I'm Not Scared (14 page)

Salvatore could hardly see over the steering wheel and gripped it as if he wanted to break it.

When Felice had come towards me pointing his rifle at me I had wet myself. I hadn't noticed till now. My underpants were soaked.

The car was full of crazed horseflies. We bounced on the humps, we plunged into the holes. I had to cling onto the door handle.

Salvatore had never told me he wanted to drive a car. He could have asked his father to teach him. The Avvocato never refused him anything. Why had he asked Felice?

My whole body was hurting, my skinned knees, my ribs,
my arm and my wrist. But especially my heart. Salvatore had broken it.

He was my best friend. Once, on a branch of the carob, we had even made a vow of eternal friendship. We used to go home from school together. If one of us got out earlier he would wait for the other.

Salvatore had betrayed me.

Mama was right when she said the Scardacciones thought they were it just because they had money. And she said that even if you were drowning they wouldn't lift a finger to help you. And dozens of times I had imagined the two Scardaccione sisters on the edge of the quicksands beavering away on their sewing machine and me sinking and stretching out my hand and calling for help and them throwing me honey drops and saying they couldn't get up because of their swollen legs. But Salvatore and I were friends.

I had been wrong.

I felt a dreadful urge to cry, but I swore to myself that if a single tear came out of my eyes, I would take the old man's pistol and shoot myself. I pulled the Lanerossi Vicenza box out of my shorts. It was all soaked in pee.

I put it on the seat.

Felice shouted: ‘That's it, stop! I can't stand any more of this.'

Salvatore braked abruptly, the engine stalled, the car jerked to a halt and if Felice hadn't put his arms out he would have cracked his head on the windscreen.

He opened the door and got out. ‘Move!'

Salvatore moved over to the other side, without a word.

Felice grasped the wheel and said: ‘Salvatore old boy, I must be frank with you, you're just not cut out for driving. Forget it. Your future lies in cycling.'

* * *

When we drove into Acqua Traverse my sister, Barbara, Remo and Skull were playing hopscotch in the dust.

They saw us and stopped playing.

Papa's truck wasn't there. Nor was the old man's car.

Felice parked the 127 in the shed.

Salvatore shot out of the car, got his bike and rode off without even looking at me.

Felice pulled up the seat. ‘Get out!'

I didn't want to get out.

Once, at school, I had broken the glass door onto the courtyard with one of those sticks they use for gymnastics. I wanted to show Angelo Cantini, a classmate of mine, that the glass was indestructible. Instead, it had shattered into a billion neat little cubes. The headmaster had called mama and told her he had to speak to her.

When she arrived she had looked at me and said in my ear: ‘I'll deal with you later.' And she had gone into the headmaster's room while I sat waiting in the corridor.

I had been scared then, but that was nothing to what I felt now. Felice would tell mama everything and she would tell papa. And papa would be very angry. And the old man would take me away.

‘Get out!' Felice repeated.

I summoned up all my courage and got out.

I was embarrassed. My trousers were wet.

Barbara put her hand to her mouth. Remo ran over to Skull. Maria took off her glasses and wiped them on her T-shirt.

The light was dazzling, I couldn't keep my eyes open. Behind me I could hear Felice's heavy footsteps. Barbara's mother was looking out of the window. Skull's mother was looking out of another. They gazed at me with vacant eyes. There would have been complete silence if Togo hadn't started barking
his shrill little bark. Skull gave him a kick and Togo fled yelping.

I went up the front steps and opened the door.

The shutters were closed and there wasn't much light. The radio was on. The fan was spinning. Mama, in her petticoat, was sitting at the table peeling potatoes. She saw me come in followed by Felice. The knife slipped out of her hand. It fell on the table, and from there dropped onto the floor.

‘What's happened?'

Felice thrust his hands in his combat jacket, lowered his head and said: ‘He was up there. With the boy.'

Mama got up from her chair, turned off the radio, took one step, then another, stopped, put her hands to her face and squatted down on the floor looking at me.

I burst into tears.

She ran to me and took me in her arms. She hugged me tightly to her bosom and realized I was all wet. She put me on the chair and looked at my grazed legs and arms, the clotted blood on my knees. She lifted up my T-shirt.

‘What happened to you?' she asked me.

‘Him! It was him … he … he beat me up!' I pointed at Felice.

Mama turned, glared at Felice and growled: ‘What have you done to him, you bully?'

Felice raised his hands. ‘Nothing. What have I done to him? Brought him home.'

Mama narrowed her eyes. ‘You! How dare you, you?' The veins on her neck swelled and her voice shook: ‘How dare you, eh? You hit my son, you bastard!' And she flung herself at Felice.

He backed away. ‘So I gave him a kick up the backside. What's the big deal?'

Mama tried to slap his face. Felice held her wrists to keep
her away, but she was a lioness. ‘You bastard! I'll scratch your eyes out!'

‘I found him in the hole … He wanted to free the boy. I hardly touched him. Stop it, calm down!'

Mama was in bare feet, but she still managed to give him a kick in the balls.

Poor Felice let out a strange noise, a cross between a gargle and the sound of water going down a plughole, put his hands to his genitals and fell to his knees. He screwed up his face with pain and tried to shout but it wouldn't come, all the air had gone from his lungs.

I, still standing on the chair, stopped blubbing. I knew how much a bang in the nuts hurt. And that was a very hard bang in the nuts.

Mama had no mercy. She picked up the frying pan out of the sink and slammed Felice in the face. He howled and collapsed on the floor.

Mama raised the frying pan again, she wanted to kill him, but Felice caught her by the ankle and pulled. Mama fell down. The frying pan shot across the floor. Felice threw himself on top of her with his whole body.

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.'