I'm Not Scared (17 page)

The downpour had left a smell of wet grass and earth and a slight coolness. The clouds left in the sky were white and frayed and blades of dazzling sun cut the plain. The birds had started chirping again, it sounded like a singing contest.

I had told Skull it had been a practical joke.

‘Ha ha, bloody hilarious,' he had replied.

I had a presentiment that no one would go up on that hill again, it was too far away, and there was nothing interesting about that old ruin. And that hidden valley brought bad luck.

Filippo had ended up at Melichetti's with the pigs, because the exchange hadn't worked out and because the hole wasn't safe any more, that's what they had said. And the lords of the hill and the monsters I invented had nothing to do with it.

‘Stop all this talk about monsters, Michele. Monsters don't exist. It's men you should be afraid of, not monsters.' That's what papa had said to me.

It was his fault. He hadn't let him go and he never would let him go.

Cats, when they catch lizards, play with them, they play with them even if the lizard is all open and its innards are hanging out and it has lost its tail. They follow it calmly, they sit down and knock it and amuse themselves till the lizard dies, and when it's dead they hardly touch it with their paw, as if it disgusted them, and the lizard doesn't move any more and then they look at it and they go away.

A deafening roar, a metallic din shattered the calm and swamped everything.

Barbara shouted, pointing at the sky: ‘Look! Look!'

From behind the hill two helicopters appeared. Two iron dragonflies, two big blue dragonflies with ‘Carabinieri' written on the sides.

They dipped down over us and we started waving our arms and shouting, they came alongside, and turned at the same
time, as if they wanted to show us how clever they were, then they skimmed across the fields, flew over Acqua Traverse and disappeared on the horizon.

The grown-ups had gone.

The cars were there, but they weren't.

The houses empty, the doors open.

We all ran from one house to another.

Barbara was agitated. ‘Is there anyone at your house?'

‘No. What about yours?'

‘There's nobody there either.'

‘Where are they?' Remo was out of breath. ‘I've even looked in the vegetable garden.'

‘What shall we do?' asked Barbara.

I replied: ‘I don't know.'

Skull was walking along the middle of the road, with his hands in his pockets and a grim face, like a gunfighter in a ghost town. ‘Who cares. Good riddance. I've been longing for the day when they'd all just fuck off.' And he spat.

‘Michele!'

I turned round.

My sister was in vest and knickers, outside the shed, with her Barbies in her hands and Togo following her like a shadow.

I ran over to her. ‘Maria! Maria! Where are the grown-ups?'

She answered calmly: ‘At Salvatore's house.'

‘Why?'

She pointed at the sky. ‘The helicopters.'

‘What?'

‘That's why, the helicopters went over, and afterwards they all came out in the street and they were shouting and they went to Salvatore's house.'

‘Why?'

‘I don't know.'

I looked around. Salvatore wasn't there any more.

‘And what are you doing here?'

‘Mama told me I've got to wait here. She asked me where you'd gone.'

‘And what did you tell her?'

‘I told her you'd gone on the mountain.'

The grown-ups stayed at Salvatore's house all evening.

We waited in the courtyard, sitting on the edge of the fountain.

‘When are they going to finish?' Maria asked me for the hundredth time.

And I for the hundredth time answered: ‘I don't know.'

They had told us to wait, they were talking.

Barbara went up the steps and knocked on the door every five minutes, but nobody came. She was worried. ‘What are they talking about all this time?'

‘I don't know.'

Skull had gone off with Remo. Salvatore was indoors, doubtless hiding away in his room.

Barbara sat down beside me. ‘What on earth's going on?'

I shrugged.

She looked at me. ‘What's the matter?'

‘Nothing. I'm tired.'

‘Barbara!' Angela Mura was at the window. ‘Barbara, go home.'

Barbara asked: ‘When are you coming?'

‘Soon. Run along now.'

Barbara said goodbye to us and went off looking glum.

‘When's my mama coming out?' Maria asked Angela Mura.

She looked at us and said: ‘Go home and get your own supper, she'll be home soon.' She closed the window.

Maria shook her head. ‘I'm not going, I'm waiting here.'

I got up. ‘Come on, we'd better go.'

‘No!'

‘Come on. Give me your hand.'

She crossed her arms. ‘No! I'll stay here all night, I don't care.'

‘Give me your hand, come on.'

She straightened her glasses and got up. ‘I won't sleep though.'

‘Don't sleep then.'

And, hand in hand, we went home.

T
hey were shouting so loud they woke us up.

We had grown used to all sorts of things. Nocturnal meetings, noise, raised voices, broken plates, but now they were shouting too much.

‘Why are they screaming like that?' Maria asked me, lying on her bed.

‘I don't know.'

‘What time is it?'

‘Late.'

It was the middle of the night, the room was dark and we were in our bedroom, wide awake.

‘Make them stop,' Maria complained. ‘They're disturbing me. Tell them to scream more quietly.'

‘I can't.'

I tried to understand what they were saying, but the voices mingled together.

Maria lay down beside me. ‘I'm scared.'

‘They're scared.'

‘Why?'

‘Because they're shouting.'

Those shouts were like the spitting of the green lizards.

Green lizards, when they can't get away and you're about to catch them, open their mouths, swell up and spit and try to scare you because they're more scared of you, you're the giant, and all they can do is try and frighten you. And if you don't
know that they're harmless, that they don't hurt, that it's all a sham, you don't touch them.

The door opened.

For an instant the room lit up. I saw the black figure of mama, and behind her the old man.

Mama closed the door. ‘Are you awake?'

‘Yes,' we replied.

She switched on the light on the bedside table. In her hand she had a plate with some bread and cheese. She sat on the edge of the bed. ‘I've brought you something to eat.' She spoke quietly, with a tired voice. She had rings round her eyes, her hair was dishevelled and she looked worn. ‘Eat up and go to sleep.'

‘Mama … ?' said Maria.

Mama put the plate on her knees. ‘What is it?'

‘What's going on?'

‘Nothing.' Mama tried to cut the cheese, but her hand was shaking. She wasn't a good actress. ‘Now eat up and …' She bent forward, laid the plate on the floor and put her hand to her face and began to cry silently.

‘Mama … Mama … Why are you crying?' Maria started sobbing.

I felt a lump swelling in my throat too. I said: ‘Mama? Mama?'

She raised her head and looked at me with glistening red eyes: ‘What is it?'

‘He's dead, isn't he?'

She slapped me on the cheek and shook me as if I was made of cloth. ‘Nobody's dead! Nobody's dead! Do you understand?' She gave a grimace of pain and whispered: ‘You're too small …' She opened her mouth wide and clutched me to her breast.

I started to cry.

Now we were all crying.

In the other room the old man was shouting.

Mama heard him and pulled away from me. ‘Stop it now!' She dried away her tears. She gave us two slices of bread. ‘Eat up.'

Maria sank her teeth into the bread, but couldn't swallow for her sobs. Mama snatched the slice out of her hands.

‘Aren't you hungry? It doesn't matter.' She picked up the plate. ‘Lie down both of you.' She pulled away our pillows and put out the light. ‘If the noises disturb you, put your heads under these. Here!' She put them on our heads.

I tried to get free. ‘Mama, please. I can't breathe.'

‘Do as you're told!' she snarled and pressed hard.

Maria was getting desperate, it sounded as if her throat was being cut.

‘Stop it!' Mama shouted so loud that for an instant they even stopped quarrelling in the other room. I was scared she would hit her.

Maria went quiet.

If we moved, if we spoke, mama repeated like a cracked record: ‘Shh! Go to sleep.'

I pretended to sleep and hoped Maria would do the same. And after a while she settled down as well.

Mama stayed so long I was sure she was going to spend the whole night with us, but she got up. She thought we were asleep. She went out and shut the door.

We took off the pillows. It was dark, but the dim reflection of the street-lamp lightened the room. I got out of bed.

Maria sat up, put on her glasses and, sniffing, asked me: ‘What are you doing?'

I put my finger to my nose. ‘Quiet.'

I pressed my ear against the door.

They were still arguing, more softly now. I could hear Felice's voice and the old man's, but I couldn't make out what they were
saying. I tried to look through the keyhole, but all I could see was the wall.

I grasped the handle.

Maria bit her hand. ‘What are you doing, are you crazy?'

‘Quiet!' I opened a crack.

Felice was on his feet, near the cooker. He was wearing a green tracksuit, the zip pulled down below his ribs showed his swollen pectorals. He was staring and his mouth was slightly open, showing his little milk teeth. He had shaven his head bare.

‘Me?' he said putting a hand on his chest.

‘Yes, you,' said the old man. He was sitting at the table, with one leg resting on the other knee, a cigarette between his fingers and a treacherous smile on his lips.

‘Me a pansy? A poof?' Felice asked.

The old man confirmed this: ‘Exactly.'

Felice cocked his head on one side: ‘And … And how do you make that out?'

‘It's written all over you. You're a poof. No doubt about it. And …' The old man took a drag. ‘You know what the worst thing is?'

Felice knitted his brow, interested: ‘No, what is it?'

They sounded like two friends exchanging secret confidences.

The old man put out the stub in his plate. ‘The worst thing is you don't know it. That's your problem. You were born a poof and you don't know it. You're a big boy now, you're not a kid any more. Come to terms with it. You'd feel better. You'd do what poofs do, take it up the arse. Instead you act tough, play the man, shoot your mouth off, but everything you do and say sounds fake, sounds poof-like.'

Papa was standing up and seemed to be following the conversation, but he was on the other side of the room. The barber was leaning against the door as if the house was likely to fall
down at any moment and mama, sitting on the sofa, with a vacant expression on her face, was watching the television with the sound turned off. The lampshade was enveloped in a cloud of midges that fell down black and stiff on the white plates.

‘Listen all of you, listen, let's give him back to her. Let's give him back to her,' papa said suddenly.

The old man looked at him, shook his head and smiled. ‘You'll keep quiet if you know what's good for you.'

Felice glanced at papa, then went over to the old man. ‘Reckon I'm a poof, do you, you piece of Roman shit? Well you can have this fistful from me.' He brought his arm up and punched him in the mouth.

The old man crashed to the floor.

I took two steps backwards and clutched my head in my hands. Felice had hit the old man. I started shaking and my gorge rose, but I couldn't help looking again.

In the kitchen papa was shouting. ‘What the hell are you doing? Are you out of your mind?' He had grabbed Felice by one arm and tried to pull him away.

‘He called me a poof, the bastard …' Felice was almost blubbing. ‘I'll kill him …'

The old man was on the ground. I felt sorry for him. I wanted to help him but I couldn't. He tried to get up again, but his feet slipped on the floor and his arms wouldn't support him. Blood and saliva were dripping from his mouth. The glasses he wore on his head were now under the table. I kept looking at those thin, white, hairless calves that emerged from his blue cotton trousers. He clutched the edge of the table and slowly pulled himself up onto his feet. He picked up a napkin and pressed it to his mouth.

Mama was crying on the sofa. The barber was flat against the door as if he had seen the devil.

Felice took two steps towards the old man even though papa
tried to hold him back. ‘Well? Did that feel like a poof's punch, then? Call me a poof one more time and I swear you'll never get up again.'

The old man sat on a chair and with his napkin stanched an enormous split in his lip. Then he raised his head and stared at Felice and said in a steady voice: ‘If you're a man, prove it.' An evil light flashed in his eyes. ‘You said you'd do it and you chickened out. What was it you said? Slit him open like a lamb, I will, no problem, I'm not scared. I'm a paratrooper. I'm this, I'm that. Loudmouth, you're nothing but a loudmouth. You're worse than a dog, can't even keep guard over a kid.' He spat a mouthful of blood on the table.

‘You piece of shit!' Felice whimpered, dragging papa along behind him. ‘I'm not doing it! Why should
I
have to do it, why?' Two trickles of tears ran down his shaven cheeks.

‘Help me! Help me!' papa shouted to Barbara's father. And the barber threw himself on Felice. The two of them together could barely hold him.

‘I'm not doing it, you bastard!' Felice repeated. ‘I'm not doing time for you. Forget it!'

He's going to kill him, I said to myself.

The old man got to his feet. ‘I'll do it, then. But don't you worry, if I go down, you go down. I'll take you down with me, you arsehole. You can be sure of that.'

‘Take me down where, you Roman shit?' Felice drove forward, head down. Papa and the barber tried to restrain him but he shook them off like dandruff and charged at the old man again.

The old man took his pistol out of his trousers and put it against Felice's forehead. ‘Try and hit me again. Try it. Do it, go on. Please, do it …'

Felice froze as if he was playing one-two-three-star.

Papa got between them. ‘Calm down, for Christ's sake!
You're a pain in the arse, the pair of you!' And he separated them.

‘Try it!' The old man stuck the pistol in his belt. On Felice's forehead there was still a little red circle.

Mama, sitting in a corner, was crying and repeating with her hand over her mouth: ‘Quiet! Be quiet! Be quiet! Be quiet!'

‘Why does he want to shoot him?'

I turned round.

Maria had got up and was standing behind me.

‘Go back to bed,' I shouted at her in a whisper.

She shook her head.

‘Maria, go back to bed!'

My sister pursed her lips and shook her head.

I raised my hand, I was about to give her a cuff, but I restrained myself. ‘Go back to bed and don't you dare cry.'

She obeyed.

Papa in the meantime had managed to get them to sit down. But he himself kept walking to and fro, with glistening eyes. A mad gleam had ignited in them.

‘Right. Let's take a count. How many of us are there? Four. In the end, of all that number we started out with, there are just four of us left. The dumbest ones. Well, all the better. The loser kills him. It's so easy.'

‘And gets life,' said the barber putting his hand on his forehead.

‘Good man!' The old man clapped his hands. ‘I see we're beginning to use our heads.'

Papa picked up a box of matches and showed it around. ‘Right. Let's play a game. Do you know the soldier's draw?'

I shut the door.

I knew that game.

* * *

In the dark I found my T-shirt and trousers and put them on. Where had my sandals got to?

Maria was on her bed watching me. ‘What are you doing?'

‘Nothing.' They were in a corner.

‘Where are you going?'

I put them on. ‘Somewhere.'

‘You know something, you're nasty, really nasty.'

I got onto the bed and from there onto the window sill.

‘What are you doing?'

I looked down. ‘I'm going to see Filippo.' Papa had parked the Lupetto under our window, luckily.

‘Who's Filippo?'

‘He's a friend of mine.'

It was a long way down and the tarpaulin was rotten. Papa was always saying he must buy a new one. If I fell on it feet first it would tear and I would crash down onto the floor of the truck.

‘If you do that I'll tell mama.'

I looked at her. ‘Don't worry. The truck's there. You go to sleep. If mama comes …' What was she to tell her? ‘Tell her … Tell her anything you like.'

‘But she'll be cross.'

‘It doesn't matter.' I crossed myself, held my breath, stepped forward and let myself fall open-armed.

I landed on my back in the middle of the tarpaulin completely unscathed. It held.

Maria put her head out of the window. ‘Come back soon, please.'

‘I won't be long. Don't worry.' I climbed onto the driver's cabin and from there got down to the ground.

The street was gloomy, like that starless night. The only lighted windows were the ones in my house. The street-lamp by the drinking fountain was surrounded by a ball of midges.

The sky was overcast again and Acqua Traverse was wrapped in a thick black mantle of darkness. I would have to enter it to get to Melichetti's farm.

I must be brave.

Tiger Jack. Think of Tiger Jack.

The Indian would help me. Before making any move, I must think what the Indian would do in my place. That was the secret.

I ran round to the back of the house to get my bike. My heart was already hammering at my chest.

Red Dragon, bold and brightly coloured, was resting on top of the Crock.

I was on the point of taking it, but I said to myself, am I crazy? How far am I going to get on that stupid contraption?

I was flying along on the old Crock.

I urged myself on. ‘Go, Tiger, go.'

I was immersed in ink. I could hardly see the road and when I couldn't see it I imagined it. Now and then the feeble glow of the moon managed to seep through the quilt of clouds that covered the sky and then I glimpsed for a few moments the fields and the black silhouettes of the hills on either side of the track.

I gritted my teeth and counted the turns of the pedal.

One, two, three, breath …