The Ball. Erik Pethersen

good day to you too.»

      I turn around, pass the mantrap, walk on the pedestrian crossing and continue following the road that goes down to the supermarket. I immediately notice my second stop in the distance, a bank I go to quite often for other transactions for Sbandofin which also has its own current account at this branch.

      «Good morning, running errands?» I suddenly hear a voice echoing on my right.

      The concierge of our building stands in front of me, going down the stairs of the building I am walking past, with a stack of boxes in his arms.

      «Good morning Mauro. Yes, I’m going around a few banks.»

      «I’m recovering the packages that the courier left in the wrong building» he mutters.

      «How nice» I reply. «Does it often happen that they mix up the buildings?»

      «Every now and then, yes: in their haste they leave everything to one concierge instead of the other» he replies and then continues: «That fur coat is beautiful, it looks like Serena’s».

      Surprised by the statement, I look at him a little puzzled and answer: «Yes, I like it a lot too: we bought the same one, actually».

      He seems to be inspecting me and I add quickly: «What perceptiveness, Mauro!»

      «That’s what my job is about: to watch. Have fun in the bank» he replies, walking away.

      «Goodbye» I reply, still hesitant. I start walking in the opposite direction and I think that, more than a keen observer, he seems to like minding other people’s business.

      I go to the bank, take another envelope from the familiar employee of the first counter and put it back in the folder. I leave the girl, after an interesting conversation about today’s weather conditions that has taken away at least three minutes off my tight schedule, to get to the last branch of the first block of banks.

      The rude cashier hands me a transparent envelope with two checks put in at random. He then informs me that he must proceed with my identification: I hand over the document and he scans it, while I put these checks in my folder. I take my ID from the fat hand stretched out towards me, I greet without any particular pleasantries and, as I go out, I realize how the subway stop is located in the square nearby. I decide to use that, to reach the two furthest banks. For sure, it’s faster than the 10 bus.

      While I am waiting for the train, the folder in my hands begins to bother me. I open a button on my fur coat and place it inside, supporting it with my right hip and putting my hands in the pockets, which I think can benefit from a bit of comfortable synthetic warmth. When I reach the bottom of the lining, my index finger touches a cylindrical object. I inspect it with curiosity: it is a simple lip balm stick. I also rummage in my left pocket to make sure I’m not carrying items that I can lose. After realizing that there is nothing like that, I decide to put the stick in the safest inside pocket, which already has my smartphone, and in which I also place my rechargeable card and ID.

      I hear a whistling sound coming from my left and I turn to look at it: the subway is on its way and it is slowing down, getting ready to stop. I take the folder out of my fur and I go in the half-empty carriage. I sit on the outer seat, placing the folder on my legs, while the electric vehicle takes off again and I think that in three or four minutes I should arrive at my destination.

      I look around and, after making sure that the two people sitting on the far side are looking harmlessly at their smartphones, I open the folder: the two checks in the transparent envelope show, next to the letter to, the details of the recipient: Ciapper Real Estate ltd. in liquidation. Beside the word euro, printed in small letters, I read the inscription six hundred twenty-five thousand/00.

      I open the other two envelopes, moving the tab aside and I see that the same details are there on all of them. Considering there are ten checks in the folder, I have with me over six million. Perhaps my state of mind would not be so nonchalant if I were the recipient of all the checks.

      «Next stop, the train station» announces the automatic speaker of the subway.

      Once I am out again, I am taken back by the crisp air: the sky is blue now and the fog has completely vanished. I huddle in my fur coat and walk towards the post office. In about five hundred meters, going around the building, I will already be near via Solferino. Up until yesterday I did not even know that there was a branch here. It is actually the only branch that can issue cashier’s check in the Brescia area.

      Classic mantrap: I go in and notice three individuals queuing at the only open counter. I patiently wait for the account holders to carry out their business and, after about ten minutes, I introduce myself to the clerk behind the glass.

      «The girl from Sbandofin is here to collect the checks» she whispers into the phone. She stays on the phone for a few more seconds, then she turns to me: «If you can take a seat, my colleague will come over in five minutes».

      «Okay, thanks, I’ll wait there» she replies, bringing my right thumb over my shoulder.

      I turn and head to three brown armchairs placed against the wall, next to the mantrap at the entrance, taking a seat on the one on the far side. I place the folder on the glass table placed in front of the armchairs, cross my legs and unbutton the synthetic garment that is wrapped around me.

      Surely Serena’s fur coat is really warm. Almost as warm as her hug, when she has one of her sudden outbursts of affection and she hugs or kisses me for no reason. She is just like that: always carefree and joyful. I smile and think about her legs. Yes, maybe it’s true, before I was staring at them, but I can’t help it: I do the same with everyone. Besides, hers are so sensual. I look at the bare portion of my calf, which comes out of my jeans, a little crumpled due my sitting posture. I bend towards the lower part of my leg and touch the uncovered portion of my calf with my almost frozen fingers of my right hand: a shiver runs through me and ends up down my back.

      «Hello Lavinia, I’m Marco, nice to meet you.»

      The words that come to my left take me by surprise. I get up and shake the man’s hand. «Good morning Marco.»

      «Here are the checks, everything else is taken care of. However, at some stage, the gentlemen will have to come over here to sign for privacy and money laundering» he tells me, handing me a grey envelope.

      «Perfect. Yes, I’ve already mentioned that to them.»

      «Good» he replies, staring at me.

      He is an attractive man: tall, a little sturdy, streaked with grey, presumably around fifty-five.

      «Can I get you a cup of coffee?»

      «Thank you Marco, but by midday I have to be in another...» I reply and then I stop a little abruptly. «In an office in Corso Garibaldi: so, I’m forced to refuse.»

      «Okay, next time: please come and see us when you want, I was pleased to see you» he replies, stopping for a moment as if he wanted to specify, «to meet her, I am pleased to meet her.»

      «My pleasure, Marco: I will definitely come back for other customers» I reply walking slowly to the exit.

      I get to the mantrap, leaving Marco behind me and I press the button to open it, while I have a clear feeling that he is still watching me.

      I take a look at my smartphone: it is 11:40 am; the last two branches should close at 1 pm, so I can take my time now.

2.2 LIFE - FIVE

      I am back at the entrance of the building now: it is 12:45 and Mauro is back in his usual glass workplace.

      «Hi Lavinia, have you done all your running around?»

      «Hi Mauro: yes, I’m back.» And I am still wearing Serena’s fur coat: today he doesn’t really want to mind his own business.

      I turn to the right and from a distance I see a person who is about to cross the threshold of the first lift following another man, of whom I can only see his back for a few minutes: he