Road to Rome

The receptionist looked back and forth at the two suspicious guests standing in front of him. After a long time, he said nothing. He accepted Marco's generous tip and the false excuse about "glass cuts", and followed Marco's instructions without complaint. Asked to tear a page out of the guest book.Noticing that Antonio looked like a tramp, the front desk staff went into the dark storage room and lost and found office, found a pair of leather shoes that were slightly deformed by heavy objects, and put them on the reception desk without socks.

"Thank you." Marco spoke ahead of Antonio, and smiled at the hotel staff, which gave Antonio a vague premonition, "What's your name?"

"Kenny, but people call me 'Big K'."

"Okay, listen carefully, Big K, turn around and face the wall, that's right, face the wall. This will ensure that you won't see which direction our car is going, and don't lie if someone asks, I Never liked forcing people to lie for me. If you tell anyone in any way what we look like and where we're going - I don't care if the 'other' is a cop or a hunk with a gun - I'll go back to this shit myself, Cut out your tongue, shoot you in the back of the head, and send your poor parents the severed tongue."

Kenny stood motionless against the wall, making no sound.It took Antonio a moment to realize that he was shaking.The priest wanted to say something, maybe apologize, or comfort the terrified front desk employee, but in the end decided not to, took the shoes, and trotted out after the career criminal.

Looking in the sun, the damage to the car was more serious than Antonio had imagined.The left side mirror and window were shattered, the rear windshield was gone, and the passenger seat was littered with sharp debris.There was dried blood on the driver's seat, as well as on the steering wheel and dashboard.Antonio carefully brushed the broken glass off the seat and closed the door.Marco slid into the driver's seat slowly, frowning tightly, and took several deep breaths before starting the engine.

"Are you okay?" Antonio asked.

"As good as a man who's been shot." Marco glanced at him. "I'm fine, Father."

It didn't seem to be all right, Antonio looked at Marco's side face, trying to judge whether the light was too strong, or the other person's face was indeed paler than last night.What is certain is that Marco is very tired, and the bags under the eyes are obvious, as if they were drawn in charcoal.The hotel and the nameless town quickly disappeared behind the woods, and Marco kept staring at the road without saying a word.

About 10 minutes later, they pulled up at a deserted gas station.The petrol pump was operated by a dark-skinned woman in her 50s and [-]s, wearing a black jacket and stained orange overalls.She bent over the glassless car window and announced loudly that there was no gas today.

"It's all gone to war!" she shouted, not knowing whether she had bad ears or thought the customers were hard of hearing. "Nothing for the fourth day in a row! The tanker truck never comes! Do you want breakfast? There's coffee , bacon and eggs! Buy together for a discount! The coffee is hot! Good coffee! Not the disgusting stuff sold elsewhere!"

Marco asked if she had a phone.

"Yes! Yes!" she roared. "Come here!"

The two got out of the car and walked towards the low bungalow behind the oil pump.The shoes were too big, like walking on two kayaks, and Antonio tried to press his toes against the toes, hoping he wouldn't look too much like a duck.The bungalow has no floor and is as sandy as the outside, a strange mix of living room, makeshift auto repair shop, small shop, warehouse and restaurant.A large white enamel pot was hot on the stove, and Antonio could smell what was inside without lifting the lid.The hot coffee smelled warm and strong, like roasted hazelnuts and freshly cut branches, much better than the hot muddy water that the Bishop's Mansion had long provided.

Marco bought two meals, but instead of sitting with Antonio to eat, he ran straight to the phone.A faded curtain separated the telephone from the makeshift counter. Antonio could clearly hear the click of the dial, but he couldn't hear what Marco was saying.While waiting for the operator to connect the line, Marco walked back and forth behind the curtain, tapping his fingers on the greasy glass window.He called at least four different numbers and the dial rattled four times.

It wasn't until Antonio started drinking his second cup of coffee that Marco opened the curtain, sat down across the table, took two sips of cold coffee, and didn't touch the fried egg on the plate.

"It's your turn," Marco said, raising his eyebrows as if to question why Antonio was still sitting still.

Antonio almost asked, "What's my turn?", then realized that Marco meant the phone, got up mechanically, and went behind the curtain.There was a dial and public service guide on the windowsill, but Antonio didn't need it.

"Yes, they will answer my call, my name is Pelligrini," he told the high-pitched operator, waited a few minutes, wrapped the phone cord around his index finger, unwound it, rewound it, and waited for the line Finally connected, he continued: "Good morning, Father Weber, I'm Pelligrini, yes, no, this is a bit complicated, I may not have much time to explain, can I speak to Father Clement?"

The voice from the other end of the phone line suddenly became indistinct, as if someone covered the receiver with his hand, and it took a long time for the hand to move away. It was Father Weber's voice: "I'm afraid Father Clement is not here."

"When does he come back?"

"I don't know. If you want to stay—"

"I need to leave a message, thank you. If possible, please call him back as soon as possible, this is the number, I will wait here. Tell him," Antonio closed his eyes, and choose his words, "please tell him this is related to the furniture van , it is urgent, and I am with the receiver."

"Furniture van?" The other party's voice was full of suspicion.

"Father Clement will understand."

"Ok."

"Thank you, Father Weber."

He hung up the phone and went back to the table, noticing that Marco had eaten only a few eggs, the bacon fat congealed, enclosing the meat and a few canned beans like a translucent cobweb.Antonio was worried about his wounds and was about to ask, but a middle-aged woman in orange overalls came over and filled their cups with coffee. The priest had no choice but to swallow the question back, smiling and thanking the owner of the gas station for his service.

"Is everything going well?" Marco asked, putting a cigarette to his lips and pulling out a match.The middle-aged woman strode up and snatched the combustibles, yelling "sparks," "smoke," and "explosion."Marco put the cigarettes back in the carton and made a face at Antonio.

"We won't know until New York calls back." The priest replied.

"What a coincidence, me too."

they wait.Three 10 minutes, one hour, one whole morning.Around nine o'clock, a pickup truck delivered the day's newspaper and a basket of fresh vegetables.Then two more cars stopped, were told they were out of gas, and turned around in the direction of the town.Marco and Antonio got together to study the newspaper carefully, reading all the articles.It's almost all war news, and it's getting closer to America: Suspicious spotter balloons spotted off the coast of Los Angeles, more munitions carriers attacked on Atlantic lanes, FCC cuts TV schedules to 4 hours per week.Next came various opinion articles, half-page recruiting advertisements, and finally the news in New York City.

"Here, look, 'Shooting incident, intentional arson'." Antonio pointed to the line he was reading to Marco. "There is no mention of you, nor the number of casualties."

"There is no need to talk about the number of casualties if there are no casualties, right?" Marco rubbed his temples and pushed the newspaper away, "I called the restaurant and the bar, and they didn't see Dad, it's normal, Dad doesn't Would hide somewhere like that. The foreman said there were already reporters sniffing outside the door this morning. I told them to open as normal and don’t tell anyone I called, especially not to reporters.”

The phone rang suddenly.Antonio jumped up, stepped behind the curtain in two steps, and grabbed the receiver hopefully.But the call was made to the gas station, asking if there was any gasoline today. Before Antonio could answer, he began to complain about the many inconveniences in life, and even the school bus was about to run out of fuel.The priest covered the phone with his hand, gestured to the woman in overalls behind the counter, handed her the phone, and fled back to the dining table.

There was no call after that.Marco went out once, smoked a cigarette away from the oil pump, and came back looking even worse.Antonio couldn't tell if it was emotion or the gunshot wound.When he called the Episcopal Palace again after [-] p.m., the operator told him there was no answer and asked if he wanted to try again.Antonio replied "No, thank you" and hung up the phone.

"I have to go." After the wall clock behind the counter rang five times, Marco announced, "You can follow, but if you prefer to stay here and wait for the call, I have no problem."

"Where to go?"

"My house has a place where I can rest for a short time. Dad may have arrived." Marco deliberately turned his head and glanced at the woman who was repairing the car, signaling that it is not appropriate to talk too much in front of strangers.

"I think I'd better wait here for the call."

"Whatever you want." Marco shrugged, "Goodbye, Father, and good luck."

"You too."

The door closed softly.The woman in overalls crawled under the chassis of the car, banged on something metal, and cursed under her breath.Antonio walked to the phone and looked out through the dusty glass.Marco was still about ten steps away from the car, and from the way he walked, it was obvious that he was in pain.Antonio put his hand on the phone receiver, and he didn't know the meaning of this action. Did he really believe that Father Clement would call back?During the three years that Antonio lived in the mansion, Father Clement left the office very few times, and even ate lunch there.

He rushed out the door quickly, took off his obstructing leather shoes, ran across the compacted mud, and chased the car that had just come onto the road.Marco quickly braked and stopped on the side of the road to wait.

"Not much faith in God, huh?" Marco asked, watching Antonio slide into the passenger seat, panting.

"It has nothing to do with faith. God never abandons anyone." Antonio fastened his seat belt and took a long breath, "But the church is not necessarily the case."

Marco winked at him, briefly dimpled, and restarted the car.

The remaining gasoline could not support the damaged machine for ten kilometers.After confirming that the engine was completely out of ignition, the two pushed the car into the bushes together, broke off the leafy branches, covered the exposed taillights and roof, and then continued along the road in the twilight.Marco's condition deteriorated rapidly. At the beginning, he had to stop and rest every [-] meters, and gradually he stopped every two or three steps to catch his breath.Antonio offered to help him, but Marco shook his head in refusal, staggering off the road into a narrow dirt road almost swallowed by bushes.

"Not far." Marco promised, walking in front of Antonio, "it's a wooden house."

It was almost completely dark, everything was soaked in dark blue twilight, shadow upon shadow, nothing could be seen clearly.Antonio raised his hands to shield his face from being scratched by the branches.Marco suddenly let out a low cry and tripped over something. Antonio touched his elbow after groping in the dark for a while, then went up to find his shoulder and shook slightly: "Are you okay?"

There was no answer, and Marco didn't get up.Antonio called his name a few more times, but there was no response.The priest moved aside, felt Marco's face and neck, and was slightly relieved to make sure he was still breathing and his heart was beating.Antonio then touched the gunshot wound on his side, the bandage had been soaked in blood and was sticky and wet.

The woods were silent, not even a night bird call, probably too sparse and not many animals.Antonio tugged Marco with his uninjured hand so that he leaned against him, looking down from time to time to listen to his breathing, praying that the sound would not stop suddenly.

The moon came out, and silver light poured down from the naked night sky, slightly diluting the too thick darkness between the trees.Antonio suddenly noticed the silhouette of the chimney not far away, and the triangular roof below.As Marco promised, a wooden house embedded in a small forest clearing, but there is no light at all, and if there is no outline of the chimney, it cannot be seen in the shadow of the forest.

"All right. All right," Antonio whispered to himself, "Come on."

An unconscious person is much heavier than Antonio imagined.He had to use his burned arm, grit his teeth, and drag Marco inch by inch in the direction of the cabin.It may have taken twenty or ten minutes, perhaps three hours, and the angle of the moonlight shifted soundlessly, now clearly illuminating the wooden steps leading to the gate.Antonio left Marco in the driveway, pillowed on his rolled-up coat, ran up the steps and knocked hard on the door.

Of course there was no response.He lifts the front rug, examines the window sills and flower pots, looking for a hidden spare key.At last he ran back to Marco, searched all his pockets, and found several keys.Just as the priest tried one by one with trembling hands, there was a creaking sound of wooden planks from somewhere, and an owl uttered a low and long mournful cry in the woods.