effort.
"It's not fair! You held me back."
"What about you, then ... starting before the word go? Is
that... fair?"
He was blue in the face. "Jesus, I'm exhausted ... The cigarettes ... Come on, give me that hand."
Cristiano grasped his father's hand and allowed himself to be
pulled up. He was sick with exhaustion.
"Well, you lost... But ... YOU did well... I believe you."
"You ... bastard. I let you win ... because you're an old man ...
That's the only reason you won..."
"Yes ... And quite right too. You should always show respect to
the elderly." Rino put his arm around his shoulders.
Father and son sat on the top of the hill, looking down at the
misty plain and the river, which at that point widened out into a
big, sandy loop. The opposite bank was far away, lost in the haze,
with only the bare tops of the poplars showing through, like the
masts of ghost ships. Further downstream the river had overflowed
its banks, flooding the fields. They could see the silhouette of the
power station, the string of electricity pylons and the viaduct along
which the highway ran.
Rino broke the silence: "It was a good essay. I liked it. What
you said was right. Immigrants out, jobs for the Italians. That's
right."
Cristiano scooped up a handful of sand and made it into a ball.
"Sure, we don't even have the freedom to write what we think."
Rino zipped up his jacket. "Don't talk to me about freedom.
Everybody talks about freedom. Freedom here, freedom there.
They fill their mouths with it. What good is freedom? If you're
penniless and jobless you have all the freedom in the world, but
you can't do a thing with it. You're free to go away if you want,
you say. But where to? And how are you going to get there? Tramps
are the freest people in the world, but they freeze to death on park
benches. Freedom is a word that only serves to delude people. Do
you know how many fools have died for freedom when they didn't
even know what it was? Do you know who are the only people
who really have freedom? The rich. They have freedom, all right..."
He mused in silence for a while, then put his hand on his son's
arm. "Do you want to see what my freedom looks like?"
Cristiano nodded.
Rino pulled out a pistol from behind his back. "This young lady's
last name is freedom and her first name is Magnum 44."
Cristiano's jaw dropped. "My God, it's beautiful."
"It's a beauty. Smith & Wesson. Short barrel. Chrome plated all
over." Rino held it in his hand approvingly. He pulled out the
chamber, spun it around, then snapped it back into place.
"Let me touch it."
Rino held it out to him butt first.
"Wow, it's heavy. Is this the gun that's used by ... ?" Cristiano
held it in both hands and aimed into the distance. "What's his name?
The detective in The Enforcer?"
"Dirty Harry. Only his has a long barrel. What do you think?
Isn't it great?"
"It's incredible. What would have happened if I'd shot Castardin's
dog with this?"
"You'd have blasted him out onto the road. This girl's an orphan,
like you. Only she's lost her father as well as her mother. Her serial
number has been erased."
Cristiano closed one eye, held his arm out full length and tilted
the gun over at an angle. "How much did you pay for it?"
"Not much...,,
"Why did you buy it? You've already got the Beretta..."
"That's enough questions! Aren't you going to ask me if you can
try it out?"
Cristiano gazed at his father incredulously. "Can I?"
"Yes. But mind the recoil. This gun's not like the other one. It's
got a real kick. Release the safety catch. Hold it in both hands. Stay
loose. Don't stiffen up or you'll hurt yourself. And keep it well away
from your face."
Cristiano obeyed. "What should I aim at?"
Rino looked around for a target. When he found one he smiled.
"Hit the bowl of macaroni. We'll give those two a heart attack,"
he whispered in his ear.
Cristiano laughed.
On the other side of the yard Danilo and Quattro Formaggi were
working
"It's not fair! You held me back."
"What about you, then ... starting before the word go? Is
that... fair?"
He was blue in the face. "Jesus, I'm exhausted ... The cigarettes ... Come on, give me that hand."
Cristiano grasped his father's hand and allowed himself to be
pulled up. He was sick with exhaustion.
"Well, you lost... But ... YOU did well... I believe you."
"You ... bastard. I let you win ... because you're an old man ...
That's the only reason you won..."
"Yes ... And quite right too. You should always show respect to
the elderly." Rino put his arm around his shoulders.
Father and son sat on the top of the hill, looking down at the
misty plain and the river, which at that point widened out into a
big, sandy loop. The opposite bank was far away, lost in the haze,
with only the bare tops of the poplars showing through, like the
masts of ghost ships. Further downstream the river had overflowed
its banks, flooding the fields. They could see the silhouette of the
power station, the string of electricity pylons and the viaduct along
which the highway ran.
Rino broke the silence: "It was a good essay. I liked it. What
you said was right. Immigrants out, jobs for the Italians. That's
right."
Cristiano scooped up a handful of sand and made it into a ball.
"Sure, we don't even have the freedom to write what we think."
Rino zipped up his jacket. "Don't talk to me about freedom.
Everybody talks about freedom. Freedom here, freedom there.
They fill their mouths with it. What good is freedom? If you're
penniless and jobless you have all the freedom in the world, but
you can't do a thing with it. You're free to go away if you want,
you say. But where to? And how are you going to get there? Tramps
are the freest people in the world, but they freeze to death on park
benches. Freedom is a word that only serves to delude people. Do
you know how many fools have died for freedom when they didn't
even know what it was? Do you know who are the only people
who really have freedom? The rich. They have freedom, all right..."
He mused in silence for a while, then put his hand on his son's
arm. "Do you want to see what my freedom looks like?"
Cristiano nodded.
Rino pulled out a pistol from behind his back. "This young lady's
last name is freedom and her first name is Magnum 44."
Cristiano's jaw dropped. "My God, it's beautiful."
"It's a beauty. Smith & Wesson. Short barrel. Chrome plated all
over." Rino held it in his hand approvingly. He pulled out the
chamber, spun it around, then snapped it back into place.
"Let me touch it."
Rino held it out to him butt first.
"Wow, it's heavy. Is this the gun that's used by ... ?" Cristiano
held it in both hands and aimed into the distance. "What's his name?
The detective in The Enforcer?"
"Dirty Harry. Only his has a long barrel. What do you think?
Isn't it great?"
"It's incredible. What would have happened if I'd shot Castardin's
dog with this?"
"You'd have blasted him out onto the road. This girl's an orphan,
like you. Only she's lost her father as well as her mother. Her serial
number has been erased."
Cristiano closed one eye, held his arm out full length and tilted
the gun over at an angle. "How much did you pay for it?"
"Not much...,,
"Why did you buy it? You've already got the Beretta..."
"That's enough questions! Aren't you going to ask me if you can
try it out?"
Cristiano gazed at his father incredulously. "Can I?"
"Yes. But mind the recoil. This gun's not like the other one. It's
got a real kick. Release the safety catch. Hold it in both hands. Stay
loose. Don't stiffen up or you'll hurt yourself. And keep it well away
from your face."
Cristiano obeyed. "What should I aim at?"
Rino looked around for a target. When he found one he smiled.
"Hit the bowl of macaroni. We'll give those two a heart attack,"
he whispered in his ear.
Cristiano laughed.
On the other side of the yard Danilo and Quattro Formaggi were
working
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