The Combover by Adrián N. Bravi Page A

the woods. She had become a nightmare. I had only a few seconds to decide. I've never been quick to react, but on this occasion I had no choice. So I put my comb and hair cream in my trouser pocket, hurriedly tied my shoes, and ran off into the woods, leaving all my things in the cave. I raced through the trees without stopping. It seemed that Giuseppina and her sick and infirm were close on my heels. Had they caught up with me, they'd have made me pay. There were stinging nettles, brambles, junipers, all kinds of bushes, and I rushed through them, grazing my arms and legs on the branches and on shrubs. I fell over several times but hurriedly picked myself up. After a while I reached a clearing. There was a chicken pen in the middle of it. The hens were clinging one to the other under a galvanized metal roof, perched on filthy rungs. I heard the sound of someone following me in the distance. I thought of hiding under the ladder where the hens were, but as soon as I approached they began darting off in every direction. Behind the chicken pen was a massive, broad, high oak. I rested for a moment against the trunk to catch my breath. I was tired of running at random, not knowing where I was going. The hens had settled down again. That chicken pen in the middle of the clearing seemed odd, but I had no time to ponder on the strangeness of the place. I went back into the woods and began climbing the mountainside once more, sprinting fast among the leaves and branches. Then, as if by magic, I came across two coiled snakes moving in unison, in a sort of sensual dance. It would have been wonderful to stay there watching them, but I had to reach the summit as quickly as possible if I wanted to shake off Giuseppina and her band of sick and infirm. No one would be able to catch me up there. And then, if they continued after me, I could still carry on beyond the mountain, toward Monte San Vicino, for example, or even further. I could hear a rumbling in the clouds. All of a sudden it began to rain again and that, for me, was a piece of luck.

12
The hunting knife
    The wind blew on the mountaintop like a raging beast, and I could no longer hear whether Giuseppina or any of her band were still following me. It wasn't easy to tell. All the same, I carried on running. I had to get as far away as I could from the cave. But why were they forcing me to flee? And what would have happened if they caught me? Would they have locked me up in the town, in a cell, chained up forever? The ways of Providence are hard to predict. It was tiring work trampling up through the soft undergrowth. My whole body was sweating. I was out of breath. The wind and the rain had transformed my combover into a sort of ridiculous pigtail. I was ashamed of myself (a bald man with a pigtail looks so absurd that not even a whore would give him a second look). On the other side of the mountain, where I caught sight of the Sibillini mountains, the dense vegetation made the landscape seem impenetrable. I had never ventured as far as the other side. There were lots of brightly colored butterflies that let themselves be carried in the breeze. On the opposite slopes you could see large clumps of pine with tall trunks and no branches. I wandered for hours, hiding among the trees and the rocks. I had become quite skilled at walking in woodland. But it was likely to start raining again at any moment. So it was better not to go too far from the cave, not to go wandering off through the mountains. I had to follow a method, establish a clear plan. I rested on a tree trunk to get my breath back (a birch tree, maybe?). All of a sudden I heard the sound of breaking twigs, of leaves swept away in the chase, and a light quaking of the earth underfoot. A wild boar was on the run, followed by a pack of dogs barking in pursuit. A little later there was the echo of gun shots. It was only when I was back at the top of the mountain, running as fast as I could out of fear, that I realized the poor