his eyes. "Where
the fuck do you get these ideas?" He spoke quietly, breathing
through his nose. "How many times have I told you you've got
to keep everything inside ... you mustn't let anyone know what
you think, or they'll use it against you. You and I are hanging by
a thread, don't you realize that? And everyone's trying to break
it. But they won't succeed. I'll always be with you and you'll
always be with me. I'll help you and you'll help me. Don't you understand that you must never bare your throat? Think of tortoises, think of their shells. Always remember you've got be so
strong that nobody can harm you." He slammed his fist down on
the dashboard so hard that the glove box shot open, spewing out
paper.
"Why do you do this, papa? Why don't you believe me?" said
Cristiano in a broken voice.
"Don't whine like that! Nobody's hurt you, have they? What are
you, a little girl? Are you going to burst into tears?"
Danilo motioned to Cristiano not to react and to keep quiet, and
tried to mediate: "Come on now, Rino, he told you the truth. Your
son doesn't tell lies. You know him."
Rino rounded on him. "You shut your face! Don't interfere! Do
I interfere in the problems between you and that slut of a wife of
yours? I'm talking to my son. So keep quiet."
Danilo lowered his gaze.
Cristiano dried his eyes with his hands. Nobody dared to speak.
Everyone sat in silence, and the only sound was the background
noise of the river and of the branches brushing against the sides of
the van.
36
They stopped in the yard of an unused sand-dredging works from
the Seventies. Huge mounds of sand formed a semicircle around the
rusty machinery.
Cristiano jumped out and ran toward the extraction tower.
He stopped by a broken-down hut. Its windows were smashed
and it was plastered with graffiti and drawings.
He wanted to go home on foot. It was a long way, but that didn't
matter. Although the air was cold, it probably wouldn't rain for a
while. The weather was changing. To the south the gray blanket of
clouds had broken up, revealing patches of crystalline blue. A pair
of cormorants flew overhead. The sound of the rain-swollen river
could be heard in the distance.
He pulled his hoodie over his head.
In front of the hut were the charred remains of a bonfire. The
metal skeleton of a chair. Tires contorted by the heat. Some sandals. A gas cooker.
Cristiano took the essay out of his pocket and flicked on his
cigarette lighter. He was about to put the flame to the paper when
he heard behind him: "Cristiano! Cristiano!"
His father was approaching. He wore a tartan woolly jacket with
a plush lining. It was open and he only had a vest on underneath.
How come he never feels the cold?
He set light to a corner of the paper.
"Wait!" Rino took it out of his hand and blew on it, putting out
the fire.
Cristiano lunged at him, trying to snatch it back. "Give it to me.
It's mine."
His father took two steps backwards. "Are you crazy? Why do
you want to burn it?"
"So there won't be any evidence. And you'll be happy. There's
always a chance burglars might break in during the night and steal
it, isn't there? Or the police.. .Or the aliens..."
"No, don't burn it."
"What do you care? You didn't even like it." Cristiano ran off
toward the river.
"Stop!"
•
"Leave me alone! I want to be on my own."
"Wait!" His father caught up with him and grabbed him by the
arm.
Cristiano tried to wriggle free, shouting: "Let me go! Go away!
Fuck off!"
Rino hugged him tightly and held his face against his chest.
"Listen to me for a moment. Then you can go if you want."
"What do you want?"
Rino let go, and stroked his shaven skull. "It's just that ... Look..."
He was having difficulty in finding the words. Finally he lit a cigarette. "...You must understand that if I get angry there's a
reason.. .If you'd handed it in, that bitch of a teacher of yours
would have immediately given it to that asshole of a social worker
the fuck do you get these ideas?" He spoke quietly, breathing
through his nose. "How many times have I told you you've got
to keep everything inside ... you mustn't let anyone know what
you think, or they'll use it against you. You and I are hanging by
a thread, don't you realize that? And everyone's trying to break
it. But they won't succeed. I'll always be with you and you'll
always be with me. I'll help you and you'll help me. Don't you understand that you must never bare your throat? Think of tortoises, think of their shells. Always remember you've got be so
strong that nobody can harm you." He slammed his fist down on
the dashboard so hard that the glove box shot open, spewing out
paper.
"Why do you do this, papa? Why don't you believe me?" said
Cristiano in a broken voice.
"Don't whine like that! Nobody's hurt you, have they? What are
you, a little girl? Are you going to burst into tears?"
Danilo motioned to Cristiano not to react and to keep quiet, and
tried to mediate: "Come on now, Rino, he told you the truth. Your
son doesn't tell lies. You know him."
Rino rounded on him. "You shut your face! Don't interfere! Do
I interfere in the problems between you and that slut of a wife of
yours? I'm talking to my son. So keep quiet."
Danilo lowered his gaze.
Cristiano dried his eyes with his hands. Nobody dared to speak.
Everyone sat in silence, and the only sound was the background
noise of the river and of the branches brushing against the sides of
the van.
36
They stopped in the yard of an unused sand-dredging works from
the Seventies. Huge mounds of sand formed a semicircle around the
rusty machinery.
Cristiano jumped out and ran toward the extraction tower.
He stopped by a broken-down hut. Its windows were smashed
and it was plastered with graffiti and drawings.
He wanted to go home on foot. It was a long way, but that didn't
matter. Although the air was cold, it probably wouldn't rain for a
while. The weather was changing. To the south the gray blanket of
clouds had broken up, revealing patches of crystalline blue. A pair
of cormorants flew overhead. The sound of the rain-swollen river
could be heard in the distance.
He pulled his hoodie over his head.
In front of the hut were the charred remains of a bonfire. The
metal skeleton of a chair. Tires contorted by the heat. Some sandals. A gas cooker.
Cristiano took the essay out of his pocket and flicked on his
cigarette lighter. He was about to put the flame to the paper when
he heard behind him: "Cristiano! Cristiano!"
His father was approaching. He wore a tartan woolly jacket with
a plush lining. It was open and he only had a vest on underneath.
How come he never feels the cold?
He set light to a corner of the paper.
"Wait!" Rino took it out of his hand and blew on it, putting out
the fire.
Cristiano lunged at him, trying to snatch it back. "Give it to me.
It's mine."
His father took two steps backwards. "Are you crazy? Why do
you want to burn it?"
"So there won't be any evidence. And you'll be happy. There's
always a chance burglars might break in during the night and steal
it, isn't there? Or the police.. .Or the aliens..."
"No, don't burn it."
"What do you care? You didn't even like it." Cristiano ran off
toward the river.
"Stop!"
•
"Leave me alone! I want to be on my own."
"Wait!" His father caught up with him and grabbed him by the
arm.
Cristiano tried to wriggle free, shouting: "Let me go! Go away!
Fuck off!"
Rino hugged him tightly and held his face against his chest.
"Listen to me for a moment. Then you can go if you want."
"What do you want?"
Rino let go, and stroked his shaven skull. "It's just that ... Look..."
He was having difficulty in finding the words. Finally he lit a cigarette. "...You must understand that if I get angry there's a
reason.. .If you'd handed it in, that bitch of a teacher of yours
would have immediately given it to that asshole of a social worker
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