Mothers & Sons, XI

In the morning Servi was awoken by a dusty beam of sunlight tickling his face. There was a folded note placed firmly on his chest.



If you wish, the note said in Italian, come by for dinner at 8PM – Claudia.


Servi was alone in the apartment. As he put on his pants, he found a piece of thick, light blue construction paper in his pocket. There was writing on it in a child’s rough hand:


I am not Paulo Sarcedotti. I am Cosmo Ricchetti. Please help me.






Later, Servi sat at a café where he frequented on the via Cavour. After drinking some coffee and finishing the paper he called the waiter.


“Yes, Senor Servi, something else?” the man asked, drooping forward with a napkin to snatch at some crumbs.


“Bobbo,” Servi asked, “who is Cosmo Ricchetti?” The waiter listened to the words and rolled on the balls of his feet, his head reclined backward, as if he was searching through a Rolodex in his mind. Then he smiled and snapped his fingers.


“Ah yes, that little boy,” he said, smiling broadly. “About five years ago, no, maybe more, this little boy, Cosmo Ricchetti, two years old vanished without a trace from his parent’s flat. It became a sensation. The police searched every apartment, rooftop, cellar and water conduit in Rome, and even opened the catacombs. His poster was on every wall and streetlamp. They searched and searched but never found him…”


“No clues?” Servi asked. “Just gone without a trace?”


“Yes,” the waiter answered sadly. “They never found a hair from his head.”