The Lighthouse

At the end of my long life, i found myself on a old vessel i bought with my remaining coins, coins i had ammased with time and fatigue.

I had finally mustered the courage to visit the true end of the blue planet, kilometres away from the concrete roads and the gorgeous green hills that once formed my home city, now i was stuck in-between the crispy waters of an hostile ocean, all alone, with no one to embrace other then myself.

As i simply sat down with a chair to look at the foggy horizon, my tired and cataract ridden eyes barely managed to spot a feeble light stabbing the fog clouds despite it’s weakness: I had stumbled upon an abandoned lighthouse.

As my decrepit vessel continued to slowly float around aimlessly, i couldn’t do anything but admire the rotting wood building, it’s bright colours now completely faded and turned into a muddish brown, while the glass that once encased it’s luminous bulb was now completely shattered by the power of the elements.

The tower seemed as if it had been left there for decades, perhaps even a century, and yet it was still standing proudly.

I couldn’t take my eyes off of it.

The water started to move even more intensely, shaking the poor boat with excessive strength, i could barely even hold to my cane from how violent the waves had become. My vessel was getting ripped in half by the elements, and yet, i couldn’t take my eyes away from that light.

Despite the flickering nature of it, the bulb still shined with as much power as the sun, an indomitable force of human genius that withstood the test of time despite it all, i couldn’t help myself but shed a few tears from such a spectacle.

My cane suddenly fell into the sea, and as I kissed the vessel’s wooden floor with my dried lips and my long beard, i came to a realization:

I couldn’t get up.

My body was in pain from the fall. My potassium levels were approaching zero. My lonely arm could only try to push itself up, but without my cane, it would have been a futile endeavour.

I looked up with the little strength that i had.

I looked up at the lighthouse.

The lighthouse continued to weakly shine it’s light. Trying to remove the strong fog.

I felt as if it was trying to help me, it’s light maybe notifying another vessel of my presence.

I couldn’t help but remember those old times of my youth when i asked for help, and received none.

Now, powerless, i couldn’t ask for help, and yet, someone, or rather something, was giving me a thin line of hope.

I continued to watch the lighthouse, i still couldn’t get up.

My breathing was getting heavier, my heart started to throb to a point where my chest felt as if it had been stabbed by numerous daggers, my eyesight got even weaker, and the only thing that kept me company was a mere lightbulb.

I brought a phone with me before i started this travel, just in case anyone wanted to contact me.

No one did.

My friends had either all died, or age had weakened them to the point that my name, to them, was nothing more then a mere word with no significance.

My parents had long abandoned this mortal plain, with the only person left being my children.

I tried to be a good father, but the pains of my youth never truly let me be what i should have become.

Now that I have reached the final stretch, i was here, stuck in a boat that was just about to collapse, barely able to even breathe.

But as i tried one last time to look at the lighthouse, my eyes saw something: A child.

A child waving at me.

A child that looked just like me.

He was there, just waving.

Holding something i couldn’t quite see well.

Maybe a plush, maybe a computer.

I couldn’t know.

At first, i felt only a sense of confusion.

Then, i felt another sense,

Comfort.

I felt comforted for once.

I don’t know if i was hallucinating or not, but, his presence gifted me a momentary time of bliss.

I tried to wave him back, but my lonesome hand was too weak to even move.

I just smiled back, as he continued to wave.

Then, he left.

I was now stuck again with no one to wait for me.

I thought it was the end. The final chapter of my story, after all my time writing on a basic desk, with a boring keyboard, this was the true finale to it all.

I didn’t wanna go.

Then he came back with two other people who looked just like me, but at other stages of my life.

They also waved at me.

I smiled at them.

They comforted me once again, and, as the vessel finally broke, i finally closed my eyes, and let it all go away.

The sea calmly brought my lonesome self to a shore, too weak to even open my eyes, but just strong enough to feel the sensations: The loud yet soothing breaking of the waves, the wind that made the leaves rumble and produce a melody of pure relaxation, the coarse sand that was now all over my body forming a invisible casket to protect me, and the insects who, after god knows how many years, finally had something to feast upon as they bit my flesh away from me.

I should have been losing it by now.

I should be crying and shouting that i did not wanna go away.

My attachment to life was still Oh so strong in me. I couldn’t let him be forgotten, and neither could i let all the wonderful people that entered and left my life disappear into the ether.

I should have been fighting for my life just as much as i had done for the past 72 years.

And yet, thanks to those apparitions, my mind finally felt at ease.

My biggest fear in life was dying alone, but now that it was happening, i could only smile, and feel free from all the turmoil that i had to pass through my entire life.

All the insults, all the hurt, even my illness finally faded away, as i managed to slain it at the cost of my own life.

The planet was finally reabsorbing me back in to continue the never ending, majestic beauty that is the circle of life, i was repaying my debt with Mother Nature.

I was finally going back to my roots.

The Bar Visit

 It was a bleak and foggy evening of December, 1998.

I was waiting for my train to arrive with somewhat melancholy, this was my last day of my trip in Gorizia, and after a fine dining experience in a restaurant in the border between the "Bel Paese" and the Balkans, I couldn't help but want some after-dinner drink to calm down my rumbling stomach.

Luck would have it that, despite the late hour, a lonesome bar would be open for me to enjoy a refreshing drink, it invited me with warm lights and an external façade built like a late 800's marbled palace, and I, almost like a moth to a flame, entered the premises.

As I crossed the glass door, I got presented with a wonderfully dark wood floor shining as it had just been barely cleaned from all gunk and garbage, a barrage of Baroque-styled paintings covered the windowful walls, also of a dark brown color to keep in theme with the pavement, while the roof was colored in a lighter brownish-yellow tint, pleasantly illuminating the area with a relaxing hue, in the middle of it all, a bar with a mysterious youth, dressed in a simple red and green striped shirt and a somewhat rough looking beard completed the scene, and as he saw me, he simply uttered seven words with enormous enthusiasm:

"Hello! Can I get you anything, sir.?" 

How could I resist such a relaxing and pleasant figure's request? I swiftly walked my way onto the bar, ready to ask for a drink but most importantly, to ask about those wonderful artworks that surrounded the tables, painting of beautiful technique and of incredible quality that mimicked the style of the great masters of the '600: The skilful use of Chiaroscuro on the subjects, the masterfully crafted composition of the subjects that could rival Bernini's gorgeous posing of his statue work with an extreme emphasis on pain and ecclesiastical clemency, to the incredible use of bright and somewhat oversaturated colors in well defined dark borders that gave the paintings a surreal blend of academicism and freshness, it was something that only a new artist with a bold new vision could propose in their work.

I was intrigued.

"Hi there, I'd like a Negroni thank you very much." - I asked the young man, ready to strike a conversation when he least expected it.

"Very well sir, if you can please just give me one moment while I prepare everything...." - He told me with kindness and professionality, as he took bottles and a mixing glass.

I looked at the youth's technique with fine interest, looking at the way he opened the bottle with finesse before flipping the bottle in a big and fancy wine glass, the liquid inside pouring with ease and elegance on the glass surface.

It was true skill, an hand full of experience, something you didn't really imagine from just looking at his soft and round face, not even the beard could make him look older, it was clearly someone who at most was in their early 20's, and yet, it seemed as if he was doing this job for his entire life.

The curiosity got the best of me, and so, I went for my usual: A big ol' talk.

"Y'know, I was looking at the paintings in the wall.... Do you happen to know who made them?" - Even if he wasn't the painter, I still had to know whoever such peculiar artist was, for my encyclopaedia would have been incomplete without them - "I really enjoy the style, and I'd like to know more about their creative process for my book."

The young man looked at me with a big smile, and it definitely wasn't because he had finished to prepare the drink.

As he gave me the glass, full of ice and with a nice slice of lemon on the edge between the crystalized sand and the lavender-smelling air, he immediately struck me with an answer that made my blood freeze - "Those silly paintings? I made them when I was younger, I doubt they deserve to be immortalized in a book."

Silly drawings? These wonderfully painted subjects and those acid colors are silly to you?

I had to keep myself composed, as hard as it was, maybe he was just underplaying his skills to sell my craftmanship better, I had to know more.

"Silly? I'd say they are quite unique, actually." - I threw the bait to see if it was all a play, a goof even, for I still couldn't believe those sickening words - "Fusing Baroque techniques with an usage of color that's similar to Paul Gaughin's Cloisonnisme is no small feat, I wouldn't downplay your skill if I where you."

"Sir, I'm afraid art was never my thing." - How could he seriously tell me this with such a joyous and straight face? Was he insane? - "Everyone in my friend circle told me how dangerous artists lives can become, and I'd rather have a stable living than even bother to try and sell those dumb paintings for pennies."

As I was sipping the drink, I started to feel nauseous, how could this person minimize their work like this? All the effort, all the love used, just to call it dumb? 

I wanted to slam my fist on the bar, but I couldn't lose any chances of even trying to bring him back to the way of the arts, and so, I kept myself composed....

"This Negroni is quite good, Mr....." - I had to find out his name for the book, He deserved a small spot at least.

"Dario" - The youth replied - "Dario Casini"

Dario.

What a lovely name.

"Well, Mr Casini, your drinks are just as good as your artworks, Methinks." - maybe it was a futile endeavour, but even being able to buy any of these pieces would have been a small victory, so I was shooting every bullet I had - "How did you even learn, you know, how to do all of this with so much efficiency in the first place?"

"I had to pick up my dad's trade and be good at it, not much more to it." - He told me with that big smile - "As for painting, I kind of just... Looked at local artists when I was a kid and copied them, I'm no more than a copy of a copy."

He's trying so hard to minimize his artistic efforts.

"That's just how everyone starts, did you think Rafaello learned how to draw on a whim?" - I had to continue pressing him, I HAD to knock some sense and let him understand just how talented he was - "It's the practice and the experience, both artistic and in life, that makes artists go from copycat to master."

"Well, even if that was the case, art only brought me problems in my professional life" - He rebutted, trying to stop me from continuing to try and make him change his mind - "I tried living off art, but all I got was pennies and failure."

"Pursuing art is simply not worth it in today's world."

The dread that hit me when I heard those words was immeasurable.

My head span from both the alcohol and from the reality of this situation, this person had been afflicted by life's unfair and cruel punishment against artistry, and instead of getting back up and fighting it, they had succumbed to it.

My worst fear in life had hit this talented young man, turning him into an ignorant common man.

Life had turned him into the Italiano Medio.

I shed a tear, before continuing to talk to him - "I understand your point of view, as much as I'm against it." - I was still shocked, but at this point, I was starting to think that it was a battle I had no chance of winning - "At least you can always treat art as an hobby, wouldn't that be cool?"

"I've got very few moments for myself, I'm afraid. This job sucks up all my time just for... Well, let's just not linger on this any longer, I'd rather not ruin your evening any further." - He said - "But, seeing how passionate you are about art and how much you care for my silly, youthful drawings... Would you like to get one of them? It's not like I sell any of my paintings anyways, so...."

My eyes opened, I guess in the end, even if I couldn't convince him, I had at least gained an important piece for both my collection and my writings.

"Oh that'd just be lovely! You wouldn't mind if, alongside getting your painting obviously, I'd also write about it in my notebook like how I was planning to do at the start of our conversation, right?" - I asked for permission, obviously if he didn't want to be part of Le Nuove Vite I wouldn't have put him in there, much to my dismay.

"Well, it's your painting now, so you can do about anything you want!" - He replied with something that, for once at least, didn't destroy me from the inside - "Just let me know which one's your favorite and I'll just give it to you!"

I proceeded to point at one peculiar drawing: The effigy of a minotaur getting cut in half by an heroic figure that looked like a fusion between a knight and Theseus, while the Aegean Sea's waves broke on the edge of the mythological labyrinth, it was the most striking and gorgeous of the fifteen paintings exposed to the bar's customers, and I just had to bring it back home. The young man carefully grabbed the entire frame before giving it to me without any protections.

I immediately got 90 million lire out of my pocket and into the young man's hands, and as I did, the young man gave me a strange look - "Sir, the Negroni is only 7 thousand lire, you definitely gave me too much for it!"

I laughed.

"Oh, those aren't just for the Negroni." - I explained the young man - "This painting deserves to be paid, no matter what you think."

The young man was flustered and confused, that was a life changing sum of money after all - "Sir I...I...."

"No need to be confused." - I decided to comfort him - "You've earned them."

"But promise me one thing."

He continued to look at me in disbelief, it's like his way with words and all he had left now was simple grunts.

"You'll get back to painting."

"Okay?"

I walked my way to the door with my new painting, but not before waving goodbye to Dario.

"Wait, hold on sir!" - He shouted just before I was about to leave - "What's your name! You never told me!"

He was right, I forgot to tell him my name.

"Mancuso" - I said with a big smile.

"Mancuso? What an odd name, if I can say" - He was right, it wasn't a common name here in Italy, anyways - "Is it your last name, maybe?"

"Oh, no no." - I replied to him, still smiling - "My last name is Vasari."

"Vasari?"

"Like the art historian?"

He knew.

My dear ancestor, Giorgio Vasari.

"Yes, he's my Great-Great-Great-Great-Great grandfather." - Might as well reveal my heritage to this talented youth, for that is my biggest pride in my life besides my work - "You know, with the cash you should visit his house, there's tons of inspiration you can find there for your next painting."

The young man stood there, speechless, as I walked away, saying one last Buona Sera as I went straight for the train station.

What a sad conversation, this was.

Seeing a young man getting hurt like this, all because society's mechanisms crush people's passions for profits.

Just thinking about it made my stomach rumble in pain.

But at least, I came out of there with a new painting, and most importantly, with a new artist to add to my encyclopaedia.

I sat at the station's bench, waiting for my train to arrive.

I had another 30 minutes before I left Gorizia for good.

I started writing on my notebook all the information I had about Mr Casini and about the painting, but as I did, I remembered one crucial thing: I had forgotten to ask the young man for the name of the painting.

Considering I was now the owner of said painting, however, I gave it a bombastic and epic title: Minotauro Sconfitto Dal Cavaliere.

I think it fits the painting.

I don't know where to go next.

Maybe London, or Paris.

Maybe even Bhutan, I haven't been much to Asia since the fall of the Soviet Union.

I heard from the radio that they've been doing some important government reforms, Hmm....

I guess I'll just think about it in the train. 

For now, all my eyes are on this gorgeous painting.

And no one can stop me from writing it in my magnum opus.

I'll make you proud, Ancestor.