I whimpered in despair. ‘Leave her alone! Leave her alone! Leave her alone!’ Felice gripped her arms, sat on her stomach and held her still.
Mama bit and scratched like a cat. Her petticoat had ridden up. You could see her bottom and the black tuft between her legs and a shoulder strap had snapped and one breast was coming out, white and big and with a dark nipple.
Felice stopped and looked at her.
I saw how he looked at her.
I got off the chair and tried to kill him. I jumped on him and did my best to throttle him.
At that moment papa and the old man came in.
Papa threw himself on Felice, grabbed him by the arm and pulled him off mama.
Felice rolled over on the ground and I rolled over with him.
I banged my temple hard. A kettle started whistling in my head, and in my nostrils I had the smell of that disinfectant they use in the school toilets. Yellow lights exploded in front of my eyes.
Papa was kicking Felice and Felice was crawling under the table and the old man was trying to restrain papa who had his mouth open and was stretching out his hands and knocking over the chairs with his feet.
The hiss in my head was so loud I couldn’t even hear my own sobs.
Mama picked me up and took me into her bedroom, shut the door with her elbow and laid me on the bed. I couldn’t stop crying. My body was heaving and my face was purple.
She squeezed me in her arms and kept saying: ‘Never mind. Never mind. It’ll soon be better. It’ll soon be better.’
While I cried I couldn’t take my eyes off the photograph of Padre Pio fixed to the wardrobe. The friar was looking at me and seemed to be smiling with satisfaction.
In the kitchen papa, the old man and Felice were shouting.
Then all three of them left the house slamming the door.
And calm returned.
The doves were cooing on the roof. The sound of the fridge. The cicadas. The fan. That was silence.
Mama, with swollen eyes, got dressed, disinfected a scratch on her shoulder and washed me, dried me and put me under the sheets. She gave me a peach in syrup to eat and lay down beside me. She gave me her hand. She wasn’t talking any more.
I didn’t have the strength to bend a finger. I rested my forehead on her stomach and closed my eyes.
The door opened.
‘How is he?’
Papa’s voice. He spoke quietly, as if the doctor had told him I didn’t have long to live.
Mama stroked my hair. ‘He got a bang on the head. But now he’s asleep.’
‘And how are you?’
‘Fine.’
‘Sure?’
‘Yes. But that bastard had better not come into our house ever again. If he touches Michele again I’ll kill him and then I’ll kill you.’
‘I’ve already sorted that out. I’ve got to go.’
The door closed.
Mama curled up beside me and whispered in my ear: ‘When you grow up you must go away from here and never come back.’
It was night.
Mama wasn’t there. Maria was sleeping next to me. The clock was ticking on the bedside table. The hands glowed yellow. The pillow smelled of papa. The white light of the kitchen crept under the door.
An argument was going on in there.
Even the Avvocato Scardaccione had arrived, from Rome. It was the first time he had ever been to our house.
That afternoon terrible things had happened. Too terrible, too immense even for anger. They had left me alone.
I wasn’t worried. I felt safe. Mama had shut us in her bedroom and would never let anyone come in.
I had a lump on my head that hurt if I touched it, but otherwise I was fine. I was a bit sorry about that. As soon as they found out I wasn’t ill they would put me back in the room with the old man. And I wanted to stay in their bed for ever. Without ever going out again, without ever seeing Salvatore, Felice, Filippo, anyone, ever again. Nothing would change.
I could hear the voices in the kitchen. The old man, the lawyer, the barber, Skull’s father, papa. They were arguing about a phone call they had to make and what they should say.
I put my head under the pillow.
I saw the ocean of iron in a storm, breakers of nails rose and splashes of bolts struck the white bus that was sinking silently lifting its front end, and inside were the monsters thrashing about and pummelling with their fists in terror.
It was no use.
The windows were indestructible.
I opened my eyes.
‘Michele, wake up.’ Papa was sitting on the edge of the bed shaking my shoulder. ‘I’ve got to talk to you.’
It was dark. But a patch of light bathed the ceiling. I couldn’t see his eyes and I couldn’t tell if he was angry.
In the kitchen they were still talking.
‘Michele, what did you do today?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Don’t talk nonsense.’ He was angry.
‘I didn’t do anything wrong. I swear.’
‘Felice found you with that boy. He says you wanted to free him.’
I sat up. ‘No! It’s not true! I swear it! I took him out, but I put him straight back in again. I didn’t want to free him. He’s the one who’s lying.’
‘Keep your voice down, your sister’s asleep.’ Maria was lying face down hugging the pillow.
I whispered: ‘Don’t you believe me?’
He looked at me. His eyes glittered in the dark like a dog’s.
‘How many times have you seen him?’
‘Three.’
‘How many?’
‘Four.’
‘Can he recognize you?’
‘What?’
‘If he saw you would he recognize you?’
I thought about it. ‘No. He can’t see. He always keeps his head under the blanket.’
‘Have you told him your name?’
‘No.’
‘Have you spoken to him?’
‘No… not much.’
‘What did he say to you?’
‘Nothing. He talks about strange things. I can’t make head nor tail of it.’
‘And what did you say to him?’
‘Nothing.’
He got up. It seemed as if he wanted to go, then he sat down on the bed again. ‘Listen to me carefully. I’m not joking. If you go back there I’ll give you the thrashing of your life. If you go back there again those people will shoot him in the head.’ He gave me a violent shake. ‘And it’ll be your fault.’
I stammered: ‘I won’t go back there again. I swear.’
‘Swear it on my head.’
‘I swear.’
‘Say, I swear on your head that I won’t go back there again.’
I said: ‘I swear on your head that I won’t go back there again.’
‘You’ve sworn on the head of your father.’ He sat beside me in silence.
In the kitchen Barbara’s father was shouting with Felice.
Papa looked out of the window. ‘Forget him. He doesn’t exist any more. And you mustn’t talk about him to anyone. Ever again.’
‘I understand. I won’t go there again.’
He lit a cigarette.
I asked him: ‘Are you still cross with me?’
‘No. Lie down and go to sleep.’ He took a long draw and leaned with his hands on the window sill. His shiny hair glistened in the light of the streetlamp. ‘But God damn it, why is it the other boys behave themselves and you go around playing the fool?’
‘So you are cross with me?’
‘No, I’m not cross with you. Stop it.’ He took his head between his hands and whispered: ‘What a bloody mess.’ He shook his head. ‘There are things that seem wrong when you …’ His voice was broken and he couldn’t find the words. ‘The world’s wrong, Michele.’
He got up and stretched his back and made as if to leave. ‘Go to sleep. I’ve got to go back in there.’
‘Papa, will you tell me something???
?
He threw the cigarette out of the window. ‘What?’
‘Why did you put him in the hole? I don’t quite understand.’
He gripped the doorknob, I thought he wasn’t going to answer me, then he said: ‘Didn’t you want to go away from Acqua Traverse?’
‘Yes.’
‘Soon we’ll go and live in the city.’
‘Where’ll we go?’
‘To the North. Are you pleased?’
I nodded.
He came back over to me and looked me in the eyes. His breath smelled of wine. ‘Listen to me carefully. If you go back there they’ll kill him. They’ve sworn it. You mustn’t go back there again if you don’t want them to shoot him and if you want us to go and live in the city. And you must never talk about him. Do you understand?’
‘I understand.’
He kissed me on the head. ‘Now go to sleep and don’t think about it. Do you love your father?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you want to help me?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then forget all about it.’
‘All right.’
‘Go to sleep now.’ He kissed Maria, who didn’t even notice, and went out of the room shutting the door quietly.
Seven
Everything was in disarray.
The table was covered with bottles, coffee cups and dirty plates. The flies were buzzing over the remnants of the food. The cigarettes were overflowing from the ashtray, the chairs and armchairs were all awry. There was a reek of smoke.
The door of my room was ajar. The old man was asleep fully dressed on my sister’s bed. One arm hanging loose. His mouth open. Every now and then he brushed away a fly that crawled on his face. Papa had flopped down on my bed with his head against the wall. Mama was sleeping curled up on the sofa. She had covered herself with the white quilt. All you could see was her black hair, a bit of forehead and a bare foot.
The front door was open. A warm gentle draught rustled the newspaper on the chest of drawers.
The cock crowed.
I opened the fridge. I got out the milk, filled a glass and went out on the balcony. I sat down on the steps to look at the dawn.
It was bright orange, dirtied by a gelatinous, purplish mass that stretched like cotton across the horizon, but higher up the sky was clean and black and a few stars were still alight.
I finished my milk, put the glass on a step and went down into the street.
Skull’s football was near the bench, I kicked it. It rolled under the old man’s car.
Togo emerged from the shed. He whined and yawned simultaneously. He stretched, lengthening his body and dragging his back legs, and came towards me wagging his tail.
I kneeled down. ‘Togo, how are you?’
He took my hand in his mouth and pulled it. He didn’t grip tightly but his teeth were sharp.
‘Where do you want to take me, eh? Where do you want to take me?’ I followed him into the shed. The doves roosting on the iron rafters flew away.
In one corner, heaped on the ground, was his bed, an old grey blanket, full of holes.
‘Do you want to show me your house?’
Togo lay down on it and opened out like a devilled chicken.
I knew what he wanted. I scratched his stomach and he froze, in bliss. Only his tail moved right and left.
The blanket was identical to Filippo’s.
I smelled it. It didn’t stink like his.
It smelled of dog.
I was lying on my bed reading Tex.
I had stayed in my room all day. Like when I had a temperature and couldn’t go to school. At one point Remo had dropped in to ask if I wanted a game of soccer, but I had said no, I wasn’t feeling very well.
Mama had cleaned the house till everything was gleaming again, then she had gone round to see Barbara’s mother. Papa and the old man had woken up and gone out.
My sister dashed into the room and jumped on her bed looking as pleased as Punch.
‘Guess what Barbara lent me?’
I lowered my comic. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Guess, go on!’
‘I don’t know.’ I wasn’t in the mood for games.
She pulled out Ken. Barbie’s husband, that beanpole with the snooty expression on his face. ‘Now we can play. I’ll take Paola and you take him. We’ll undress them and put them in the fridge … Then they can cuddle each other, you see?’
‘I don’t feel like it.’
She peered at me. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘Nothing. Leave me alone, I’m reading.’
‘You’re so boring!’ She snorted and went out.
I went on reading. It was a new number, Remo had lent it to me. But I couldn’t concentrate. I threw it on the floor.
I was thinking of Filippo.
What was I going to do now? I had promised him I would go and see him again, but I couldn’t, I had sworn to papa that I wouldn’t go.
If I went they would shoot him.
But why? I wouldn’t set him free, I would just talk to him. I wouldn’t be doing anything wrong.
Filippo was waiting for me. He was there, in the hole, and was wondering when I would come back, when I would bring him the meatballs.
‘I can’t come,’ I said out loud.
The last time I had gone to see him I had said to him: ‘You see? I’ve come.’ And he had replied that he had known I would. Not because the little wash-bears had told him. ‘You promised.’
All I needed was five minutes. ‘Filippo, I can’t come here again. If I come back they’ll kill you. I’m sorry, it’s not my fault.’ And at least he would know what was happening. Whereas like this he would think I didn’t want to see him again and I didn’t keep my promises. But that wasn’t true. This tormented me.
If I couldn’t go myself, papa could tell him. ‘I’m sorry, Michele can’t come, that’s why he hasn’t kept his promise. If he comes they’ll kill you. He sends his regards.’
‘It’s no good, I must forget him!’ I said to the room. I picked up the comic, went into the bathroom and started reading on the toilet, but I had to stop immediately.
Papa was calling me from the street.
What did he want from me now? I had been good, I hadn’t left the house. I pulled up my trousers and went out onto the terrace.
‘Come here! Quick!’ He beckoned me down. He was standing beside the truck. Mama, Maria, Skull and Barbara were there too.
‘What’s up?’
Mama said: ‘Come down, there’s a surprise.’
Filippo. Papa had freed Filippo. And he had brought him to me.
My heart stopped beating. I rushed down the stairs. ‘Where is it?’
‘Wait there.’ Papa got onto the truck and brought out the surprise.
‘Well?’ papa asked me.
Mama repeated: ‘Well?’
It was a red bike, with handlebars like a bull’s horns. A small front wheel. Three gears. Studded tyres. A saddle long enough for two people to ride on.
Mama asked again: ‘What’s the matter? Don’t you like it?’
I nodded.
I had seen an almost identical one a few months ago, in the bicycle shop in Lucignano. But that one wasn’t so nice, it didn’t have a silvered tail light and its front wheel wasn’t small. I had gone in to look at it and the shop assistant, a tall man, with a moustache and a grey apron, had said: ‘Lovely, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, it is.’
‘Last one I’ve got. It’s a bargain. Why don’t you get your parents to buy it for you?
‘I’d like to.’
‘So what’s the problem?’
‘I’ve already got one.’
‘That thing?’ The shop assistant’s lip had curled as he pointed at the Crock leaning against the lamp post.
I justified myself: ‘It used to be papa’s.’
‘It’s time you changed it. Tell your parents. You’d look great on a beauty like this.’
I had gone away.
I hadn’t even bothered to asked him how much it cost.
This one was much nicer.
On the top of the crossbar were the English words Red Dragon, in gold letters.
‘What does Red Dragon mean?’ I asked papa.
He shrugged and said: ‘Your mother knows.’
Mama covered her mouth and giggled: ‘Idiot! Since when did I know any English?’
Papa looked at me. ‘Well, what are you waiting for? Aren’t you going to try it out?’
‘Now?’
‘When else, tomorrow?’
I felt embarrassed about trying it out in front of everyone. ‘Can I take it indoors?’
Skull got on it. ‘If you don’t try it out, I will.’
Mama cuffed him round the ear. ‘Get off that bicycle this minute! It’s Michele’s.’
‘You really want to take it upstairs?’ papa asked me.
‘Yes.’
‘Can you carry it?’
‘Yes.’
‘All right, but just for today …’
Mama said: ‘Are you crazy, Pino? A bicycle in the house? It’ll leave tyremarks.’
‘He’ll be careful.’
My sister took off her glasses, threw them on the ground and burst into tears.
‘Maria, pick up those glasses at once,’ papa barked.
She crossed her arms. ‘No! I won’t, it’s not fair. All for Michele and nothing for me!’
‘You wait your turn.’ Papa took out of the truck a package wrapped in blue paper and tied up with a bow. ‘This is for you.’
Maria put her glasses back on. She tried to undo the knot but couldn’t, so she tore at it with her teeth.
‘Wait! It’s nice paper, we’ll keep it.’ Mama undid the bow and took off the paper.
Inside was a Barbie with a crown on her head and a tight-fitting white satin dress and bare arms.
Maria nearly fainted. ‘The dancer Barbie …!’ She flopped against me. ‘She’s beautiful.’
Papa closed the tarpaulin of the truck. ‘That’s it. No more presents for the next ten years.’
Maria and I went up the front steps. She with her dancer Barbie in her hand, I with the bicycle on my back.
‘Isn’t she beautiful?’ said Maria looking at the doll.
‘Yes she is. What are you going to call her?’