mancanza di virilità" del ragazzo.
"Il ragazzo non sta crescendo come un uomo,"- gli gridava costantemente.
Il padre del Padrone non era da meno del nonno quanto a banditismo e malvagità. Oltre a tutto ciò, era un alcolizzato incorreggibile. Puzzava sempre di vodka; il bambino non sopportava nemmeno suo padre, sebbene, a differenza del severo nonno, non ne avesse affatto paura, perciò l'unico conforto del Padrone era la nonna. Una persona amorevole, calda e tranquilla, che faceva anche le veci della madre.
Il padre passò la sua vita nell'alcolismo e, quando morì, al Padrone non scese nemmeno una lacrima. Si stupiva persino del perché la nonna piangesse così tanto per quel malfattore ubriacone.
Il padre del Padrone aveva superato i quarant'anni quando scoprì casualmente che la ragazza, che un tempo aveva sedotto, fatto cacciare di casa e derubato, aveva avuto un figlio da lui ed era scappata con il bambino. Temendo quel brigante, la famiglia della ragazza si era trasferita altrove; non volevano un tale rapinatore come genero. Non lo lasciavano nemmeno avvicinare e gli avevano persino nascosto che sarebbe diventato padre, scomparendo senza lasciare traccia prima che il bambino nascesse.
Furioso, aveva cercato a lungo quella famiglia con il suo gruppo di banditi rom e, un bel giorno, la fortuna lo assistì: li trovò. Sottrassero il bambino alla madre addormentata con tale maestria che fecero sparire ogni sua traccia per sempre.
Il neonato rapito fu consegnato alla nonna e da allora l'unico conforto del Padrone fu la sua nonna amorevole e gentile.
Così cresceva nell'accampamento rom. La sua infanzia squallida passava in un continuo girovagare, su e giù, e nel montare e smontare tende.
Aveva sempre avuto il desiderio di scappare, di liberarsi da quella folla di briganti, ma dove sarebbe potuto andare? Chi avrebbe protetto la sua indifesa nonna dal crudele e spietato nonno?
Tuttavia, un giorno tutto cambiò e prese una piega completamente diversa.
Non aveva nemmeno dodici anni quando, vedendo il nonno irrompere nella tenda furioso e pronto a picchiare la nonna, si parò davanti a lei. Con tutta la sua forza, afferrò con entrambe le mani la frusta che [il nonno] stava facendo roteare e la torse con tale violenza che per poco non gli slogò il braccio. Fece finire il nonno in ginocchio e lo colpì con forza con la frusta che gli aveva sottratto. Tutti rimasero sbalorditi. Fino ad allora, nessuno aveva osato non solo litigare, ma nemmeno discutere con il feroce e spietato nonno. Terrorizzati, pietrificati sul posto, assistevano alla scena, certi che il ragazzo si fosse appena condannato a morte. Sapevano che [il nonno] non gliel'avrebbe perdonata e che nessuno avrebbe potuto proteggerlo da quell'uomo terribile, ma il nonno capì. Non era stata una semplice resistenza. Era stato un atto di abnegazione virile. Il ragazzo stava proteggendo la persona che più amava, per la quale non si sarebbe tirato indietro davanti a nulla, a costo della propria vita.
L'uomo fece un sorriso amaro. Non reagì nemmeno. Forse, se [il ragazzo] lo avesse colpito molte volte, avrebbe risposto, ma per lui quel singolo colpo fu sufficiente per riconoscere un uomo nel suo nipotino indifeso, e non più quel bambino piccolo, spaventato, rannicchiato in un angolo, che non desiderava altro al mondo che leggere libri. Il nonno non si alzò nemmeno; guardò dal basso il nipote infuriato, poi prese la sua mano — proprio la mano che l'aveva frustato — la portò delicatamente alle labbra, la baciò, si alzò e se ne andò senza voltarsi indietro.
Da quel giorno in poi, tutti trattavano il giovane con rispetto. Spesso chiedevano consiglio a quel ragazzo perspicace. Lui, dal canto suo, decise fermamente che era giunto il momento di partecipare a tutte le riunioni dell'accampamento, di tenere d'occhio le loro attività, di prendervi parte personalmente e di accumulare ricchezze a sufficienza per andarsene, per allontanarsi per sempre e trasferirsi lontano, molto lontano, da quella gente maledetta.
Più tardi, molti anni dopo, il suo desiderio si avverò. E come per destino, anche Dada apparve a impreziosire la sua vita. Cos'altro avrebbe potuto desiderare al mondo, se non pace e gioia?
Il Giardiniere e il Padrone non si staccavano gli occhi di dosso. Il Padrone scelse di scendere di nuovo a compromessi. Si alzò, girò la sedia e si sedette, accavallando le gambe. Appoggiò la mano che reggeva l'arma sul ginocchio, con la canna ancora puntata verso il Giardiniere. La Parabellum placcata in oro, con l'impugnatura in legno e la canna lunga e stretta, brillava in modo abbagliante. Un grande rubino adornava la base dell'impugnatura.
Il Giardiniere diede un'occhiata all'arma e dal suo volto si capì che l'aveva valutata bene.
Il Padrone se ne rese conto: Hugo era esperto anche in armi.
"Hmm, un tuttologo!"
Il pensiero balenò nella mente del Padrone, che chiese improvvisamente:
-Ti piace? - indicando l'arma con la mano.
Il Giardiniere non si aspettava davvero una domanda del genere e sussultò leggermente.
LEX. Venerdì, 19 febbraio 2016.

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Il Giardiniere - (Parte - 12)

 

Parte 12.
Alle parole del medico, il Padrone si voltò e sibilò con un'espressione severa:
- L'ospedale verrà qui!
 Lanciò al medico uno sguardo così crudele, e la sua voce suonò così ferma, che il medico non riuscì a ribattere e impallidì per la paura.
Il Padrone avrebbe fatto entrare in casa l'intera città piuttosto che permettere che un uomo ferito venisse portato via dalla sua tenuta, diventando il chiacchiericcio del paese — che nella tenuta di un uomo così illustre, un povero giardiniere malconcio fosse stato trattato come un cane.
Tuttavia, quando si era imbattuto in Dada nel laboratorio, non gli era sembrato poi così malconcio.
Chi era quest'uomo e cosa nascondeva? Perché si camuffava così, nascondendosi dietro l'ombra di un vecchio miserabile?
Mille pensieri tormentavano il Padrone, ma ora non era il momento di riflettere. Doveva agire in modo che ci fosse meno di cui parlare, sia dentro che fuori dalla tenuta.
Riunì solo pochi servi scelti tra i più fidati, fece preparare la stanza degli ospiti e avvertì categoricamente tutti di tenere la lingua a freno, altrimenti avrebbero pagato con la loro stessa vita. I servi fedeli erano sempre stati al fianco del loro Padrone, severo ma buono, eppure lui non riusciva ancora a fidarsi completamente di nessuno.
Dada dormiva così profondamente che non si era accorto di nulla. L'arrivo della neve lo aveva reso molto felice. Accarezzando i fiocchi che entravano dalla finestra, le sue dita si erano quasi congelate tra loro.
La serva riuscì a stento a far chiudere la finestra alla ragazza, agitata per l'arrivo della prima neve, nella stanza gelida.
Dada non aspettò che la tavola fosse apparecchiata e si diresse direttamente verso la sala da pranzo della servitù. Più tardi, aveva in programma di dipingere il giardiniere, anche solo per trasformare la bugia della scorsa notte in verità. Dopotutto, aveva già avuto questo desiderio da tempo, e ormai da un pezzo aveva smesso di spiare e disegnare di nascosto.
I servi la accolsero calorosamente, come sempre; Dada aveva pranzato con loro molte volte, senza mai disprezzare nessuno e sentendosi alla pari con tutti.
Non era nemmeno entrata che notò, sulla testa dell'aiutante cuoca, la molletta per capelli che aveva visto nella capanna del giardiniere. Felice per questa scoperta, puntò ingenuamente il dito, come se volesse annunciare a tutti: "Ho riconosciuto di chi è!". La domestica capì immediatamente cosa volesse dire Dada e divenne rossa per la paura, sebbene nessuno se ne fosse accorto poiché si aggirava vicino al fuoco e aveva già il viso arrossato per il calore. Si agitò terribilmente e cercò di nascondersi il più possibile nel profondo della cucina. Per fortuna il marito non era lì, altrimenti chi lo sa cosa sarebbe potuto succedere.
La maggior parte dei servi non sapeva nemmeno cosa fosse successo la notte prima, ma se la domestica con la molletta avesse saputo del giardiniere, avrebbe sicuramente incolpato il marito di aver ucciso il suo amante.
Nel frattempo, nelle profondità della cucina, i servi si agitavano, entrando e uscendo con espressioni preoccupate. Dada udì dei sussurri diverse volte e li vide zittirsi a vicenda, ma solo lei notava il loro strano comportamento; gli altri non vi facevano nemmeno caso, tutti presi dal proprio lavoro.
All'inizio, Dada pensò di esserselo immaginato, forse non stavano affatto sussurrando, ma quando lanciarono anche a lei qualche sguardo furtivo, iniziò a riflettere. Stavano forse tramando qualcosa contro il Padrone? Perché Dada li conosceva bene: erano tra i più fedeli dei servitori, e quel loro sussurrare e agitarsi presagiva qualcosa.
Dada voltò loro le spalle e si avvicinò gradualmente. Offrì aiuto alla cuoca e si ritrovò a sedersi proprio vicino a loro. Si comportò come se non sentisse nulla, ma riuscì comunque a origliare la loro conversazione.
Era incredibile. Per qualche ragione, stavano menzionando il giardiniere.
Aveva sentito bene?
Forse si sbagliava, e non se la prendevano con il Padrone, ma con il giardiniere?
Ma quando sentì più chiaramente che il Padrone stesso stava indagando sull'aggressione subita dal giardiniere la notte precedente, balzò in piedi terrorizzata e corse dritta verso la capanna del giardiniere.
In una delle stanze degli ospiti della casa del Padrone, situata in fondo a un lungo corridoio isolato, avevano allestito un reparto ospedaliero e vi avevano trasferito il giardiniere con grande cautela.
Il Padrone ordinò che venisse fotografato, prima con la barba e poi dopo averlo rasato completamente. Mandò uomini di fiducia ovunque, per scoprire il passato del giardiniere.
Non riusciva a perdonarsi per non aver scoperto prima chi avesse fatto entrare nella sua famiglia. Il cuore gli si riempiva di rabbia; chiunque fosse stato, anche se mandato dal suo peggior nemico, non voleva che questo giovane diventasse vittima di un simile omicidio proditorio nella sua tenuta.
 "Hmph... un giovane travestito da vecchio giardiniere?!"
Il Padrone era furioso.
"Purché non accada nulla a Dada. Non m'importa più di me stesso! Chi sono? Chi ha invaso casa mia?!"
Mille pensieri confusi non confusero il Padrone; al contrario, lo resero più lucido.
Approntò ogni condizione in casa per il giardiniere, in modo da salvarlo innanzitutto, e allo stesso tempo per recidere ogni legame con i suoi simili, quelli da cui era stato mandato. Doveva metterlo all'angolo e indagare a fondo su chi stesse tramando alle sue spalle.
Dada fece irruzione nella stanza degli ospiti proprio mentre stavano cambiando le bende insanguinate al giardiniere ferito. Alla vista di quella scena, ebbe la stessa reazione di quando aveva visto il volto insanguinato del giardiniere.
Fu difficile trattenere la ragazza e ci volle parecchio tempo per calmarla; anche lei finì per aver bisogno di cure. Il medico dovette mettere la flebo anche a lei e ora avevano due pazienti nella stanza.
Il medico, esausto e privo di forze, si occupava dell'uno e dell'altra. Persino i badanti appositamente assunti erano stremati; il Padrone stava addosso a tutti. Non dava tregua a nessuno, restando costantemente in allerta, sperando che il giardiniere, in quello stato, potesse lasciarsi sfuggire qualcosa, magari menzionare un nome.
Il giardiniere, ferito gravemente, stava ancora lottando tra la vita e la morte. Dada si riprese lentamente dal suo misterioso stato e si immerse attivamente nel lavoro. Non lasciava nemmeno che i badanti lavorassero correttamente, cercando di fare tutto da sola.
Il Padrone era terribilmente preoccupato; doveva in qualche modo allontanare Dada dal giardiniere, ma come? La ragazza non si staccava dal suo fianco; aveva persino imparato a fare le iniezioni, riusciva già a cambiare le bende con facilità e teneva d'occhio severamente il personale di servizio.
Erano passate più di tre settimane. Il giardiniere riprese lentamente conoscenza. Riuscì a malapena a sollevare le palpebre pesanti e la prima persona che vide fu Dada, accoccolata e addormentata sulla poltrona proprio accanto a lui.
Gli sembrò ancora più bella e affascinante ora. Il giardiniere accennò un sorriso; era così debole che non riuscì nemmeno ad alzare la testa e, appena si mosse, sentì un dolore terribile al fianco sinistro e gemette pesantemente. Al suono del gemito, Dada sbarrò gli occhi. Quando vide che il giardiniere si era ripreso, lo abbracciò con tale gioia e forza che premette inavvertitamente sulla ferita, facendolo gemere di nuovo per il dolore. Dada capì il suo errore e fissò il giardiniere con gli occhi lucidi.
Ugo sorrise:
- Non fa niente, passerà... presto... molto presto... correremo insieme... vedrai..." le disse con voce attutita, rivolto alla ragazza preoccupata.
Il Padrone era nel suo studio, furioso. Non era riuscito a scoprire nulla sul passato del giardiniere; né in città né nei dintorni nessuno conosceva un mendicante del genere, né tantomeno un giovane uomo di nome Ugo.
Era come se fosse spuntato dal nulla, e quando gli dissero che il ferito aveva ripreso conoscenza, salì le scale quasi di corsa.
"Prima che si riprenda del tutto, devo precederlo! Prima che si renda conto di dove si trova, devo sapere chi è e quale pericolo mi stia preparando!"
Attraversò il corridoio a passo svelto, arrivò alla porta senza fiato e si fermò. Non voleva irrompere all'improvviso. Non voleva che il giardiniere lo vedesse così agitato.
Aspettò. Non aprì la porta finché non si fu calmato; poi, con un grande sforzo, indossò un'espressione allegra e serena ed entrò nella stanza con un sorriso felice.
Dada lo accolse con gioia. Si affaccendava e girava attorno al suo amico ferito così tanto che al Padrone si strinse il cuore: come poteva portar via quella "felicità" alla ragazza?
Accarezzò Dada con un sorriso e la elogiò:
"È perché ti sei presa cura di lui così bene che è migliorato; è tutto merito tuo!"
La ragazza brillava di gioia. Il Padrone salutò il giardiniere con un sorriso, sebbene il giardiniere avesse notato qualcosa di ben diverso nei suoi occhi e non si fosse nemmeno scomposto; gli sorrise a sua volta, cosa che l'esperto Padrone comprese immediatamente.
"Hmph!.. Sfacciato!"
Fece una riflessione tra sé e sé, poi con sguardo caldo e voce dolce chiese a Dada di lasciarli soli. Dada si oppose, non voleva uscire dalla stanza, ma il Padrone trovò immediatamente un compito per lei:
- Vai in cucina e prepara con le tue mani un'insalata di frutta grattugiata; mi raccomando, sceglila frutto per frutto, che non finisca dentro qualcosa di bacato! Sai bene che ora ha bisogno di tante vitamine ben selezionate!
Dada guardò prima il giardiniere; non voleva lasciarlo, ma il giardiniere le sorrise in risposta, e la ragazza accettò felicemente, facendo un gesto con la mano per indicare che sarebbe tornata in cinque minuti, e corse fuori dalla stanza.
Il Padrone si rivolse poi ai badanti e annunciò una pausa, finché non li avesse richiamati lui stesso.
Il giardiniere osservava in silenzio.
Il Padrone afferrò una sedia, la avvicinò al letto e vi si sedette a cavalcioni come su un cavallo, appoggiando le mani sullo schienale. Nella sua mano brillava una Parabellum dorata, con la canna puntata verso il giardiniere.
Il giardiniere lo fissava, pallido, sebbene il Padrone leggesse nei suoi occhi più fermezza che paura. Lo fissò in silenzio per alcuni secondi, poi chiese con il tono più severo possibile:
- Chi sei?!
LEX. 11 febbraio 2016, giovedì.

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The Gardener - (Part 12)

Part 12.

At the doctor's words, the Padrone turned around and hissed with a stern look:

-The hospital will come here!

He cast such a cruel glare at the doctor, and his voice sounded so firm, that the doctor could not utter a word in return and went pale with fear.

The Padrone would have brought the whole city into his house immediately rather than let a wounded man be taken from his estate, only to become the talk of the country—that in the estate of such a renowned man, a pathetic, downtrodden gardener had been treated like a dog.

However, when he had stumbled upon Dada in the workshop, he did not seem quite so downtrodden then.

Who was this man, and what was he hiding? Why did he wear such a mask, hiding behind the shadow of a wretched old man?

A thousand thoughts troubled the Padrone, but now was not the time for thinking. He had to act in such a way that there would be less for people to talk about, both inside and outside the estate.

He gathered only a few of the most trusted servants, had the guest room prepared, and categorically warned everyone to hold their tongues, otherwise, they would pay with their lives. The loyal servants had always stood by their strict but kind master, yet he still could not fully trust any of them.

Dada was sleeping so soundly that he did not hear anything. He had been very happy about the arrival of snow. While caressing the snowflakes drifting in through the window, his fingers had nearly frozen together.

The maidservant could barely get the girl, who was agitated by the arrival of the first snow, to close the window in the freezing room.

Dada did not wait for the table to be set and headed straight for the servants' dining room. Later, she had planned to paint the gardener, if only to turn last night's lie into truth. After all, she had wanted to do this for a long time, and she had long since stopped spying and drawing in secret.

The servants greeted her warmly, as always; Dada had dined with them many times before, never looking down on anyone and feeling equal with everyone.

She hadn't even entered when she noticed the hair clip she had seen in the gardener's hut on the head of the cook's assistant. Delighted by this discovery, she naively pointed her finger, as if she wanted to announce to everyone, "I recognized whose it is!" The maid immediately understood what Dada wanted to say and turned crimson with fear, though no one noticed because she was busy near the fire and her face was already flushed from the heat. She was terribly agitated and tried to hide as deep into the kitchen as possible. It was a good thing her husband wasn't there too, otherwise, who knows what could have come of this?

Most of the servants did not even know what had happened the night before, though if the maid with the hair clip had known about the gardener, she would certainly have blamed her husband for murdering her lover.

Meanwhile, in the deeper recesses of the kitchen, the servants were becoming agitated, moving in and out with troubled expressions. Dada heard whispers several times and saw them shushing each other, but only she noticed their strange behavior; others did not even pay attention, as everyone was buried in their own work.

At first, Dada thought she was imagining it, perhaps they weren't whispering at all, but when they glanced at her quietly a few times, she began to wonder. Could they be plotting something against the Padrone? Because Dada knew them well; they were among the most loyal of the servants, and such whispering and pacing from them boded something.

Dada turned her back and gradually inched toward them. She offered to help the cook and ended up sitting right near them. She acted as if she didn't hear anything, yet she still managed to eavesdrop on their conversation.

It was amazing. For some reason, they were mentioning the gardener.

Could she have heard it wrong?

Perhaps she was mistaken, and they weren't targeting the Padrone, but the gardener?

But when she overheard more clearly that the Padrone himself was investigating the attack on the gardener from the night before, she jumped up in horror and ran straight toward the gardener's hut.

In one of the guest rooms of the Padrone's house, located at the very end of a long, secluded corridor, they set up a hospital ward and moved the gardener there with great care.

The Padrone ordered him to be photographed, first with his beard, and then freshly shaven. He sent trusted people everywhere to find out about the gardener's past life.

He could not forgive himself for not finding out sooner who he had let into his household. His heart was filled with anger; whoever it might have been, even if sent by his sworn enemy, he still did not want this young man to become a victim of such treacherous murder in his estate.

"Hmph... a young man disguised as an old gardener?!"

The Padrone was furious.

"As long as no harm comes to Dada. I don't even care about myself anymore! Who are they? Who has attacked my home?!"

A thousand chaotic thoughts did not confuse the Padrone; on the contrary, they made him more alert.

He provided the gardener with every condition in the house, in order to save him first, and at the same time, to cut off any connection with his own people—those from whom he had been sent. He had to corner him and investigate thoroughly to find out who was undermining him.

Dada burst into the guest room just as they were changing the wounded gardener’s bloody bandages. Seeing such a scene, she had the same reaction as when she had first seen the gardener's bloodied face.

It was difficult to restrain the girl, and it took quite a while to calm her down; she, too, became someone who needed looking after. The doctor had to set up an IV for her as well, and now they had two patients in the room.

The exhausted and drained doctor tended to one and then the other. Even the specially hired caretakers were worn out, and the Padrone hovered over everyone. He wouldn't give anyone a moment's rest, keeping his ears pricked at all times, hoping that the gardener, in his current state, might let something slip—perhaps even mention a name.

The severely wounded gardener was still fighting for his life. Dada slowly recovered from her mysterious state and actively got involved in the work. She barely gave the caregivers a chance to work properly, trying to do everything herself.

The Padrone was terribly worried; he had to separate Dada from the gardener somehow, but how? The girl would not leave his side; she even learned how to administer injections, she could already change the bandages with ease, and she kept a strict eye on the service staff.

More than three weeks had passed. The gardener gradually regained consciousness. He could barely lift his heavy eyelids, and the first person he laid eyes on was Dada, who was curled up and sleeping in the armchair right next to him.

She seemed even more beautiful and charming to him now. The gardener smiled slightly, though he was so weak he couldn't even lift his head, and as soon as he moved, he felt a terrible pain in his left side and groaned heavily. At the sound of the moan, Dada opened her eyes wide. Seeing that the gardener had regained consciousness, she hugged him so tightly with joy that she inadvertently pressed against his wound, and the gardener groaned once more from the pain. Dada realized her mistake and looked at the gardener with teary eyes.

Ugo smiled:

- It's okay, it will pass... soon... very soon... we will run together... you'll see... - he said to the worried girl in a muffled voice.

The Padrone was in his study, raging with fury. He hadn't found out anything about the gardener's past; neither in the city nor in its surroundings did anyone know such a beggar, nor anyone by the name of Ugo.

It was as if he had emerged from the ground, and when he was told that the wounded man had regained consciousness, he nearly ran up the stairs.

"Before he fully regains his senses, I must get to him! Before he realizes where he is, I must know who he is and what kind of danger he is preparing for me!"

He walked quickly down the corridor, reached the door out of breath, and stopped. He did not want to burst in suddenly. He did not want the gardener to see him so agitated.

He waited. He did not open the door until he had calmed down; then, with all his might, he put on a cheerful, calm expression and stepped into the room with a happy smile.

Dada welcomed him with joy. She was bustling around and hovering over her wounded friend so much that the Padrone’s heart constricted—how could he possibly take this "happiness" away from the girl?

He caressed Dada with a smile and praised her:

"It is because you have taken such good care of him that he has gotten better; it is your merit!"

The girl was beaming with joy. The Padrone greeted the gardener with a smile, although the gardener noticed something quite different in his eyes and did not even flinch; he smiled back at him, which the experienced Padrone immediately understood.

"Hmph!.. Shameless!"

He thought to himself, then with a warm look and a soft voice, asked Dada to leave them. Dada refused, not wanting to leave the room, but the Padrone immediately found a task for her:

- Go down to the kitchen and prepare a grated fruit salad with your own hands; make sure to pick them one by one, and don't let any wormy ones slip in! You know he needs plenty of well-selected vitamins right now!

Dada first looked at the gardener; she did not want to leave him, but the gardener smiled back in response, and the girl happily agreed, signaling with her hand that she would be back in five minutes, and rushed out of the room.

The Padrone then turned to the caretakers and announced a break until he himself called for them.

The gardener watched in silence.

The Padrone grabbed a chair, pulled it close to the bed, and sat astride it like a horse, resting his hands on the back of the chair. In his hand, a gold-plated Parabellum flashed, its barrel pointed at the gardener.

The gardener stared at him, pale, though the Padrone read more firmness than fear in his eyes. He stared at him silently for a few seconds, then asked in the sternest tone possible:

- Who are you?!

 LEX. February 11, 2016, Thursday.

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Il Giardiniere - (Parte - 11)

 

Parte 11.
La strana avventura vissuta sotto la pioggia ebbe un effetto straordinario sull'umore di Dada. Per tutta la notte, avvolta in sogni bizzarri, fluttuò tra le nuvole e dormì così profondamente che saltò la colazione e per poco anche il pranzo.
Quanto al Padrone, riuscì a prendere sonno a stento. Non aveva chiuso occhio fino all'alba, pensando al futuro di Dada. Non aveva mai visto i suoi occhi brillare in quel modo.
I pretendenti alla mano di Dada non erano rari, sebbene non fosse ancora apparso nessuno che piacesse alla ragazza. Non mancavano i giovani spocchiosi, gonfiati dai soldi dei padri, che lanciavano sguardi calcolatori alla tenuta, godendosi al contempo la bellezza di Dada con espressioni soddisfatte.
La ragazza era davvero straordinariamente bella, ma per qualche motivo si comportava spesso in modo tattico a tavola, cosa che sorprendeva molto il Padrone; tuttavia, lui sopportava con calma e non diceva nulla.
Una volta, un ospite suggerì che i giovani dovessero appartarsi, fare una passeggiata in giardino e conoscersi meglio, ma la candidata a suocera inarcò orgogliosamente il collo e rispose con tono derisorio:
- Hmmm! E poi di cosa dovrebbero parlare?
Dada, come se non avesse nemmeno colto l'insulto rivoltole, iniziò a mescolare il tè con il cucchiaino in modo così rumoroso, con un'espressione talmente spensierata e allegra, da rischiare di bucare il fondo della tazzina.
"Ecco perché si comportava così! Si vendicava di tutte quelle persone che ridevano delle sventure altrui! Hmm!"
Il Padrone sorrise.
"Dada sembra una ragazzina frivola, eppure... perché pensano che, poiché una ragazza non può parlare, debba necessariamente essere ritardata? In realtà, sono loro gli ottusi! È piuttosto intelligente ed esprime perfettamente ciò che vuole!"
Il Padrone si rigirò nel letto.
"Non le piace nemmeno Zeki, e non voglio affatto che si mettano insieme. Il loro figlio, hmm! Il figlio di un assassino! Portatore di geni terribili! Impregnato dei peccati di Zeki e dei suoi antenati! È un bene che a Dada non piaccia! È proprio quello che voglio! Anche i servitori le fanno spesso la corte, ma non ho mai notato nulla. Forse non le è ancora piaciuto nessuno, e non glielo impedirei se fosse felice. Ma oggi, i suoi occhi brillavano in modo diverso. Non li ho mai visti così. Che le piaccia il nostro giardiniere? Ma quando avranno fatto amicizia? Forse è venuto apposta per mettere le mani sulla proprietà? È comunque un bel giovane, tranquillo, non ha paura di lavorare e non disprezza il lavoro di giardiniere, quello meno pagato della nostra tenuta. Qualsiasi altro uomo avrebbe preteso un altro lavoro, qualcosa di più 'virile' e con uno stipendio più alto. Ma lui non dice una parola. È d'accordo su tutto ed è soddisfatto. Forse punta al patrimonio di Dada e si comporta così per questo? Se la rende felice, però, perché no! A Dada non mancano le ricchezze, che vivano felici! No! Devo parlargli! Voglio scoprire chi è veramente e cosa vuole! E perché si è finto un vecchio così malandato e indifeso?
Domani gli parlerò! Gli parlerò sicuramente e gli chiederò spiegazioni!"
Pensava il Padrone, e tra questi pensieri si addormentò.
Il giardiniere fu l'unico a non dormire quella notte. Aveva gettato via i vestiti donatigli dal Padrone e giaceva avvolto in una coperta, tremando per il freddo. Il gelo non gli permise di prendere sonno per lungo tempo.
"Probabilmente nevicherà,"
pensò tra sé e sé, mentre il tremito aumentava sempre di più.
"Magari albeggiasse presto..."
Al mattino, infatti, nevicò. Il cortile coperto da una coltre bianca era uno spettacolo bellissimo.
Dada dormiva tranquillamente.
Il Padrone si alzò. Doveva mettere in atto ciò che aveva pensato durante la notte: doveva conoscere bene il giardiniere. Doveva chiarire tutto, chi fosse e da dove venisse.
Di solito, il Padrone aveva l'abitudine, quando assumeva un nuovo servitore, di concedere prima un periodo di prova. Nel frattempo, lo avrebbe conosciuto bene personalmente, mentre inviava persone di fiducia a indagare sul suo passato, e solo allora avrebbe deciso se tenerlo o meno.
Ma con il giardiniere le cose erano andate in modo del tutto diverso. Era stata Dada stessa a chiedere che rimanesse nella tenuta. Proprio in quel periodo, il Padrone attendeva ospiti d'affari, poi se ne dimenticò completamente e tutto si risolse da sé all'improvviso.
Tuttavia, il vecchio mendicante, quel povero anziano apparentemente insignificante che si affaccendava per conto suo, si rivelò essere molto più giovane.
"Forse è stato mandato apposta? Ma non si era mai avvicinato alla casa prima d'ora. O forse Dada lo aveva già adocchiato, e poi lui ha finto di essere un miserabile?"
Il Padrone sorrise. Non era un uomo facile da ingannare e avrebbe posto fine a questa incertezza proprio ora. Si alzò all'alba e si diresse verso i servitori per scoprire il passato del giardiniere.
Il Padrone rimase sorpreso quando non trovò il giardiniere negli alloggi della servitù.
"Non vi bastavano le stanze?" sembrò quasi rimproverare i servitori, ma questi risposero:
"Che possiamo farci, Padrone? Ha voluto vivere lui stesso in quella capanna."
Il Padrone, furioso, si fece strada lungo il sentiero coperto di neve. In fondo al cortile, vicino al deposito degli attrezzi, il giardiniere si era costruito una baracca di legno dove viveva; mangiava persino lì, senza nemmeno fermarsi nella grande cucina destinata agli altri servitori.
- Che diavolo ci fa qui?! - borbottò il Padrone aprendo la porta, e rimase di sasso.
Avvolto in una vecchia coperta a quadri sbiadita, con il volto a malapena visibile, il giardiniere giaceva abbandonato su una grande cassa che fungeva da letto, gemendo con voce soffocata. Il Padrone tirò giù la coperta; il suo volto era arrossato dalla febbre. Era una visione altrettanto pietosa di quando lo aveva visto la prima volta.
Il giardiniere gemeva con un'espressione di terribile sofferenza. Il Padrone lasciò andare la coperta; gli sembrò persino troppo umida e guardò con sorpresa la sua mano sporca di sangue. Ora scostò meglio la coperta e, alla vista del corpo insanguinato del giardiniere, balzò all'indietro.
Il Padrone si trattenne a stento, poi chiamò il suo servitore fedele e gli ordinò di mantenere il silenzio, incaricandolo di indagare segretamente su chi potesse aver commesso tutto ciò. Lui stesso non si allontanò dalla capanna in attesa del medico, controllando di tanto in tanto il respiro del giardiniere ferito.
"Cosa sarà mai successo?! Chi osa agire qui, nella mia tenuta! Senza il mio permesso! Che sta succedendo qui? Devo ricontrollare tutti da capo! Devo esaminarli uno per uno!"
Mille pensieri gli vorticavano in testa e si tratteneva a stento dall'urlare contro i servitori.
"Se solo questo uomo si salvasse ora... e poi vedrò io!"
Il medico intendeva entrare in casa, ma il servitore gli fece cenno di andare da un'altra parte. Il medico rimase molto sorpreso e affatto compiaciuto.
"Che uomo strano; mi ha fatto alzare all'alba, con tutta questa neve, per il bene di un domestico."
Il medico era furioso, ma quando superarono gli alloggi della servitù e si diressero verso le stalle, perse completamente la pazienza.
"Ma non crederà che io sia un veterinario?!"
Così pieno di rabbia, non voleva nemmeno entrare nella capanna, ma notò il Padrone proprio sulla soglia e, per la paura, non poté fare marcia indietro. Diede un'occhiata alla capanna con insoddisfazione, guardò il giardiniere abbandonato con disprezzo e lanciò al Padrone uno sguardo così disgustato che tutto divenne chiaro: il medico non solo non voleva curarlo, ma non voleva nemmeno avvicinarsi al malato.
Il Padrone lo accolse con uno sguardo furioso:
- Devo ricordarti il giuramento di Ippocrate, Dottore? - Sottolineò l'ultima parola in modo piuttosto severo e cinico, e una scintilla malvagia balenò nei suoi occhi.
Il medico si spaventò, ma quando guardò quel corpo insanguinato, la paura crebbe ancora di più; pensò:
"Non lasceranno vivo nemmeno me", e non avendo altra scelta, iniziò a esaminare il paziente.
Il giardiniere aveva una ferita piuttosto profonda; mancava davvero poco che gli trafiggesse il cuore. Questa volta, il medico scrutò attentamente il luogo; non c'era traccia di sangue sul pavimento, solo il giardiniere era immerso nel sangue, e nemmeno la coperta era danneggiata.
Il Padrone osservava in silenzio, seguendo ogni movimento del medico.
- Stai pensando quello che sto pensando io? - disse al medico a bassa voce.
Il medico annuì.
- Se è stato ferito mentre dormiva, devono avergli tolto la coperta prima e poi avergliela rimessa. Probabilmente perché nessuno se ne accorgesse per molto tempo.
- Significa che non è un incidente; era destinato a morire! - ringhiò il Padrone tra i denti, voltò le spalle al medico e iniziò a guardare fuori. Aveva uno sguardo terribile. Come quello di prima, di tanto tempo fa. Come nei vecchi tempi, nella sua vecchia vita.
"Non voglio pensarci, ma sembra opera di Zek. Un crimine astutamente architettato, di una scaltrezza perfida..."
Zek aveva persino una sua stanza qui; poteva passarci la notte ogni volta che voleva, lontano dall'ingresso principale, dall'altra parte del corridoio. Poteva venire e andare a qualsiasi ora senza che il Padrone lo vedesse mai.
"Non lo perdonerò se cercherà di scavalcarmi!
Non lo perdonerò!
Non perdonerò nessuno!"
Fu riportato alla realtà dalla voce del medico:
- Ha la febbre alta e ha perso molto sangue; è impossibile tenerlo qui. Dobbiamo portarlo d'urgenza in ospedale!
LEX. 7 febbraio 2016, domenica.

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The Gardener - (Part 11)

Part11.

The strange adventure she had experienced in the rain had an extraordinary effect on Dada's mood. All night long, wrapped in strange dreams, she floated among the clouds and slept so deeply that she first missed breakfast and then almost missed lunch as well.

As for the Padrone, he had barely managed to fall asleep. He had not closed his eyes until dawn, thinking about Dada's future. He had never seen her eyes shine like that before.

Suitors for Dada's hand were not infrequent, although no one who pleased the girl had appeared yet. There were plenty of stuck-up young men, puffed up by their fathers' money, who would cast a calculating glance at the estate while enjoying Dada's beauty with satisfied expressions.

The girl was indeed extraordinarily beautiful, yet for some reason, she often behaved tactlessly at the table, which greatly surprised the Padrone; however, he bore it calmly and said nothing.

Once, a guest suggested that the young people should go out separately, take a walk in the garden, and get to know each other better.

However, the candidate for mother-in-law proudly arched her neck and replied in a mocking tone:

- Hmm! And what would they even talk about?

Dada, as if she had not even heard the insult directed at her, started stirring her tea with a spoon so loudly, with such a carefree and cheerful expression, that she nearly cracked the bottom of the cup.

"So, that’s why she was behaving like that! She was taking revenge on all those people who mocked others' misfortunes! Hmm!"

The Padrone smiled to himself.

"Dada may seem like a flighty little girl, and yet... why do they assume that because a girl cannot speak, she must be mentally impaired? In reality, they are the dull ones! She is quite clever and expresses exactly what she wants!"

The Padrone turned over in bed.

"She doesn’t like Zeki either, and I certainly don't want them paired up. Their child, hmm! The child of a killer! A carrier of terrible genes! Saturated with the sins of Zeki and his ancestors! It is a very good thing that Dada doesn't like him! That is exactly what I want! The servants are always flirting with her, but I haven't noticed anything. Perhaps she hasn't liked anyone yet, and I wouldn't stop her if she were happy. But today, her eyes were shining in a different way. I have never seen them like that. Could it be that she likes our gardener? But when did they even become friends? Maybe he came specifically to seize the estate? Still, he is a wonderful young man, quiet, not afraid of work, and he doesn't find the work of a gardener—the least paid job on our estate—demeaning. Any other man would surely have demanded different work, something more 'manly' with a higher salary. Yet he says nothing. He is satisfied with everything. Perhaps he has his eyes on Dada's wealth and that is why he acts this way? If he makes her happy, then why not! Dada doesn't lack wealth; let them live sweetly! No! I must speak with him! I must find out who he really is and what he wants! And why did he pretend to be such an old, frail, helpless man?

Tomorrow I will speak to him! I will definitely speak to him and demand answers!"

The Padrone thought, and eventually, he drifted off to sleep.

The gardener was the only one who didn't sleep that night. He had tossed aside the clothes gifted to him by the Padrone and lay there wrapped in a blanket, shivering from the cold. The frost would not let him sleep for a long time.

"It will probably snow,"

he thought to himself, and his shivering intensified more and more.

"I wish it would dawn soon..."

In the morning, it did indeed snow. The courtyard covered in a white blanket was a beautiful sight.

Dada was sleeping peacefully.

The Padrone got up. He had to put his thoughts from the night into action; he needed to get to know the gardener well. He had to clear up everything—who he was and where he had come from.

Usually, it was the Padrone's custom, when accepting a new servant, to first give them a trial period. In the meantime, he would get to know them well himself, while sending loyal people to find out about their past, and only then would he decide whether to keep them or not.

But with the gardener, things had happened quite differently. It was Dada herself who had demanded he stay on the estate. At that very time, the Padrone was expecting business guests, and then he simply forgot, and everything resolved itself quite suddenly.

However, the old beggar, that seemingly insignificant poor old man bustling about, turned out to be much younger.

"Could he be a spy after all? But he had never even come near the house before. Or perhaps Dada had noticed him earlier, and then he just feigned misery?"

The Padrone smiled. He was not a man easily deceived, and he would put an end to this uncertainty right now. He got up at dawn and headed to the servants to find out the gardener's history.

The Padrone was surprised when he did not find the gardener in the servants' quarters. "Were the rooms not enough for you?" he seemed to scold the servants, but they reported: "What can we do, Master? He himself wished to live in that hut."

The Padrone, fuming, made his way along the snow-covered path. At the end of the courtyard, near the tool shed, the gardener had put up a wooden hut for himself and was living there; he even ate there, refusing to stay in the large kitchen designated for the other servants.

- What the devil does he want here?! - the Padrone grumbled as he opened the door, and was left stunned.

Wrapped in an old, faded plaid blanket, his face barely visible, the gardener was slumped over a large crate that served as a bed, moaning with a muffled voice. The Padrone pulled back the blanket; his face was flushed with fever. He was just as pitiful a sight as when he had first seen him.

The gardener was moaning with a look of terrible suffering. The Padrone let go of the plaid blanket; it seemed somewhat overly wet, and he looked down at his bloodstained hand in surprise. Now he pulled the cover back further, and at the sight of the gardener's blood-soaked body, he jumped back.

The Padrone barely restrained himself, then called his loyal servant and ordered him to keep silent, instructing him to quietly inquire who could have committed all this. He himself did not leave the hut while waiting for the doctor, checking the wounded gardener's breathing from time to time.

"What on earth happened?! Who dares to do this here, on my estate! Without my knowledge! What is going on here at all! I must re-examine everyone from the beginning! I must check them one by one!"

A thousand thoughts were swirling in his head, and he was barely holding back from shouting aloud at the servants.

"If only this man survives now... and then I will show them!"

The doctor intended to go into the house, but the servant signaled for him to go the other way. The doctor was very surprised and not at all pleased.

"What a strange man; he dragged me out for the sake of a servant, so early in the morning, and in such heavy snow."

The doctor was fuming, but when they passed the servants' quarters and headed toward the stables, he was completely beside himself.

"Does he think I’m a veterinarian or something?!"

Furious as he was, he didn't even want to enter the hut, but he noticed the Padrone right at the door and could not retreat out of fear. He looked around the hut with dissatisfaction, glanced at the abandoned gardener with disdain, and cast such a look of disgust at the Padrone that everything was clear: the doctor not only had no desire to treat the patient, he didn't even want to go near him.

The Padrone met him with a furious glare:

- Shall I remind you of the Hippocratic Oath, Doctor? - He emphasized the last word quite sternly and cynically, and an evil spark flashed in his eyes.

The doctor was startled, but when he looked at the blood-stained body, his fear grew even more; he thought, "They won't let me out of here alive either," and having no other choice, he began to examine the patient.

The gardener had a fairly deep wound; it had missed his heart by just a hair's breadth. This time, the doctor looked around the place carefully; there was no trace of blood on the floor, only the gardener was swimming in blood, and even the plaid blanket was undamaged.

The Padrone watched in silence, tracking every movement of the doctor.

- Are you thinking what I’m thinking? - he said to the doctor in a low voice.

The doctor nodded.

- If he was stabbed while sleeping, they must have pulled the blanket back first and then covered him up again. Probably so that no one would notice for a long time.

- That means this is no accident; he was doomed to die! - the Padrone hissed through his teeth, turned his back on the doctor, and began staring outside. His gaze was terrifying. Just like it had been before, a long time ago. Just like in the old days, in his old life.

"I don’t want to think it, but it looks like Zek’s work. A cleverly devised, cunningly executed crime..."

Zek even had his own room here; he could spend the night whenever he wanted, off the main entrance, on the other side of the corridor. He could come and go at any time without the Padrone ever seeing him.

"I won’t forgive him if he tries to overstep me! 

I won’t forgive him! 

I won’t forgive anyone!"

He was startled out of his thoughts by the doctor's voice:

- He has a high fever and has lost a lot of blood; it is impossible to keep him here. We must rush him to the hospital!

 LEX. February 7, 2016, Sunday.

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