prologue

Cosi nacquero le fonti, scarse da prima, abbondantissime poi; ora, alcune disgraziatamente e colpevolmente diminuite di acqua, altre guaste, altre diroccate, altre sotterrate, altre perfino distrutte.

Fabio Bargagli-Petrucci, Le fonti di siena e i loro acquedotti, pg. 7

And thus, the fountains were born, originally scarse and later incredibly abundant; now, some are disgracefully and faultedly lacking in water, others are dirty, some are losing their rocks, others are interred and yet others entirely destroyed.

I might have been studying when the phone rang.

All of a sudden, the phone rang. I looked up like a deer in headlights, staring at the white cement block wall of my dorm room. I knew that I had answered the phone a million times; the actions were built into my muscles. It was they who knew how many strides from the desk to the bedside table. It was they who knew the precise angle and tension required to pick up the phone.

“Hello, excuse me,” a sad female voice began, “Is this Cole Ostrovsky?”

“Yes,” I managed to say, although my voice came out in a froglike croak.

“I’m Audrey Williams, Madrigal’s mother.”

I felt myself spiralling away, into my head. I was no longer certain that I was holding the receiver. I couldn’t do this. My lethargic, tranquilized state didn’t allow me to panic. Instead, I felt myself receding into the distance, taking up refuge on a long distant planet.

It was the alien who answered. The alien took control, responding in a voice that surely wasn’t mine, “Yes, this is Cole. How can I help you?”

Cole only listened in horrified anguish as Audrey Williams said, “We wanted to know if you would be willing to come and look through Madrigal’s belongings. We know that you were one of her best friends here at Wallingford College, and…”

She hesitated, sniffling, “We thought if you might want some of her clothing or something…we’re going to give most of it to Goodwill anyway.”

It was the alien who acquiesced and logically realised that I wasn’t going to have to make an appearance. They had never met me. If someone else went in my place, I would be safe.

It was the alien who called up Jessica and asked her to go instead. Jessica had been crying.

“I thought,” the alien said, and Jessica, at least, believed it was me, “that you should go instead. You should have her favorite skateboard. I can’t look at anything right now.”

Jessica understood, and from a far away, dark hole on a yet undiscovered planet, I heard her decide that she would bring me Madri’s books, some of her clothing, her second favourite skateboard.

Then the alien, hanging up the phone, tried to call me back to myself, but even my Latin text seemed to say nothing that wasn’t dead. I ran away to the other side of my hiding place, snuggling deep into bed, hoping that I could sleep until I was 70.