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It was a cloudy day in the Green Dolphin Street Prison area. At times like this, Enrico Pucci had a habit to light the incense to protect himself from unwanted troubles, besides counting prime numbers. He didn't like this kind of weather. There were no visitors right now, and the priest could rest. He sat down in a chair and counted prime numbers. This calmed him down.
The rest did not last long. Ten minutes later, there was a knock on the office door.
“MA152403 wants to talk to you, Father Pucci!” He heard the voice of the guard. Enrico memorized this nickname by the last four numbers. It was his twin brother. He wondered what brought his brother to come here now.
“Come in!” Pucci continued to sit in his place. The door opened, and the tall man in a blue bodysuit with a white furry hat entered the office. He was especially distinguished by the habit of walking on tiptoes. It was a miracle that his legs were not injured. As Pucci later found out, Weather was a victim of lynch. The police and ambulance discovered he had multiple bruises all over his body. Enrico still regretted that his brother was subjected to this. He only wanted to intimidate him, not push him to the grave. Enrico never found out why the private detective did this to his brother. Weather held his file in his hand.
“Good afternoon, Father Pucci,” answered the guest. Enrico was a little embarrassed that he called him Father so officially, without mockery, even though they were related. The man put the file on the table and sat down in front of the priest.
“Good afternoon, Weather,” the priest put his hands on his knees. ”Is something bothering you?”
“Yes,” he nodded and put his hand to his lips, thinking. “How can I explain to you? I-I guess it's not that important…”
“Speak as it is. I will listen.”
“I've been worried about something lately, Father Pucci, and because of that it's hard for me to live,” Weather replied with difficulty. Pucci sighed. “I just had this thought that everyone has a memory except me, and perhaps it will never come back. I'm worried about this.”
Pucci nodded after listening to his brother's story.
“And what do you want from me?”
“Get rid of these bad thoughts. Could you give me some advice on that?”
“Yes. Healthy sleep and eating at least three times a day.” the priest answered without a shadow of sarcasm. “Don't you have time for breakfast?”
“I thought that I would hear good advice from you, Father.”
“It’s not up to me to solve your problem.” Enrico got up and walked back to turn on the kettle. He wanted to drink something hot. “Have you visited the prison psychologist?”
“I didn't think about it at first. It is much more pleasant for me to deal with someone who believes in miracles, and who invites me here every year on the 5th of June.”
“You are comfortable with me?” the priest smiled. “I see. I have nothing against it.”
“I have a suspicion that you know something about me,” Weather answered honestly and looked at the priest with his blue eyes. The corner of Pucci's lips lifted nervously.
“All I know is that you were born on my birthday, and since you are an unusual prisoner, I decided to cheer you up a little. Brighten up the paints.”
The kettle clicked, indicating that the water was boiling. Father took out two mugs and herbs and made tea for two. He put the mug and saucer in front of the Weather and then did the same on his side.
“Thank you, Father Pucci, for your mercy. And for tea too,” despite his gratitude, Weather was in no hurry to take a hot mug. The priest nodded.
“So you are worried about bad thoughts?” His brother nodded. “Do you want me to cheer you up, or do you want to learn how to deal with these thoughts on your own?
“Both,” Weather smiled. “To begin with, I would like to hear your opinion.”
“I believe that God is testing us, including you. No one knows why he needs this and how long he will test you. God's work is righteous. I can only pray that he hears you. I hope that one day your memory will return to you, otherwise you will have to live with this. Do you believe in God, Weather?”
“I'm ready to believe in anything, Father, only if-”
“God is almighty, and you should not neglect his power.” Pucci interrupted him. “You can do ordinary things, but know that He watches over our lives every day, and if he took something from you, you should not play games with Him. Don't make Him angry with ignorance.
“I couldn’t think of that!” Weather exclaimed. “I pray, as you advised me.”
“Good.”
“But it’s not enough to calm my spirit.”
Pucci sighed heavily, touched his tea mug to check its temperature. It was still hot.
“I understand you,” he said after a pause. “Yes, prayers alone are not enough. The main thing is that your spirit must also be strong and pure. Have you tried meditation?”
“I tried,” the younger brother grabbed his chin and thought. The elder brother closed his palms and relaxed his shoulders. Without waiting for the results of his brother's thoughts, Pucci replied.
“I may be wrong, but perhaps you are doing something wrong,” hearing this, Weather raised an eyebrow. “It's okay,” he smiled. “I will help you. Peace does not come immediately, and this is ok. Now relax and close your eyes.” Weather looked at the tea cup and reluctantly did as the priest said. “Listen to my voice…”
Honestly, it was hard for Pucci to relax this way. He had his own special way of resting. He only heard about this method from others. If this method does not help, then Pucci will try his own method on his brother.
“Your eyelids get heavy, your muscles relax, even your fingertips relax and feel calm,” he continued. The priest caught himself thinking that he is now in control of his brother, and he sees his calm face in front of him. A funny thought. After a short pause, he continued. “Inhale and exhale slowly. No danger will disturb you,” Pucci himself counted out when to continue. The incense helped him to stay calm. “Feel your body. Feel your feet, hands, fingertips. Do you feel how tense they are? Let go of this tension. Feel how light they are now.”
The priest paused again and took a sip of tea. He noticed that Weather's fingers were moving, twitching. Pucci didn't know if meditation was working for his brother. Weather's face was calm. He remembered Weather nearly killed him years ago. He remembered a face filled with anger. Pucci still remembers that meeting and what he said to him. This is the only phrase that "living" Weather said. His heart sank.
“Do not forget to breathe smoothly. Inhale, exhale. All worries disappear, only peace remains. Your body is as light as a cloud. All the tension goes away.” The priest paused. “As soon as I count to ten, you will open your eyes.”
Pucci counted slowly, tightening the necessary moment. When he counted to ten, Weather slowly opened his eyes. His gaze was as hazy as before. He glanced at Enrico, who was looking at him cross-legged. Then Weather glanced at his tea. He touched the mug - warm. The man took a sip.
“How do you feel, Weather?” the priest asked.
The man replied with a displeased face:
“Now I am upset. The tea has cooled down.”
“How do you feel after meditation?” clarified Pucci.
“Concerned, especially when you open your eyes. And in the process, I even managed to get some sleep.”
“It's better to do it in your cell. I just gave instructions. You can calm yourself down in different ways. Reading books, for example. Mind you, while you are relaxing, time goes on,” he glanced at the tea. “so choose your moment wisely. And yet, don't be upset about tea. People should drink it cold. This is disappointing, I know, but much more healthy. Hot tea causes esophageal cancer. Drink it warm, not too hot.”
Weather looked away with displeasure. Pucci took a sip from his cup and took his brother's case file. Despite what happened, he was always interested to know Weather's interests, his state of health and so on. However, nothing new was written on the first three pages. He opened a medical journal; there was nothing new except stomach problems and headaches. Pucci looked at the prison psychologist's visit log. "Anxiety, anxiety, detachment, aggressiveness..." - such words he met in the recordings. He saw the same records from all prisoners, but Enrico knew that his brother's anxiety didn’t come from scratch. Before going to prison, he underwent a forensic psychiatric examination for a long time. Pucci wasn’t present there, but he could imagine what he went through. He heard that his brother behaved inappropriately, with aggression and detachment towards everyone. It was important for Father Pucci that his twin brother was alive.
Enrico glanced at Weather, who was drinking iced tea.
“Do you have any more questions, Weather?” the priest asked.
The man in the hat poured a mug of nearly empty tea.
“I don’t think so, Father.”
“Don’t be shy.”
The prisoner sighed heavenly.
“I will practice your method, and then we'll see.”
The Father silently looked at his brother, hoping that he would change his mind and talk about his problems more, and then got up and sat down at the writing table. He wrote down the record in a file with his fountain pen. As he wrote, Weather sat in a comfortable chair and relaxed as Pucci had recommended. Finished with the writing, Enrico turned to his brother, who was resting, and walked over to him.
“Since you don’t have much to say, we will finish for today.”
Weather opened his eyes and took his case file from Pucci's hands, but didn’t intend to get up yet.
“You can go,” Father continued.
Weather looked at the dark clouds from the window. Pucci didn't know what he was thinking about.
“What is the problem?” he asked, trying not to act sarcastically.
“There’s a storm coming,” Weather explained monotonously.
“And?”
“You'd better close the window, Father. The storm will be strong.”
The priest turned and walked over to the window to close it. It would be better if the wind didn’t come here. As soon as he turned back, Pucci almost fell: his brother was standing behind him, looking into his eyes with an indifferent face. "It is a trap!" thought Father in panic. He didn't even have the strength to say anything. Weather walked closer to the priest and whispered in his ear.
“Do you know someone named… Perla?”
Now Pucci is completely speechless. He felt his pulse quicken. He couldn't move. Father stood like a statue, unable to answer. He did not understand how Weather knew about Perla, unless he remembered her name deep in his soul or even in his stand. It can't be! Whitesnake erased all memories of what happened to him! All kinds of terrible thoughts were spinning in his head now. How did this happen?
“Father Pucci?” Weather called, whispering to Pucci. “So what?”
“Don’t scare me! Get away!” Pucci snapped. This is the first thing he could say. Weather moved a few centimeters away from him. “I don't know about anyone named Perla!”
Father bit his lip, stressed, and Weather noticed it. Pucci also understood this. His answer did not suit him.
“You better leave now!”
“Forgive me for scaring you, Father. I didn’t tell anyone about her, even psychologists and psychiatrists.” Pucci wanted to kick him out by force, stamp his feet, yell, but this behavior was unacceptable for the priest, so he endured and listened to Weather. “I only remember her name, but I don’t know who she is. I thought that I could trust you with all the secrets, as in confession, especially considering your concern about me.”
“No,” Pucci shook his head. “I don't think I know her, Weather. Sorry.”
“I hope you don’t think I’m out of my mind? Because I myself do not know whether I am sane.”
“No, I don’t think you’re crazy. I understand you're just lost, that's all. I hope you will remember something else in the near future.” Pucci gave him this false hope and didn’t feel remorse.
The man stood for a while and nodded with a sad expression on his face. Then he turned and walked a short distance from him, heading for the door. He suddenly stopped, remembering something. Weather turned to the priest, who remained standing in his place.
“I remember her scream. A terrible scream,” hearing this Pucci put his hand to his lips. “Are you sure you don’t know anything about her?”
"No. It's just awful…”
“I wonder how she is now? Where is she?” he asked these questions to himself, rather than to the priest, and went to the door. “Goodbye, Father Pucci.”
“Goodbye, Weather. I'll be waiting.”
Weather opened the door and quickly left Pucci's office. Left alone, the man sat down on his desk, pondering what had just happened. Weather did not completely lose his memory, but deep down he remembered the names. Perla... It has been a long time since he heard someone call her name. Especially from Weather. Pucci remembered her looks, hair, laughter, how they played, how they were friends in childhood. And now she is no longer there, and there is nothing left but these memories. She was still too young to die so tragically. He felt guilt for her death. He didn't think things could turn out like this. After that, his whole life turned into many shades of gray. Because of this wound, the first tear began to flow down Enrico Pucci's cheek, followed by the second.
Of course he remembered Perla. How could he forget about her?
The storm began.