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“Hello Santo, how are you?”
“I’m sorry sir but this is Pirri Gratisso. I manage Mr. De Souza’s work.”
“But where is he?”
“He’s out sir.”
“Since when did his phone become yours? Where is he”
“I am sorry sir but he asks me to answer his personal calls while he goes on for a drink.”
“Then you must know who I am.”
“I am sure you are someone of utmost importance to him as your caller ID says Godfather.”
“Yes. You tell him to call me back, first thing when he returns!”
“Of course sir. Anything else?”
I hung up. I did not like the sound of that man. He sounded more of a customer service guy who greets and speaks from a shallow heart. Why doesn’t he know my name? How could Santo not tell his manager who his ‘Godfather’ was? And what kind of a Godfather am I? I let him slip knowing every step of his. I was silent when he needed my answer the most. I could have told him to slow down and play more football. I could have asked him to stay away from parties and drinks. Yes, I could have….but did not.
The moment of truth had come back to haunt me. This is the time I should not fail….him and myself. I was waiting for the call. I could not eat though I was hungry or drink tea though I wanted it badly than any other thing. I sat in silence and darkness, waiting for the call and hearing the wind whistle past the dilapidated woodwork of this lonely house.