Who spoke? Whose voice is that? Why do I understand the words? What do they mean?
“Oh, my God! What are you doing?”
“Knock it!”
“But you can’t…”
“Christ, that’s a woman, that one! Break down that disgusting beast and done!”
It’s on you, it’s penetrating, the pain it’s so high I’m about to pass out. I force myself to resist and I open my mouth to shout a mute scream. Whose voices are those, why do I understand them?
“Quick! Quick! Shoot!”
The noise sluts me, I hear him scream, then his body falls on me, taking me breath away.
“Wake up! Free her!”
“But he could still be alive…”
“His dead, can’t you see it? Move!”
Other hands, different hands, hands that I don’t recognize. They pull me, they free me from his body.
“Ahhh! It’s horrible! Look what he has done to her!”
I know that sound, I’m sure of it. It’s throwing up. I also threw up, quite often, when he fed me.
“Careful! Don’t’ crush them! Those are her eyes!”
“He ripped them out! Bastard, ripped her eyes!”
Another vomiting.
“That’s a tongue!”
I don’t want to listen, I don’t want to ear. I want to forget the words, forget everything.
They are screaming, fighting between themselves.
“How is it possible that you didn’t control here? You told me you looked everywhere!”
“But it seemed impossible that…”
“Twenty days! She’s been in here for twenty days, while we were looking for here everywhere! Have you got any idea what he has done to her in these twenty days?”
Why don’t they free me, rather than shout? I can’t move! Do something?
“It’s horrible, it’s horrible…I can’t imagine. From outside you can’t see it, we didn’t notice it.”
“And nobody came in to clean it?”
“The guardian who looks after it his on holiday. Nobody else felt like coming behind here.”
“And how did she manage to get in?”
“I don’t know! I don’t know! She must have got to close the cage and he must have grabbed her!”
“And he managed to pull her through the bars?”
“It wouldn’t have happened otherwise.”
A voice very close. “She full of bites, his severed the tendons. That’s why she can’t move!”
I’m not tied up? Is this what his trying to say? I’ve lost the use of my arms and legs forever? He ripped my eyes and tongue?
“It’s incredible that she’s still alive! Can you imagine, twenty days closed inside here, in the gorilla’s den. With that beast that vented on her all his animal instincts. It must have been terrible.”
“Who knows if she’s still conscious, if she knew where she is.”
Where are you? What have they done to you? You can’t be dead! I need you, help me! Make me deaf, please! Finish your task and make me deaf. Then we can be together forever, I promise, my love.
July 2010
PART 2:
COLORS
BLACK & WHITE
Translation by Alfio Loreti
I met Abraham when I was nine.
There was something new in the air, because in the house the phone rang more than once. At that time, it was a rare thing and when it happened it was bad news. That sound was related to unpleasant memories, like the day they told Mom that Dad had died in a railroad disaster.
Mom didn’t tell me anything, however, so I knew of his existence only when I went to school the next day.
I immediately noticed him – how could it be otherwise? – just as he noticed me. It is difficult to go unnoticed when you are stuck in a wheelchair.
He was in a corner, his head low, and his mother was behind him. She tightened him, as if she wanted to protect him. He was small, he looked even younger than me.
They both smiled, mom and teacher.
“That’s Abraham”, she said to me. “I hope you will become friends.”
The other students had not yet entered, it was just us in the classroom. At that moment, I noticed that it was done on purpose.
“He has black skin!” I realized.
“Do you think that’s a problem?” she asked.
I didn’t have the slightest idea. “Will he come to school with us?” I asked.
The teacher spoke. “He just moved here. We thought you could help him to settle in.”
I was not convinced at all, I was amazed that they would give me that responsibility. After all, I was supposed to be helped, constantly.
“Are they refugees?” I asked, because I knew it by now. “Do they come from America?”
The teacher sighed. “Yes, Guglielmo, they come from America.”
I looked at them more carefully. Ours was just a small village, and so far, we’ve never seen them. They talked a lot about it in the newspapers, and even on the radio, but until then they were abstract news, far from my world.
“And are they going to stay here?”
The woman sighed again. “It’s necessary, William, the government prefers to divide them, to decentralize them. This reduces the risk of disorder.”
I heard those rumors around actually. Nobody liked the refugees. They were ugly, dirty and bad, and they hurt people.
“It’s just them”, continued the teacher. “Fortunately, no adult male has been sent to us.”
I wanted to be certain that I understood. “Are they slaves?”
She was getting upset, though she tried to hide it. “They were slaves. In America. But they managed to escape. Here they are free men.”
I still couldn’t understand why they were asking me. “Why me? What do I have to do?”
“You are our best student, Guglielmo, our top student. You are also the only one who speaks their language, because your father was English. You could help him with the school, teach him how to speak like us, help him to fit in. It would be a true Christian attitude.”
Finally, I understood, there was the church behind all that. It was the church that wanted integration. From dad’s death, Mom had gone back to the church, becoming more and more assiduous. Even too much.
There was hope in Mom’s eyes as she looked at me.
I looked at the frightened black skin little boy and I was sure we could never become friends. I had no choice, anyway, so I nodded.
It was hateful, they had put us in a separate desk, while the teacher continued to teach the other children. They had separated me from my friends. For the first time I felt different, really different.
Being stuck in a wheelchair had never been a serious problem, everyone seemed happy to help me. My schoolmates were also ready to do anything I needed without me even asking. Ours was a Christian community, it was natural to behave this way.
I remembered the teachings of mom and Reverend: All men are equal, beyond the color of their skin. And the children are more equal than the others, he always added the church man.
I breathed a great sigh and prepare to do my duty. I revised my English as I haven’t had many occasions to use it since Dad had left us.
“Is your name Abraham?”
The child nodded.
“Abraham what? What’s your surname?”
“Abraham…Lincoln.”
“Too difficult”, I stated. “I will never remember it.”
He didn’t have a problem with that, He just raised his shoulders. “It was an important name, Dad said. That of a general, I believe.”
“Where’s your father?”
“He didn’t make it.”
I was good at geography, as in any other subject. “You’ve gone through Canada, right? You all come from there.”
He nodded again, but it was clear that the subject made him feel bad. I realized that the father had to be dead, probably in the attempt to cross the border. Many died that way, Mom had t
old me.
I changed topic. “What did you study with history? Did you study Nerone already?”
He looked at me strangely and shook his head.
I was increasingly uncomfortable, as a teacher I felt inadequate. “If you didn’t get there please tell me so, I can make a summary for you.”
“No… I never went to school before.”
I wasn’t sure I understood. “Do you do it differently? Did you study at home? Have your parents taught you?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know how to read or write. Is this what I have to learn here?”
I looked horrified at the teacher, and I raised my hand, but she ignored me.
Was it a joke? We were in fourth grade! What does an illiterate do in our class? Why didn’t they put him in first grade, if he didn’t know how to do anything? Then it occurred to me that maybe I was the only one in the whole school that could communicate with him.
Abraham was always head-down, he was waiting.
Why did they put me in that position? What did they expect from me?
I had to study, to play, to be with my friends, they couldn’t force me to baby-sit that nothingness!
Abraham was silent, he never lifted his eyes. He always waited.
I cleared my voice. “I think…I think it’s best to start with the alphabet. Yes, the letters of the alphabet. I think…”
“They don’t want them here”, my mother admitted to dinner. “The pro-Americans want to send them all away.”
“And would it be wrong?”
“They want to send them back to America, but they can’t. The whole world would turn against them. But every year they are getting stronger, it’s likely that the next elections they will also get the majority, and then things will get really bad.”
“Abraham had never gone to school before.”
“I know, William. The slaves don’t go to school. The slaves only serve to work. They have no rights, they have no name, they are just objects.”
“Abraham has a name. He told me that. Abraham… Linco.”
Mom corrected me. “Abraham Lincoln. But it’s not their real name. They choose their name when they manage to run away.”
“Oh!” I was really surprised that someone could choose his own name. “He said it was the name of a famous general.”
“Not exactly. Long time ago he was the head of the unionists. Everybody called him president.” She smiled. “For some of them he is considered a martyr. They say he was against the confederation to release them, to abolish slavery. But I doubt it very much, there were a lot of other interests in the game.”
I didn’t know much about that historical period, we had not yet studied it. “Who are the unionists?”
“Rebel, Guglielmo. Rebels who, very long time ago, have been opposed to the Confederation. They were defeated in a great battle in Gettysburg, where many people died. It was then that the Confederacy got all the states of America.”
“The Canada, no, though.”
She smiled. “No, Canada had not participated in the war, it remained a free state.”
“And there are slaves in America.”
“We used to have them too, but very long time ago. Then men abolished slavery in every part of the world. Only America has refused to do so. The United Nations has sanctioned it, now the embargo against America is going on for twenty years. But it is useless, they are stronger than ever. They have closed the borders, they don’t need anyone. They have those who produce for them.”
I didn’t understand much, there were too many words in that speech that I still didn’t know. “What should I do with Abraham? He doesn’t know nothing at all.”
“Teach him, William, do it for me. That child suffered a lot.”
It was a full-time job, what I was entrusted with. It didn’t end with the end of the lessons. Abraham didn’t know anything at all and was stressful to instruct him. It wasn’t a stupid boy, no, but sometimes I had to teach him such basic concepts that a three years old boy knew it here.
We were living in another universe, us two. My old friends were excluded. There was no one who would help me, but there was Abraham. If a pen fell on the floor he had already bent to catch it before it even touched the ground. He carried my backpack and pushed the wheelchair.
They all ignored us, even the teacher, and I struggled to understand it, because in the end she had been asking for my help.
Often, at the end of the lessons, we were going to the park, which was always empty in that season, and there we were still studying by the lakeshore.
There was so much curiosity in me, and it often overshadowed the task I was assigned to.
“What did you do in America? I mean, what does it mean to be a slave?”
He raised his shoulders, with no concern. “I don’t know. What I do here.”
I was more confused than ever. “What does it mean? Who was your master?”
He made himself more cautious. “I almost never saw him. My job was to take care of his son.”
“And what did you do?”
“Anything. Anything that needed it to be done. I accompanied him to school and brought him the books. I cleaned his room. I cleaned his clothes. I took care of him, in short.”
It took me more than a minute before I came to understand. Even though I was his teacher, Abraham was dealing with me. Within a few days he had become indispensable, he was my legs and arms, he obeyed me naturally without ever having to give him orders. I was dismayed, even though I didn’t fully understand the reason.
“Was it a bad life?” I asked, though I was scared to know the answer.
“It’s dad that wanted to leave. Escape. Mum didn’t want to, she opposed to it. She was convinced that nothing would change, that the world was all that way.”
I didn’t ask who was right between the two, I didn’t want to know. “And you?”
He shrugged again.
There weren’t any sparks between us that would make us friends. I taught him and he obeyed, nothing else.
“How old are you?” I asked.
“Almost nine. I think.”
“You think? Don’t you know when you were born?”
Again, he shrugged. “Mom remembered it was in May, but not the day. The days are all the same, she always says.”
That night I spoke with Mom.
It was not easy for her to explain certain things. Perhaps she had not even realized how complicated was the task she had entrusted to me.
“In America it’s different, Guglielmo.”
“Yes, but how different? Abraham told me he never celebrated his birthday. Not even knowing what day falls.”
“It’s possible. The whites, the masters, don’t give any importance to certain things. They will probably have annotated that birth, but only as they take note of new property. The slaves are illiterate, there are some things they can’t understand.”
“Can’t we find out when was he born?”
“I’m afraid not, Guglielmo. Now there is no way to find out.”
I was dismayed, it seemed to me something horrible.
“He will never be able to celebrate a birthday?”
Mom smiled. “You can choose a day yourself. May is at the door. Choose one day and celebrate it.”
I was doubtful. “Can you?”
“Sure, Guglielmo, you can do anything.”
I presented the idea to Abraham. He looked at me for a long time, without talking.
“Don’t you want it?”
“What’s the point?” he asked.
“That’s how we do. We celebrate birthdays.”
“I wasn’t born free.”
Strange answer, which I didn’t understand. “I know, you were a slave, but…”
He interrupted me, and it was the first time that he did.
“It doesn’t matter. Many slaves were born free. Not me.”
I didn’t know that, I dropped my mouth. “What does it mean?”
“There is a p
lace far away, called Africa. There’s where people like us live free. There are also birthdays there. Many slaves were born there.”
“But this has been many and many years ago!”, I said because I knew a little bit about that story.
“No, it’s not true, it continues today. There are bad men, soldiers, they call them marines. They always go to Africa to take new slaves. They come with big ships and many rifles, and they take away my people. Dad was taken like that, he was born free.”
I was incredulous. “But they can’t, it’s forbidden!”
“They do it anyway, they do everything they want.”
“And we don’t do anything to prevent it?”
It was a silly question for a child like him. I immediately changed my topic. “How do you know these things? Who have taught you?”
“Nobody. Listening. I listen to the older who talk about it. Dad always told us about Africa, he just dreamed of going back there. But mom didn’t, she has never been there, she is afraid of it. She says it’s only inhabited by savages and she wants to remain in civilization.”
This was all new to me.
“Don’t you want to celebrate it then?”
“My birthday? What does it mean to celebrate?”
“Should I give him a present?” I asked mom.
She was very thoughtful, almost not listening to me. “Yes, yes.”
What could I give to Abraham? What did he really need? Everything. What would I have wanted if it had been my birthday? Something important that I couldn’t have?
The idea sprouted, and I found it to be perfect at once.
“Missy had the puppies.”
Mom asked. “What?”
“Missy, Mr. Ferri’s dog, had the puppies. He’s trying to give them away.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Do you want to give a dog to Abraham?”
“Shouldn’t we?”
She didn’t reply immediately, lost in her thoughts. “Things are not looking good at all.”
“What does it mean?”
“They don’t want them here. The reverend had taken Mrs. Lincoln as a janitor, but the mothers of some children complained and they had to fire her. Now she helps some church ladies to do their housework, but it’s just a temporary job.”
The Prison Page 45
