Night mode

Rocco watched for a long time as, in a slow-motion movie, his lover disappeared into the dangers of the night. She wasn’t a prostitute, but something about her demeanour usually made him think of her that way. The lingering sound of her high heels hitting the concrete pavement in steady rhythm seemed to mark the time for their next meeting. He could always hear it wherever he was: in the shower, at the gas station, or whilst waiting for his new customers and imagining that she could nimbly slip through the passenger door and sit next to him, unlike the rest of his clientele always taking seats in the back. Rocco often fantasised that they were making love in the backseat, although that never happened in mundane reality. The ability to dip his hands into her long, soft blonde hair made his heart tremble every time. And it had started so innocently that every time he remembered it, déjà vu would fill his eyes with tears.

He drove slowly through the night streets of the city he had known from the day he was born. Things did not go well with his wife and Rocco planned to leave her for his mistress. Milada was the girl he met during one frenzy on Saturday night when he was driving her in his taxi to a party. She invited him in, but since he hadn't finished work that night, he thanked her politely, so she offered her phone number instead. He called her the following night and so began true friendship and love. Several months of secret trysts in hotel rooms confirmed that Milada is a woman with whom he – a simple cabman with low expectations – would like to spend the rest of his life. She was intelligent, devastatingly attractive, and had a degree in international relations that allowed her to constantly travel to distant places, even to different countries, which seemed to be the only drawback of their relationship.

In his work, he met people too, but his life was more organised around transfers from town to town, from airport to city, and from meeting to meeting. She was fluent in four foreign languages, often worked as a translator, so she was in demand all over the world. He used to call her Lo or Lolita because she must have been liked by many men around the world, and that was what he was always jealous of. These journeys, the elements of surprise, the adrenaline rush every time she boarded a new plane. His excitement was limited to new customers, often from the airport, but the only new perspective he had before him was new people getting into his taxi, sometimes with stories on their lips, sometimes silent and even drunk, but the view behind the windshield of his vehicle was always the same, monotonous, boring. Rocco waited for new sensations, like swallows in the spring, but the only adventure he always found was with Milada.

The night was unusually quiet. Rocco was returning to his post near the airport from the drive to the city centre. The last customer paid handsomely, so a slight smile framed his face. At that moment he was content, happy because nothing disturbed his well-being. That feeling lasted until he hit something in the road. He brusquely stopped the car and got out to inspect the victim. To his great surprise, the object he ran over was a barn owl. She was injured, a broken wing lying motionless beside the torso of her body. He paused on his phone to contact the emergency services, although he wasn't sure which one. The owl was not human, so it probably needed a vet's help. He opened his mouth wide, but by no means to speak to someone on the other side of the receiver, but to listen more closely to the words of his night companion.

‘You probably thought running over a barn owl was always fatal. Well, I can tell you one thing. Since I live in the city, it has happened to me several times and I have always managed to survive these accidents. But to the point. What is your wish, mister?’

‘Excuse me? You can talk?’

The owl opened its eyes and beak as wide as Rocco's, with the distinctive difference that this appearance was almost natural for her, whilst for the human – theatrical.

‘Of course, I can talk. Who do you think I am?’

‘Ah, I see that you are a barn owl who: a) is to live in the forest, their natural habitat; b) you are an animal and animals do not talk, except on Christmas Eve; c) today is not Christmas Eve. The only thing that fits is night time, which is now, so you are awake. It's the only thing I identify with because I'm a night owl too.’

‘You see, I knew we would find common ground. And oh my, you're superstitious, aren't you? First of all, I’m not just an owl. I’m a superowl. An owl capable of fulfilling wishes. Do you have any?’

‘Are you serious? You can’t just walk around in the owl’s disguise and tell people this crap. Come on, get up, it’s cold on the tarmac. I’ll take you to the hospital, it’s just around the corner. You should be checked by specialists; I am not one of the types who leave the victim of their recklessness on the road.’

‘You should know…’

‘What? What should I know?’

‘That I’m on your way… You should feel that I’m coming to meet you… Others can usually sense my presence.’

‘Who are you? A witch?’

‘No, just an owl with a broken wing, but that can heal easily; in fact, there won't be a trace of it tomorrow. But if you leave me here, there might be consequences.’

‘What consequences? Are you able to curse me or something? Is that’s the kind of owl you are?’

‘Yes, I can, if you don’t help me.’

‘I just told you I can take you to the hospital.’

‘I don’t need a hospital. I need a soul.’

‘Do I hear right? A soul?’

‘Yes.’

‘What kind of soul and what for?’

‘A broken soul, just like yours, to be healed by a broken owl.’

‘My soul is not broken, you are mistaken. Do you need a ride? I can take you elsewhere if you don’t need a doctor.’

‘I don’t need a doctor, but you do.’

‘Me? How come?’

‘Well, I know about your life, I studied it for a long time. I know about your wife and… What’s her name?’

‘Milada.’

‘Ah yes, Milada, quite an unusual name, don’t you think?’

‘Yes, she is from Ukraine, she came to London in search of success and she seems to have found it…’ Rocco said, not entirely convinced of his words.

‘You do not share her joy, as I see…’

‘No, it’s not like that. Sometimes I just think she doesn’t need me, that I need her more than she needs me… Do you get me?’

‘I think I do. That’s why I came. You don’t need her…’

‘What do you mean I don’t need her?’

‘You don’t need Milada because your problems lie elsewhere.’

‘Where else? This is where I live.’ Rocco was getting more and more impatient.

‘You have a daughter, don’t you?’

‘Yes, how do you know?’

‘I know all about everyone here.’

‘What are you? Some sort of god?’

‘You can say that, but to the point. Time is short and time is precious in my case. I’m not young anymore. Well, I just wanted to say your troubles are elsewhere.’

‘My daughter lives in Sweden. I can’t just go there now even to visit her. I have to work. I didn’t save enough…’

‘But you have resources to spend on hotels for Milada…’ Owl reminded Rocco of the simple truth about his present life.

‘Yes, but she helps me. Being with her makes me feel better.’

‘Really? Makes you feel better? And if I told you that soon, if not already, she will betray you. What will you do if you catch her?’

‘She will not betray me. She’s always honest with me. She won’t…’

‘Man! Listen! I am an owl that knows the future. FUTURE! How many owls have you met in your life that can speak, hmm?’

‘None.’ Rocco was increasingly saddened by each new reply given to his night companion, and more disappointed with the painful truth about his own life revealed in his very words.

‘How much time do you need to believe me?’

‘It depends. Trust is usually gained over many years of life…’ Rocco started, but the owl suddenly cut his words like an umbilical cord.

'Bullshit. I can trust anyone from the first look at a person, and then you will see more than you think. That's when you realise that any person can be dishonest, but the problem is that over the years, as you say, the same person learns how to gain your trust to hide their disloyalty. And since you already trust her completely, you won't see any signs of unfaithfulness. They say that in any broken relationship, there has always been someone to run away to, because there is no way a breakup could happen that quickly. This third person has already been planted as evidence to frame someone innocent, that's how the world works, well, the demoralised world of some people…’

‘Okay, let's say I trust you, so what do I do now, hmm? Escape to another world where things will become even more messy and more complicated?’

‘Oh my, you're a pessimist, aren't you? Things don't necessarily have to be messy, it all depends on how you handle them.’

‘But I love Milada!’ Rocco’s words sounded as sure as hell.

‘You do?’

‘Okay, so it looks like I made a mistake. Goodbye then!’ And now the owl rose, its undamaged wing spread out proudly as if it was preparing to fly.

‘No, no, wait! Suppose all of your predictions for the future are true. What do you think the scenario of my ideal life looks like?’

‘Well, I can only say that I can give you a sense of CLARITY, or rather you can provide it for yourself.’

‘And…’

‘And nothing. When you see your life from the outside, all of a sudden everything becomes clear. That’s it.’

‘That’s it? Nothing more?’

‘No. Unless…’

‘Yes, I’m listening.’

‘Unless you do not follow my advice and in a month or so my superiors will order an audit and check that you have followed the rules. If not, there could be serious consequences…’

‘Such as?’

‘Well, there may be times when one day will last forever for you.’

‘How come?’

‘Well, you won't recognise what day you are on because every second of the previous day will be exactly the same the next day.’

‘What about the weather, what about the passengers I take? They are all different every day…’

‘Are they?’

‘Yes, at least physically.’

'Exactly. Physically. Your new reality will be about your interior dressed outside, so you won't recognise anything new in it. Everything will be the same, a faithful copy of something that has already happened.’

‘But why? What have I done to deserve this?’

‘Don't ask me why, because I don't know. We, owls, cannot change the once imposed trajectory of time. My job is not invented by me, I also have superiors who are able to tell me who my next client is, because I wouldn't be able to find them myself. And that includes throwing me under their wheels…’

‘You mean all your customers are drivers?’

‘Pretty much. Many broken souls up there.’

*

The next day, early in the morning, just after the night shift, Rocco booked a flight to Stockholm. He had to start somewhere, and the only untouched ground seemed to lie nearly a thousand miles away. It looks like it was the first day of the rest of his better life.

– THE END –

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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