I'm Not Scared

  ‘Barbara.’

  ‘Why Barbara?’

  ‘Because Barbara said that when she grows up she’ll be like Barbie. And Barbie’s English for Barbara.’

  ‘And what are you going to do with Poor Poppet, throw her away?’

  ‘No. She can be the maid.’ Then she looked at me and asked: ‘Didn’t you like your present?’

  ‘Yes. But I thought it would be something else.’

  That night I slept with the old man.

  I had just got into bed and was finishing Tex when he came into the bedroom. He looked as if another twenty years had been dumped on him. His face was so gaunt it had shrunk to a skeleton.

  ‘You asleep?’ he yawned.

  I closed the comic and turned towards the wall. ‘No.’

  ‘Ahhh! I’m shattered.’ He switched on the bedside lamp and started getting undressed. ‘What with the journey there and the journey back, God knows how many kilometres I’ve done. My back’s killing me. I need some sleep.’ He held his trousers up in the air, inspected them and made a wry face. ‘I’m going to have to get some new clothes.’ He took off his half-boots and socks and put them on the window sill.

  His feet smelled.

  He rummaged in his suitcase, got out the bottle of Stock 84 and took a swig from it. He grimaced and wiped his mouth with his hand. ‘Ugh, what muck.’ He picked up the folder, opened it, looked at the pack of photographs and asked me: ‘Do you want to see my son?’ He passed me a photo.

  It was the one I had seen the morning I had gone through his things. Francesco dressed as a mechanic.

  ‘Handsome lad, isn’t he?’

  ‘Yes, he is.’

  ‘Here he was still well, later he lost weight.’

  A brown moth came in through the window and started knocking against the lampshade. It made a dull thud every time it hit the incandescent glass.

  The old man picked up a newspaper and squashed it against the wall. ‘Fucking moths.’ He passed me another photo. ‘My home.’

  It was a low cottage with red windows. Behind the thatched roof you could see the tops of four palm trees. Sitting in the doorway was a black girl in a yellow bikini. She had long hair and was holding a joint of ham in her hands, like a trophy. Next to the house there was a small square garage and in front of it a huge white car with no roof and black windows.

  ‘What kind of car’s that?’ I asked.

  ‘A Cadillac. I bought it second-hand. It’s in perfect condition. All I had to do was change the tyres.’ He took off his shirt. ‘It was a bargain.’

  ‘And who’s that black girl?’

  He lay down on the bed. ‘My wife.’

  ‘You’ve got a black wife?’

  ‘Yes. I left my old one. This one’s twenty-three years old. Little doll. Sonia, her name is. And if you think that’s ham, you’re wrong, it’s speck. Genuine Venetian. I brought it to her all the way from Italy. You can’t get it in Brazil, it’s a delicacy. It was a real hassle carrying it. They even stopped me at customs. Wanted to cut it open, thought there were drugs inside … Ah well, I’m going to put out the light, I’m tired.’

  Darkness fell in the room. I could hear him breathing and making funny noises with his mouth.

  After a while he said: ‘You can’t imagine what it’s like over there. Everything’s dirt cheap. Everybody serving you. You don’t do shit all day. Beats this fucking country any day. I’ve finished with this country.’

  I asked him: ‘Where is Brazil?’

  ‘Far away. Too far. Good night and sweet dreams.’

  ‘Good night.’

  Eight

  And everything stopped.

  A fairy had put Acqua Traverse to sleep. The days followed one another, scorching, identical and endless.

  The grown-ups didn’t even go out in the evenings. Before, after dinner, they had put out the tables and played cards. Now they stayed indoors. Felice wasn’t around any more. Papa stayed in bed all day and only talked to the old man. Mama cooked. Salvatore had shut himself up at home.

  I rode my new bike. Everyone wanted a go on it. Skull could get right through Acqua Traverse on one wheel. I couldn’t even get two metres.

  I often went out on my own. I cycled along the dried-up stream, I rode down dusty little tracks between the fields that took me far away, where there was nothing but fallen posts and rusty barbed wire. Away in the distance the red combine harvesters shimmered in the waves of heat that rose from the fields.

  It was as if God had given the whole world a haircut. Sometimes the trucks with the sacks of wheat passed through Acqua Traverse leaving trails of black smoke behind them.

  When I was in the street I felt as if everyone was watching what I was doing. I thought I glimpsed, behind the windows, Barbara’s mother spying on me, Skull pointing at me and whispering to Remo, Barbara smiling a strange smile at me. But even when I was alone, sitting on a branch of the carob or on my bike, that feeling didn’t leave me. Even when I forced my way through the remains of that sea of wheat ears soon to be packed into bales and I had nothing but sky around me, I felt as if a thousand eyes were watching me.

  I won’t go there, don’t worry, everybody. I’ve sworn I won’t.

  But the hill was there, and it was waiting for me.

  I started to ride along the road that led to Melichetti’s farm. And every day, without realizing it, I went a bit further.

  Filippo had forgotten about me. I felt it.

  I tried to call him with my thoughts.

  Filippo? Filippo, can you hear me?

  I can’t come. I can’t.

  He wasn’t thinking about me.

  Maybe he was dead. Maybe he wasn’t there any more.

  One afternoon, after lunch, I lay down on my bed to read. The light pressed against the shutters and filtered into the boiling room. I had the crickets in my ears. I fell asleep with the Tiramolla comic in my hand.

  I dreamed that it was night but I could still see. The hills were shifting in the dark. They moved slowly like tortoises under a carpet. Then all together they opened their eyes, red holes that gaped in the wheat, and they rose up, sure that no one could see them, and became earthy, wheat-covered giants that undulated across the fields and rolled over me and buried me.

  I woke up bathed in sweat. I went to the fridge to get some water. I could see the giants.

  I went out and got the Crock.

  I was at the end of the path that led to the abandoned house.

  The hill was there. Hazy, veiled by the heat. I thought I could see two black eyes in the wheat, just below the summit, but they were only patches of light, folds in the ground. The sun had started to sink and weaken. The hill’s shadow slowly covered the plain.

  I could go up.

  But papa’s voice held me back. ‘Listen to me carefully. If you go back there they’ll kill him. They’ve sworn it.’

  Who? Who had sworn it? Who would kill him?

  The old man? No. Not him. He wasn’t strong enough.

  Them, the earth giants. The lords of the hill. Now they were lying in the fields and were invisible, but at night they woke up and crossed the countryside. If I now went to see Filippo, even though it was daytime, they would rise up like waves of the ocean and reach there and dump their earth in the hole and bury him.

  Turn back, Michele. Turn back, my sister’s shrill little voice told me.

  I veered my bike round and launched myself into the wheat, among the holes, pedalling like a madman and hoping I’d ride over the backbone of one of those damned monsters.

  I was hiding under a rock in the dried-up stream.

  I was sweating. The flies wouldn’t leave me alone.

  Skull had flushed them all out. I was the only one left. Now it was getting difficult. I would have to dash out, without stopping, cut across the field of stubble, reach the carob and shout: ‘Den free everybody!’

  But Skull was there, near the tree, pointing like a hound, and when he saw me running he would rush out h
imself and in a few strides he would catch me.

  I’d have to run and hope for the best. If I made it, fine, if I didn’t, too bad.

  I was just about to set off, when a black shadow swooped down on me.

  Skull!

  It was Salvatore. ‘Move over, or he’ll see me. He’s close by.’

  I made room for him and he got under the rock too.

  Without wanting to, I blurted out: ‘What about the others?’

  ‘He’s caught them all. Only you and me are left.’

  It was the first time we had spoken to each other since that day with Felice.

  Skull had asked me why I had quarrelled with him.

  ‘We haven’t quarrelled. It’s just that I don’t like Salvatore,’ I had replied.

  Skull had put his arm round my shoulders. ‘Good for you. He’s a shit.’

  Salvatore dried the sweat from his forehead.

  ‘Who’s going to make den?’

  ‘You go.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because you’re faster.’

  ‘I can run faster over a long distance, but you’re quicker to the carob.’

  I said nothing.

  ‘I’ve got an idea,’ he went on. ‘Let’s go out together, both of us. When Skull comes I’ll get in his way and you run to the carob. That way we’ll beat him. What do you say?’

  ‘It’s a good idea. Except that I’ll make den and you’ll lose.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. It’s the only way to fuck that pea-brain.’

  I smiled.

  He looked at me and stretched out his hand.

  ‘Peace?’

  ‘All right.’ I grasped it.

  ‘Did you know Signora Destani isn’t taking our class any more? A new teacher’s coming this year.’

  ‘Who told you?’

  ‘My aunt talked to the head. She says she’s beautiful. And maybe she doesn’t whack like Destani.’

  I tore up a tuft of grass. ‘It makes no difference to me anyway.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because we’re leaving Acqua Traverse.’

  Salvatore looked at me in surprise. ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘To the North.’

  ‘Whereabouts?’

  I said the first name that came into my head: ‘Pavia.’

  ‘Where’s Pavia?’

  I shrugged. ‘I don’t know. But we’re going to live in a palazzo, on the top floor. And papa’s going to buy a 131 Mirafiori. And I’m going to go to school there.’

  Salvatore picked up a stone and tossed it from one hand to the other. ‘And you’ll never come back again?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘And you won’t see the schoolmistress?’

  I looked at the ground. ‘No.’

  He whispered: ‘I’m sorry.’ He looked at me. ‘Ready?’

  ‘Ready.’

  ‘Let’s go, then. And don’t stop. On the count of three.’

  ‘One, two, three,’ and we sprinted off.

  ‘There they are! There they are!’ Remo shouted, from his perch in the carob.

  But there was nothing Skull could do, we were too quick. We banged into the carob together and shrieked: ‘Den free everybody!’

  Nine

  We had woken up and everything was veiled with grey. It was cold, it was damp, and sudden gusts of wind shifted the sultry air. In the night some large restless clouds had piled up on the horizon and started to advance on Acqua Traverse.

  We watched them spellbound. We had forgotten that water could fall from the sky.

  Now we were under the shed. I was stretched out on the sacks of wheat, with my head in my hands, quite relaxed, watching the wasps build a nest. The others had sat down in a circle by the plough. Salvatore was lounging on the iron seat of the tractor, with his feet on the steering wheel.

  I loved those wasps. Remo had knocked their house down at least ten times by throwing stones at it, but those stubborn little creatures always came back to rebuild it in the same spot, at the meeting point of two metal posts and a gutter. They stuck the straw and wood together with their saliva and built a nest that looked as if it was made of cardboard.

  The others were chatting, but I wasn’t paying attention. Skull as usual was talking in a loud voice and Salvatore was listening in silence.

  I wished it would start raining, everyone was fed up with the drought.

  I heard Barbara say: ‘Why don’t we go to Lucignano and have an ice-cream? I’ve got the money.’

  ‘Have you got the money for us, too?’

  ‘No. It’s not enough. Might be enough for two tubs.’

  ‘What are we supposed to do in Lucignano, then? Watch you stuffing yourself with ice-cream and getting even fatter?’

  Why did those wasps make the nest? Who had taught them to do it?

  ‘They just know. It’s in their nature,’ papa had replied once when I had asked him.

  My sister came over to me and said: ‘I’m going home. What are you going to do?’

  ‘I’m staying here.’

  ‘All right. I’m going to make myself some bread and butter and sugar. Bye.’ She went off followed by Togo.

  And what was in my nature? What could I do?

  ‘Well?’ asked Remo. ‘What about a game of steal-the-flag?’

  I could climb the carob. I was very good at that and nobody had taught me how to do it.

  Skull got up, kicked the ball and sent it across to the other side of the road.

  ‘Hey, I’ve got a great idea. Why don’t we go where we went that time?’

  Maybe I could go and join Maria and make myself a slice of bread and butter and sugar as well, but I wasn’t hungry.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Up on the mountain.’

  ‘What mountain?’

  ‘To the abandoned house. Near Melichetti’s farm.’

  I turned. My body suddenly awoke, my heart started marching in my chest and my stomach tightened.

  Barbara wasn’t convinced. ‘What do you want to go there for? It’s a long way. And what if it starts raining?’

  Skull mimicked her: ‘And what if it starts raining? We’ll get wet! Nobody asked you to come anyway.’

  Remo didn’t seem very keen either. ‘What could we do there?’

  ‘Explore the house. Last time only Michele went in.’

  Remo said something to me.

  I looked at him. ‘Sorry? I didn’t catch that.’

  ‘What’s inside the house?’ he asked me.

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘What’s inside the house?’

  I couldn’t speak, I had no saliva. I stammered. ‘Nothing … I don’t know …’ I felt as if an icy liquid was running down from my head, into my neck and down my sides. ‘Some old furniture, a cooker, that sort of thing.’

  Skull asked Salvatore: ‘Shall we go?’

  ‘No, I don’t feel like it,’ Salvatore shook his head. ‘Barbara’s right, it’s a long way.’

  ‘I’m going. We can make it our secret base.’ Skull got his bike, which was leaning against the tractor. ‘Anyone who wants to come, come. Anyone who doesn’t want to come, don’t come.’ He asked Remo: ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘I’ll come.’ Remo got up and asked Barbara: ‘Are you coming?’

  ‘As long as there are no races.’

  ‘No races,’ Skull assured her and asked Salvatore again: ‘Aren’t you coming then?’

  I waited, without saying anything.

  ‘I’ll do whatever Michele does,’ said Salvatore and, looking me in the eyes, he asked: ‘Well, are you going?’

  I got to my feet and said: ‘Yes, I’ll go.’

  Salvatore jumped down from the tractor. ‘Right, let’s go then.’

  * * *

  We were cycling, all of us, just like the first time, towards the hill.

  We rode in single file. Only my sister was missing.

  The atmosphere was close and the sky was an unnatural scarlet colour. The clouds, previ
ously massed on the horizon, were now gathering above us and jostling each other like hordes of Huns before a battle. They were large and sombre. The sun was opaque and turbid as if a filter was screening it. The air was neither hot nor cold, but it was windy. At the sides of the road and on the fields the hay was packed up in bales, which were arranged like pawns on a chessboard. Where the combine harvester hadn’t passed, long waves formed, ruffling the wheat.

  Remo eyed the horizon anxiously. ‘It’s going to rain any moment.’

  The closer I got to the hill the worse I felt. A weight pressed on my stomach. The remains of breakfast rolled around in my stomach. I felt breathless and a veil of sweat bathed my back and my neck.

  What was I doing? Every turn of the pedal was a piece of oath crumbling away.

  ‘Listen to me, Michele, you mustn’t go back there ever again. If you go back they’ll kill him. And it’ll be your fault.’

  ‘I won’t go back there again.’

  ‘Swear it on my head.’

  ‘I swear.’

  ‘Say, I swear on your head that I won’t go back there again.’

  ‘I swear on your head that I won’t go back there again.’

  I was breaking the oath, I was going to see Filippo and if they found me they would kill him.

  I wanted to turn back, but my legs pedalled and an irresistible force dragged me towards the hill.

  A distant rumble of thunder ripped the silence.

  ‘Let’s go home,’ said Barbara as if she had heard my thoughts.

  I panted: ‘Yes, let’s go home.’

  Skull passed us guffawing. ‘If a few drops of rain scare the shit out of you, you better had go home.’

  Barbara and I looked at each other and kept pedalling.

  The wind increased. It blew on the fields and raised the chaff in the air. It was hard to keep the bikes on line, the gusts drove us off the road.

  ‘Here we are. A long way, was it?’ said Skull, braking to make his wheels skid on the grit.

  The path leading to the house was there in front of us.

  Salvatore looked at me and asked: ‘Shall we go?’

  ‘Yes, let’s go.’

  We started the climb. I had trouble keeping up with the others. Red Dragon was a rip-off. I didn’t want to admit it, but it was. If you stood up on the pedals you got the handlebars in your mouth and if you changed gear the chain came off. The only way to avoid being left behind was to stay in top gear.