As tears go by

// 28 Lago del Mis

She had put her skies near her seat. No trouble of hampering anyone, the tavern terrace overlooking the lake, hemmed by the towering Monti del Sole, was deserted. The view from the railing was beautiful, the mountains were magnificent, the light pristine as the first day of the world. She put her ski gloves on the table and breathed the mountain. It smelled mountain pine and musk.

She was tired but relaxed. She had skied for hours, going up and down hills covered by woods, jumping ravines, crossing creeks and snow-covered fields.

A fat barmaid walked towards her and smiled.

Anastasya ordered the special day dish, water and beer. The barmaid returned in five minutes with a dish of salami, cheeses, ham, bread, a beer, a jug of water.

Inside the tavern, a thin curly man, slouched over the counter, read the newspaper and smoked. He was the cook and the dishwasher, but during the winter week days there was no work at all. So he spent most of the time reading the newspaper and chain-smoking.

The barmaid stepped in and started to put the chairs on the tables to wash the floor. She made noise.

"Stop to make all that noise, I cannot read," he yelled.

"Could you help me instead of doing nothing?"

"I am busy, bella."

She chuckled "You do nothing."

"Ain't doing nothing. Reading is an essential activity for your brain, it keeps you young and ready, and fights mind diseases."

She scoffed and faced him. "Ready for what? You are stuck in this shitty place moonlighting and you wag your tail as soon as the owner of this flophouse arrives."

He stared at her, grimaced, banged a hand over the table. "Mind your business, I am a chef, not a cleaner."

She laughed. "A chef? You put a salami and prosciutto on a plate, and you call yourself a chef?"

He did not say a word. He did not want to argue with a waitress.

She closed in to face him, and lowered her eyes on the newspaper.

"Hey, let me see..."

"Hey, don't touch my newspaper."

She ripped off the newspaper from him. She shook her head and tapped the picture on the front page."Shit, shit..."

The cook shook his head and clicked his tongue.

"What?"

"She is sitting outside."

"What the hell, who?" he read the title of the article:

"BLONDE HOOKER WASTED MANAGER AND RAN AWAY IN HIS FERRARI"

Under the title, there was a picture of Anastasya. A smiling, hopeful portrait of her.

He walked to the door and looked outside. Confronted her with the picture in the newspaper and backed hastily.

"Fuck, you right, but where is her Ferrari?"

He walked back to the counter and read the article aloud, word after word, as he was a primary pupil.

"Eraclea Mare. Vanni Zanzotto, 35, born in San Donà, a well-known manager, was found dead in a rundown hotel he owned in Revedoli yesterday morning. Witnesses told the Police he met a gorgeous blond and very young prostitute in the nearby night club, offered her food and Prosecco and sneaked away with her only to find the death in his hotel. The corpse of the famous manager was found by a waitress. Police officer explained he has been stabbed madly at least one hundred times, until he bled to death. The Procuratore Capo of Pordenone together with the Direzione Centrale della Polizia Criminale are looking for the woman. The family offered a reward of one hundred thousand euros to everyone able to give the Police cues to bust the killer."