22-04-2019, 02:59 PM
Whatever Gets You through the Night Pt. 04
"Empty spaces. What are we living for?
Abandoned places. I guess we know the score.
On and on. Does anybody know
what we are looking for?
Another hero. Another mindless crime.
Behind the curtain. In the pantomime.
Hold the line. Does anybody want to
take it anymore?"
-Queen, "The Show Must Go On"
"How do you put up with all this?" Contessa Helena de San Finzione asked her husband, Count Vincenzo Ramon de San Finzione. She sat by his right side in the back of his convertible limousine as they slowly wound their way through the marketplace. Ahead of them in the parade, the surviving veterans of the original La Squadra de Ultimados sat on a float, laurel wreaths upon their bald and gray, wrinkled heads; still cutting figures in their old parade dress uniforms. And in front of them, the very same Panzer tanks stripped of all German markings and painted Emerald Green, flying the flag of San Finzione and, on all sides, proudly displaying the crest of La Familia Royale; that they followed into battle decades ago, led their way once more. A squadron of Emerald-Green-painted Messerschmitts performed stunt maneuvers overhead.
"The Count may have whatever he wishes on his birthday, Helena." The dashing vision in his full military regalia said, with a look that told her what he planned to wish for later. She took his hand and gave him a look that told him that he may, indeed, have whatever he wished this day; right here in front of The People, while they cheered him on, if he liked. "And right at this moment, he wishes to see His People, happy and free. They know this."
He waved at and then saluted a group of elderly Resistance widows who'd made a banner thanking him.
"Their husbands died for you and they're grateful?" Helen asked.
"They fought and died for San Finzione, Fiamma Mia." Vincenzo corrected her. "For one moment in time, represented by a boy of eleven years who hadn't stopped blubbering since he'd heard the Nazi General hang his Mama and Papa on the radio. They fought to save La Familia Royale, which, by then, was down to that boy."
Helen had been distracted. She thought she'd seen a glint on a rooftop just a second before. When she looked that direction again, she thought she'd seen a flash of Emerald Green, and then the glint was gone and never returned to the rooftop. She looked ahead, where the parade was taking a turn, and saw the limo in front of the tanks. Generalissimo Armando Santori, Supreme Commander of San Finzione's Armed Forces, stood proudly in the back of his convertible, taking bows and blowing kisses.
"You'd think this was all about him." Helena observed, motioning with her head for her husband to check out Santori milking it for the crowd up ahead. She'd been looking for Maria, but she was too far up ahead of them, on the Children's Float. "That HE was there with you, not his dad. How much do you want to bet that one of those costume shop medals is for Personally Killing Hitler With His Bare Hands?"
Vincenzo chuckled, knowing she was probably right.
"He IS the kind of man who will stab you in the back, then call La Policia and tell them that you have a concealed weapon. The Santoris had fishing boats, his father knew smugglers. He brought the Resistance guns, though never as many as we paid him to bring." Vincenzo had another thought but kept it to himself. "Let him take some underserved bows. His ego shall feast for a month from today. Armando is an empty uniform, sewn together from the sacrifices of his forebears and stuffed with undeserved ambitions of the hero's welcome his father and uncles received at the taverna."
"Sounds like someone you should just kill now and save yourself a lot of trouble." Helen mused as they rounded the same corner and she waved to the Yia-Yia she'd seen at that same table in the café every time she passed since Vincenzo brought her home 18 months before. She turned back to him and saw a look on his face that, thanks to Tolkien, the word "dour" popped into her head as fitting it. It had never occured to her before to look up the word's exact meaning. However, given that she usually read it in conjunction with dwarves in the fantasy genre, Helen concluded that it was a look that required a seriously righteous beard to properly pull off, and Vincenzo had one of those.
"Helena," Vincenzo said seriously, putting his smile back on for the adoring public. "The Reigning Monarch has the authority to call for the death of an Enemy of San Finzione, Si. I can snatch a matter from the courts and say, 'I shall hear this case personally for The Good of The People,' and no judge in the land may dispute my ruling." He looked back up and continued his grateful waving to His People, singling out faces in the crowd for special attention; an extra nod or a little "hey" added to his wave just for them. "But I have never forgotten how my parents died. So, I have never exercised that privilege, even for The Good of The People. No matter how many men I have met whose actions caused them to deserve it. Just because I have that right does not mean that I have that right. I would much rather turn an enemy into a friend." Vincenzo looked at Santori as the parade took another corner, coming to the end, where they could drive up La Collina and go home. "Or, if all else fails, a useful stooge."
That got a laugh from Helen. Partly because, up until the end, it sounded like something that one of the other two men in her heart whom Vincenzo knew he shared it with would say. It took her mind off what the signs tended to say about her. Most that paradegoers were holding were meant for Vincenzo. Well-wishes on his birthday, gratitude for all that he had done for his people and was still doing, prayers that God might sustain his glorious reign for all Eternity; made to Helen all the more beautiful by the fact that signs and banners had been written not simply in the four official languages of the country to which she was now "La Contessa," but the occasional flash of others as well. That she knew what they all meant, and that they, too, were well-wishes for her husband, delighted her. Throughout the parade, she'd occasionally point one out and tell him what it said.
"Empty spaces. What are we living for?
Abandoned places. I guess we know the score.
On and on. Does anybody know
what we are looking for?
Another hero. Another mindless crime.
Behind the curtain. In the pantomime.
Hold the line. Does anybody want to
take it anymore?"
-Queen, "The Show Must Go On"
"How do you put up with all this?" Contessa Helena de San Finzione asked her husband, Count Vincenzo Ramon de San Finzione. She sat by his right side in the back of his convertible limousine as they slowly wound their way through the marketplace. Ahead of them in the parade, the surviving veterans of the original La Squadra de Ultimados sat on a float, laurel wreaths upon their bald and gray, wrinkled heads; still cutting figures in their old parade dress uniforms. And in front of them, the very same Panzer tanks stripped of all German markings and painted Emerald Green, flying the flag of San Finzione and, on all sides, proudly displaying the crest of La Familia Royale; that they followed into battle decades ago, led their way once more. A squadron of Emerald-Green-painted Messerschmitts performed stunt maneuvers overhead.
"The Count may have whatever he wishes on his birthday, Helena." The dashing vision in his full military regalia said, with a look that told her what he planned to wish for later. She took his hand and gave him a look that told him that he may, indeed, have whatever he wished this day; right here in front of The People, while they cheered him on, if he liked. "And right at this moment, he wishes to see His People, happy and free. They know this."
He waved at and then saluted a group of elderly Resistance widows who'd made a banner thanking him.
"Their husbands died for you and they're grateful?" Helen asked.
"They fought and died for San Finzione, Fiamma Mia." Vincenzo corrected her. "For one moment in time, represented by a boy of eleven years who hadn't stopped blubbering since he'd heard the Nazi General hang his Mama and Papa on the radio. They fought to save La Familia Royale, which, by then, was down to that boy."
Helen had been distracted. She thought she'd seen a glint on a rooftop just a second before. When she looked that direction again, she thought she'd seen a flash of Emerald Green, and then the glint was gone and never returned to the rooftop. She looked ahead, where the parade was taking a turn, and saw the limo in front of the tanks. Generalissimo Armando Santori, Supreme Commander of San Finzione's Armed Forces, stood proudly in the back of his convertible, taking bows and blowing kisses.
"You'd think this was all about him." Helena observed, motioning with her head for her husband to check out Santori milking it for the crowd up ahead. She'd been looking for Maria, but she was too far up ahead of them, on the Children's Float. "That HE was there with you, not his dad. How much do you want to bet that one of those costume shop medals is for Personally Killing Hitler With His Bare Hands?"
Vincenzo chuckled, knowing she was probably right.
"He IS the kind of man who will stab you in the back, then call La Policia and tell them that you have a concealed weapon. The Santoris had fishing boats, his father knew smugglers. He brought the Resistance guns, though never as many as we paid him to bring." Vincenzo had another thought but kept it to himself. "Let him take some underserved bows. His ego shall feast for a month from today. Armando is an empty uniform, sewn together from the sacrifices of his forebears and stuffed with undeserved ambitions of the hero's welcome his father and uncles received at the taverna."
"Sounds like someone you should just kill now and save yourself a lot of trouble." Helen mused as they rounded the same corner and she waved to the Yia-Yia she'd seen at that same table in the café every time she passed since Vincenzo brought her home 18 months before. She turned back to him and saw a look on his face that, thanks to Tolkien, the word "dour" popped into her head as fitting it. It had never occured to her before to look up the word's exact meaning. However, given that she usually read it in conjunction with dwarves in the fantasy genre, Helen concluded that it was a look that required a seriously righteous beard to properly pull off, and Vincenzo had one of those.
"Helena," Vincenzo said seriously, putting his smile back on for the adoring public. "The Reigning Monarch has the authority to call for the death of an Enemy of San Finzione, Si. I can snatch a matter from the courts and say, 'I shall hear this case personally for The Good of The People,' and no judge in the land may dispute my ruling." He looked back up and continued his grateful waving to His People, singling out faces in the crowd for special attention; an extra nod or a little "hey" added to his wave just for them. "But I have never forgotten how my parents died. So, I have never exercised that privilege, even for The Good of The People. No matter how many men I have met whose actions caused them to deserve it. Just because I have that right does not mean that I have that right. I would much rather turn an enemy into a friend." Vincenzo looked at Santori as the parade took another corner, coming to the end, where they could drive up La Collina and go home. "Or, if all else fails, a useful stooge."
That got a laugh from Helen. Partly because, up until the end, it sounded like something that one of the other two men in her heart whom Vincenzo knew he shared it with would say. It took her mind off what the signs tended to say about her. Most that paradegoers were holding were meant for Vincenzo. Well-wishes on his birthday, gratitude for all that he had done for his people and was still doing, prayers that God might sustain his glorious reign for all Eternity; made to Helen all the more beautiful by the fact that signs and banners had been written not simply in the four official languages of the country to which she was now "La Contessa," but the occasional flash of others as well. That she knew what they all meant, and that they, too, were well-wishes for her husband, delighted her. Throughout the parade, she'd occasionally point one out and tell him what it said.
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