Turbinio

Stinky Cheese

One day. A little less than twenty-four hours. That was what was missing until the finish line. Now, you were on the shore of a lake and were tempted to dive into the ice-cold water of a place whose temperature never rose above 24 degrees Celsius.

That was another thing that bothered you. Not the temperature of the place itself, but the way people measured it. You'd spent your whole life using centimeters, meters, kilometers, and degrees Celsius, and it wouldn't take a few months in the north for you to get used to new measurements. You've never been on a journey like this before, without sleep and without eating, even if your accommodations were too adequate for you. Something about this place, this country, this race, or these people here kept you awake at night. You wash your face in the lake and look at your reflection on the surface of the water. The thought of dealing with government terrorists frightened you to the core. This race would drive you insane in less than a month with all their superfluous nonsense and eccentric people.

And speaking of eccentric people, you couldn't immediately notice a bustling blue dot across the lake. It was too far away to attract your attention.

''Are you sure there are fish here, Gyro?'' Johnny questioned his partner's sudden stop.

''Of course! What kind of lake doesn't have fish? Come on, get your fishing rod.''

''I hope the money I had to spend on that fishing rod was worth it!''

Johnny was the first to get off his horse and remained sitting on the shore of the lake. The weather was calm and the fishing slow, as predicted. But the place was beautiful. With the warm September sun at his back and the scent of sun-warmed berries and pines wafting from the nearest shore. He was forward to lunch and feeling sleepy.

Gyro lit a small fire to warm up some stale coffee in half an hour and knelt in the grass, a cascade of blond hair falling over his shoulders. Johnny wanted to warm up some canned food and continue the journey, but Gyro, who was incomprehensibly in no hurry, insisted on stopping for a while on the shore of a lake to fish.

Of course, Johnny would do the job of fishing, already impatiently waiting for a fish smart enough not to bite into a rather smelly piece of cheese.

''Gyro, that's not fair.'' Complained Johnny. ''We should take turns! Why don't you try using spin to attract the fish?''

''Huh? And how is that supposed to work? Believe me, I've tried.''

''Then at least come and watch the fish now! I've been standing here too long.''

''Johnny, the art of fishing requires patience!''

''I've been patient enough, now it's your turn!''

''You didn't even readjust the line! By the way, are you practicing your spin?''

''Hey! Don't drop it! It's your turn to keep the fishing rod, Gyro! I'm going to heat some canned beans.''

Gyro grumbled and walked over, ready to grab the fishing rod. Johnny took a deep breath as he looked out at the clear waters of the lake in the distance, shielding his eyes with his hands. Perhaps he was looking out for a log floating in the water, but Gyro thought that gaze went a little beyond the trees on the other side of the lake.

''Wait, Gyro.'' Said Johnny. ''Can you see?''

''See what?''

Gyro followed his friend's gaze and directed it to the exact spot where the none-too-discreet figure of a mule, a large bamboo wagon, and an unmistakably familiar woman appeared. They watched as she dismounted from the wagon and washed her face in the waters of the lake while staring silently into the sparsely clouded sky.

''That witch? Damn, she caught up with us.'' Murmured the Italian, adjusting his baggy pants.

''She hasn't seen us yet. What do you think, Gyro? Should we call her?''

"Are you crazy? Women are bad luck, Johnny. And that woman over there has already caused too much confusion. Have you forgotten that she treated Dio's wounds?''

''She didn't seem to know who he was. (Y/N) helps anyone who needs it, even helped us a few times, I admire that.''

''Fine, Johnny, I understand she's Mother Teresa herself. Never mind, give me that fishing rod!''

Johnny didn't answer and didn't hand Gyro the fishing rod either. He just watched the woman in silence. He noticed the straight-back and graceful posture she had as she stood and stroked her mule. Her clothing was even more skimpy and inappropriate for a woman now that the temperature in this place was soaring. In all his life, from his days of fame and fortune to his downfall, Johnny had never been solely interested in just one woman. With this hawker or healer or witch or whatever she was, it was different. The interest he had in her was pure curiosity and sympathy.

All in all, Johnny was kind of glad she didn't notice how pathetically he was watching her because he was no doubt disgusted by how much she was distracting him. A distraction he desperately feared would show on his face.

Then Johnny gave in to an impulse that surprised Gyro and called out to her.

''Hey, (Y/N)! Can you hear me?'' he shouted, stretching out his arm as far as he could and waving.

''Johnny, what the hell are you doing?'' Gyro scolded, fearing the woman might have overheard him.

''She sells spices, doesn't she? Maybe (S/N) has some good fish bait. I don't want to wait any longer for lunch. Hey, (Y/N)!''

Gyro huffed and crossed his arms in disbelief, but he couldn't argue with Johnny's idea. After all, he was hungry too.