The Dawn of Sin

by Grassetti, Valentino

  "But it's a horrible thing!" exclaimed Manuel Pianesi who, like everyone else, had an almost emotional relationship with the painter.

  Zevi became nervous. "I absolutely must see the original manuscript. I need to know if it's authentic" he exclaimed, observing the boys with distrust of those who don't want to be made fun of. As he looked at them, he was refreshed, because he found in their eyes the honesty he was looking for.

  "I trust you guys. But I wouldn't want some good forger to have a lot of fun writing a bunch of bullshit" he exclaimed impatiently.

  "Now bring me the manuscript."

  Guido, his face marked by sleepless nights, called Leo on the phone. If there was a waiting signal just before, the phone was now ringing off the hook. The delay was alarming and he thought he'd go look for it. He had his fingers tightened on the doorknob on the door knob, when Zevi became angry again. He had uttered a sentence he thought he didn't quite understand.

  The coal...

  There was a pause.

  Zevi repeated it again.

  "Coal. Coal. It's not possible."

  Guido was overcome with vertigo. He closed his eyes, the feeling of being suspended above an abyss. A deep, black well, where he wanted to vomit before he fell into it.

  "Pardo Melchiorri was a coalman for a living, you know? An artist like shovelling coal!"

  Guido felt an unbearable nausea rising from his stomach.

  Zevi shook his head, indignant at the painter's fate.

  "Listen to the sequel" the critic suggested.

  The cripple carried baskets of coal on his gibbous back until the end of his days. He never denied his heresies. He saw evil. And if he painted it first to warn us of its presence, then he used coal to warn us. On his deathbed he confessed to me, Frater Paolous, his friend, his confessor and his extreme anointed, that he had left piles of coal where most of all he felt the presence of the evil one. And all his life, mind you, he left whole sacks in front of my monastery. The monks thought it was the painter's way of redeeming himself. My brothers took the coal to burn the chimneys of the monastery. But Abbot Caligo knew the truth. The people knew, too. The evil was there. In the monastery. The painter warned everyone. But all were silent. Fear makes men blind and eager to forget. And I will not be surprised if, in centuries to come, the facts I am telling you will be completely erased from history.

  In the glory of God I tell you that true damnatio memoriae happens when an entire people is silent, but does not forget.

  Zevi closed the red folder. An excited voice rose up, where everyone commented, analyzed, interpreted. Guido didn't hear it. Everything was suddenly becoming clear.

  He realized there wasn't just an evil entity that could survive for centuries. Someone else could do it, and he was proudly

  standing up to the monster. Perhaps it was a battle that lasted forever.

  The battleground was always the same: the restless lands of Castelmuso. And Pardo Melchiorri, or more likely the entity that had flowed into him centuries earlier, wanted Guido to play an active role in the battle.

  The mobile phone vibrated in his coat pocket. It was Leo.

  Guido asked what happened to him.

  He heard a groan, and the ambulance siren.

  A bright rainbow of green, indigo and purple appeared in the sky. Below it, the storm was not over yet.

  The asphalt was overgrown with pieces of plastic, glass, and twisted sheet metal. A traffic policeman protected by a grief-stricken traffic warden channelled traffic into the right-hand lane. Guido parked on a sidewalk, in front of a high gate closed by a rusty chain. Manuel cursed when he recognized the overturned Smart car behind the damp, musky walls of the ring road. He and Filippa got out of the car.

  Guido preferred not to follow them. With his hands on the steering wheel, he peered past the column of cars shining with rain. He watched his friends run uphill on the road. They were stopped by the policeman. Filippa began to argue with the man he knew, because everyone knew each other in Castelmuso.

  Manuel, with his dreadlocks weighted down by the rain, reached the ambulance stationary on the side of the road.

  Leo was lying on the stretcher with blood on his face. His scalp was split, the blood had formed a black crust on his forehead.

  "Leo! Oh my God!" exclaimed Manuel at the sight of his injured friend. He was reassured only when he realized he was lucid and conscious. Leo grabbed his hand.

  "The manuscript..." he said with short breath as if something was preventing him from breathing.

  "The manuscript was stolen."

  21

  THE WATER, THE TOADS, THE LIGHTS

  By Leo Fratesi

  ...and finally, keep an eye on water, toads, and animals in general. If the water in the wells, if some ponds, or some pond you know well, sink for no apparent reason, evacuate your homes. If the toads separate from the females during the toads' coupling period, it could be a sign that the earthquake is about to break out. Toads can warn you even

  five days before the earthquake. If dogs bark insistent all over the valley, there is a risk of the earthquake happening within 20 minutes. If you notice bright lights at night, such as small intermittent flashes, it can be a phenomenon related to an imminent earthquake. When in doubt, evacuate your homes...

  "I don't like it” Manuel said, "this is pure terrorism” he pointed out while reading the draft article on the computer.

  "I know. But we have to do something” Leo replied.

  He was lying on the bedroom bed, still furnished like a teenager, with pennants from Juventus and an old Ferrari poster by Vettel hanging on the walls; a guitar with a rope jumped over the cabinet, stacks of manga with shiny covers on the bookcase, several taekwondo tournament trophies, glittering cups on which no dust was visible.

  The incident was not serious. A few broken ribs, a nasty head wound, several superficial bruises on the face from broken glass, and not even a big scare. Just the regret of destroying his father's car. Manuel and Filippa were at their friend's house, in a semi-clandestine meeting that should not have included Guido's presence.

  He showed the two friends his cell phone. "Look at this. Two point three. Two point four. Three point seven. At one-hour intervals, one-and-a-half hours."

  "I know. We all have earthquake apps" huffed acidic Filippa, adding, "but don't get paranoid. You and Manuel can't always have your noses glued to your phones to check for shocks, weak shocks that are only felt by instruments.

  It's not psychosis. I wish it was. You heard Paoloeta too. The geologist isn't stupid. If he's worried, there must be a reason. And the reason is called radon."

  Filippa, tired of Leo's posturing, dropped his speech and asked if she could smoke.

  "No, not if my mother's there. Not if my brother's there. Not if my girlfriend's here."

  "Your mother is out shopping. Your brother's at school. And Stefania has left you, so that's a yes, I guess."

  "I broke up with her, just to clarify. The ashtray's over there. Use it."

  "Anyway, we looked into it. Radon is just a parameter that is not statistically relevant” Manuel said, picking up his hair with one hand to tie it around the back of his neck.

  "Your geologist friend I think is using you” threw in Filippa.

  "I know him. He's honest."

  "Honest, and very ambitious” Filippa insisted, adding maliciously:

  "He is likely to test his instruments, which I remind you, he placed at his own expense. He is an outside researcher at the National Institute of Geophysics and Volcanology. No one has funded the project. That's why he doesn't expose himself. If he fails, he risks nothing because he hides. And if you publish his bullshit, you'll get your ass kicked out of the paper."

  Manuel intervened. "Filippa is right. We can't use the Union to scare people."

  Leo replied, saying what he'd been hatching for a long time, "Unless we publish a false story."

  "You've gone completely out of your mind” replied Filippa, intrigue
d. She knew Leo, and she realized that his friend was about to propose something crazy, but that it might have some logic.

  "Listen. I've thought this through" Leo explained by pointing his finger at the computer screen with the satellite map of the danger zone open.

  "This is the lake. This is the dirt lock, the one that could collapse with an earthquake of magnitude seven, or maybe less. This is the hamlet of Poggio Muso, downstream of the lock, and below it is the monastery. Two thousand people in

  all. Two thousand souls to move with a lie. I can make up an article. Suffice it to say that I've interviewed some mushroom hunters, collected the confidences of hunters, or farmers, and the like. I'll write that everyone has noticed dangerous signs around the Poggio Muso valley. Small shocks, nervous animals, strange hydrogeological movements and so on. People are exasperated, you'll see that they'll listen to us. Especially those who live under a dam."

  "Yes, sure and then we risk a fine lawsuit for alarm." Manuel shook his head.

  "Maybe, but better to terrorize people for a few days and make them run away from home than to see them die."

  "This story doesn't stand up. Nobody predicts earthquakes. Neither you, nor the gas, nor that fucking geologist” Filippa said.

  "Maybe. But there is a precedent” said Leo, who opened Wikipedia and invited friends to research it.

  "Read this: China. Haicheng Earthquake. February 4, 1975.

  Seismologists report anomalous groundwater movement. Many notice the nervousness of pets. Dogs, cats, birds all over the place. After a series of imperceptible premonitory tremors, the authorities decide to clear the city of Haicheng. One and a half million inhabitants. And the shock... Bum! It arrived on time. A seven-point-three bang.

  There were a thousand dead. But it is estimated that no less than 150,000 people were saved as a result of the evacuation."

  "They were not saved, however, thanks to your friend Paoloeta's bullshit" cut short Filippa. "Let's get this over with. It's not your decision, Leo. It's up to the editorial board. That's us. And the majority of the committee says no. No fake articles. Of any kind whatsoever." Leo shook his head, frustrated by the obtuseness of his friends.

  "I'm not giving up. The last word goes to the director in charge” he said.

  "Guido? Would you really like to talk to him about it?" Manuel exclaimed in amazement.

  "Unfortunately, he is no longer the same. That's why we're here. Not to write fake articles, but to understand what's happening to him."

  "That is also true” admitted sad Leo, who abandoned the idea of writing a fake article about the earthquake. He tried, however, to explain it better: "You know my point of view. Guido has fallen in love with a Lolita.

  "Love has nothing to do with it. I have a feeling there is more to it than that" Manuel said.

  "Yes, there is. The truth about the manuscript." Leo got to the point.

  "A week has passed, and we still don't know who tried to kill you" noted Manuel, who continued, "We have few, clear, useless elements in our hands. A black off-road vehicle, a man in an elegant coat, collar, leather gloves, and hat strategically placed over his eyes. The impression is that he acted on commission. Do you agree with that, at least?"

  A grumbling of approval followed.

  "What's great is that we can't report the manuscript missing, because Guido has illegally removed it from the archive.

  "Can I say out loud what you are thinking?" Manuel exclaimed.

  "We should start doing that" admitted Filippa, but she hated the idea of addressing the issue.

  "Okay. Then I shall begin. Maybe Guido knows who stole the book. I suspect him. You suspect him. But no one has ever had the courage to say it."

  Another grumble of agreement.

  "Very well. How shall we proceed in this case? Does anyone have a proposal to make?" the girl asked. No one breathed a word, as if they were afraid of hurting Guido by making reckless assumptions.

  Faced with the undecided looks of the boys, Filippa thought of the obvious.

  "We'll talk to him. "When he returns from Milan, we'll force him to tell us the whole truth."

  Guido was already on his way back.

  Lexotan was a mild medicine, but it helped him overcome the tachycardia caused by panic attacks. He could finally sleep at night. His appearance, mood, and overall quality of life were improving. He smoked less, and never in Caterina's presence.

  She slept with her face reclining on her shoulder, her dreams lulled by the monotonous noise of the rails. When the train went through a tunnel, the dry noise and annoying pressure on her ears woke her up for a moment. She looked at her sleepy boyfriend, kissed him on the neck and fell asleep again. It was unusual for the two to travel first class, but it was a strategy to spend a few hours in a half-empty space. There they could hug and kiss, away from the curious looks of the passengers.

  When they left, after paying for a second-class ticket, they were forced to share the journey with many strange people.

  The first person, a blonde with a thrown-faced blonde who wore a poncho in the colors of the flag of peace - in fact, there was nothing peaceful and peaceful about her. Guido and Caterina were forced to listen to her fanciful stories, where the woman boasted of being a famous fashion blogger. She told them that she had an important sex life, that she had been the lover of some famous people, and a lot of other things that were plausible, but frankly dubious.

  As the blogger got off the train, it was the turn of an Erasmus student who smelled of beer and sweat. The journey of four hours in apnea and without any privacy, had led Guido to spend for the return one hundred and sixty euros for the first class.

  The appointment in Milan turned out to be less disastrous than Guido thought. The day before, he had shown up on time at the Union headquarters in Via Severino. The editorial office occupied two floors of a building with cold glass facades. A building that could be defined imposing and modern, at least compared to the parameters of Castelmuso, where everything was small, narrow, still in time, but warm of history. Even Guido believed that one could not think of architecture without thinking of the people. And the headquarters of the Union seemed to him a sort of aquarium, more suitable for fish than for people. The meeting took place in an icy room where chaos reigned, but where everything looked promising.

  In addition to the long, shiny table, there were several crates piled up against the wall, four leather armchairs completely packed in nylon, and much more furniture still wrapped in cellophane.

  Publisher Ludovico Orsilio Centofiorini, the haughty but not bad cerulean eye, demanded that the meeting take place in the new meeting room because he thought it was a good omen. The turnover had increased by two figures, the liabilities had been reduced to zero, and the first real money was spent to renovate the premises.

  The publisher was joined by director Massimiliano Sandri, a reputation built up in his youth as a war reporter. He had written a successful book: The Heart of the Martyrs, a novel set in Palestine, translated into four languages that sold seven hundred thousand copies.

  The third character present at the meeting was Eugenio Zevi. The man, after visiting Castelmuso, had returned to Milan, deceived and disappointed like a betrayed lover.

  The theft of the manuscript was for Zevi like a coitus interruptus, and a real blow for the entire editorial board.

  They had the story of the theft told again. Guido described Leo's accident in detail. He seemed sincere, but the feeling remained that the boy was hiding something.

  At the meeting, they talked mainly about how to reorganize the Castelmuso editorial staff.

  Eugenio Zevi, despite the irritation caused by the loss of the manuscript, felt that Guido Gobbi and his staff could avoid the restructuring plan. A plan that provided for hierarchies and rules that were extremely punitive for the boys.

  Zevi would not have allowed the four talented young men he had met to be clipped.

  The critic established that things would remain as th
ey were in Castelmuso.

  Guido was astonished. Although they had disappointed him, he was defending them with his sword. And no one, neither the publisher Centofiorini, nor the director Sandri, allowed themselves to raise objections, although it was clear that they did not agree with the scholar.

  Guido found out that Eugenio Zevi was a financing partner of the newspaper. The critic, in fact, was one of the owners of the Union.

  When the meeting was over, Guido stepped aside. He emphasized how sorry he felt about the theft of the manuscript, but life would go on. He asked the boy for Filippa Villa's mobile number. He wanted to invite her to a conference he was giving in Turin. "Convince her to come. It will all be at my expense” he said.

  "Tickets, please" the man asked, the blue wrinkled uniform and the stiff hat with the winged frieze across it.

  Caterina lifted her head from Guido's shoulder. She mooed sleepy. The conductor recognized them and signalled that he was leaving it alone. It was at least the third time he asked them for the ticket.

  The carriage was deserted and the two had taken advantage of it to exchange some tenderness. It was nothing particularly animated since, from time to time, people peeped into the carriage. They were mostly foreigners who confused second class with first class. The last to sneak into the corridor was a young Nigerian girl with a red and white handkerchief rolled over her head and two brats hanging around her neck. The woman, branded on her face with some strange tribal scarring, begged the controller if she could stay for a while. Their daughters needed to sleep, and there was neither space nor tranquillity in the other wagons.