What Hell Is Not
Page 18
‘Your mother will never leave you.’
‘How do you know that? Sometimes she says mean things to me.’
‘She always says nice things about you to me. When she says mean things like that, she doesn’t really think them. It’s just that she gets mad sometimes.’
Don Pino grabs the bicycle. It’s an old Graziella. He looks it over.
‘Where did you get this?’
Francesco doesn’t answer.
‘Did you steal it?’
‘Someone threw it away.’
‘Really? I bet they threw the chain away as well.’
‘What do I know?’
‘Alright. I’ll teach you how to ride a bike. But then you need to put it back.’
‘What if I don’t?’
‘Then you better watch out.’
‘Okay. Damn! You’re sharp, Don Pino.’
‘I’m not sharp, Francesco. That’s a word you use for someone crafty, someone who takes things that don’t belong to him.’
‘In life, you have to be slick or else things might not turn out so good for you. The slickest person always wins.’
‘And who told you that?’
‘I can’t remember. But everyone knows that.’
‘Come on. Get up on the bike.’
Francesco sits on the seat but it’s too high. He can’t even touch the ground with his feet.
Don Pino holds him up and, like all fathers do, he has him go around in circles and lets go for a few seconds every so often.
Francesco quickly learns what it feels like to fall off a bike and he scrapes his knees and elbows. Everyone remembers their first fall from a bike and the scrapes that come with it.
After a while, he can finally ride on his own and he rides away.
Don Pino looks out over the deserted street.
‘Children. Sooner or later, they need to ride away.’
Chapter 4
‘How do you become an orchestra conductor?’ Totò asked me a few days ago.
‘First of all, you need to learn how to play music,’ I told him.
At least that’s what I think you need to do. Honestly, I’ve never really understood why the man with the baton in his hand is so important. It’s not like he’s a wizard. We start with the first lesson anyway. Manfredi’s guitar has crossed the city with me and here it is, being played in a world I couldn’t even imagine before.
We start with some exercises to get his fingers used to playing the guitar.
The strings leave marks on Totò’s fingertips from pressing against them.
‘I didn’t know it was going to hurt.’
‘It hurts at first but then it stops.’
Just like everyone who learns to play for the first time, the only sounds he can make are grating. But he doesn’t care. He’s already fascinated by the notes and how different they sound from one another.
His right hand quickly finds its place over the bridge. It seems that he has a sense of rhythm.
‘You’ve got talent.’
‘No, I didn’t bring it with me.’
‘Don’t you know what that means?’
‘Talent?’
‘Yes.’
‘What’s that?’
‘You’re good at it. You have a gift for playing music.’
‘Are you telling the truth?’
‘I am.’
‘What talent do you have?’
‘Causing trouble.’
‘Like what?’
‘Like making my parents mad.’
‘I’m pretty good at that myself. What other talent do you have?’
‘I like words.’
‘What do you do with words?’
‘What do you do with notes?’
‘Music.’
‘You can use words to change things.’
‘Like what?’
‘For example, you didn’t know the word talent. But now that you’ve learned what it means, you know you have it. You didn’t before.’
‘Wow! You’re right! You need to teach me words, too! Then I’ll have lots of things!’
‘Okay, sure.’
‘Like what?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Like, teach me something else.’
‘Let me think . . .’
‘Teach me something that has to do with music.’
‘Harmony.’
‘Music you make with your arms?’
‘No, harmony. With an H. It means that there are different voices or sounds and each one is different. But when they come together they make a harmony that’s more complex.’
‘I don’t understand this at all. Can you tell me something that’s easier?’
‘Okay, hold on. I’ll try. Well. These are the strings: E A D G B E. If I play them by themselves, they each have a different sound. If I play them all together, they make a harmony. Can you hear it?’
‘Yes.’
‘Harmony is when different instruments and voices play and sing together.’
‘Now I understand. Wow! You’re good at explaining things. Now let me make a harmony. That’s what an orchestra conductor does, right? There are all these instruments and he puts them all together by waving his baton.’
‘Do you have a baton?’
‘No, not right now.’
‘We need to find you one.’
‘Wow, that would be great. But you’ll have to teach me.’
‘Teach you what?’
‘Harmony.’
‘I can try.’
‘You’re so good at words. You can teach me a bunch of things. You’re better than my teacher at school.’
‘Don’t get carried away.’
I look around the room full of children busy drawing, playing, reading out loud, dancing . . . they are the harmony of life.
Don Pino comes in.
‘Should we have a little snack?’
The children answer him in unison and all follow him to the main room where the table has been set with Coca-Cola, bread, and Nutella. Other brands are allowed as well but without Coke and Nutella there would be a revolt.
I’m hoping Lucia will see me there, but she’s too wrapped up with the children. She’s talking to Dario and explaining something by moving her hands like they were the wings of a seagull gliding. I can’t stop staring at her. More words that I’ve committed to memory emerge from an area of my internal geography that I have yet to explore fully:
Love found me completely disarmed
And opened the way from my eyes to my heart.
The room is almost empty and I begin to gather my things before heading back home.
The guitar is missing.
I feel my heart sink. Manfredi’s guitar.
I look everywhere for it. But it’s nowhere to be found. Prophecies always come true, especially when they are negative ones.
I turn the center inside out but still no guitar. Then I go into the room where they’ve been rehearsing the play. In the darkness, I can hear the strings being plucked. I go over to Totò, who is sitting in a corner. He’s playing and listening to the sounds. He’s got his ear practically glued to the guitar.
I’m really angry because I’m going to be late for dinner at the pizzeria where I’m going to say goodbye to Gianni before he leaves for the summer vacation. I can already hear them telling me that I’m crazy: You picked Brancaccio over Oxford?
Totò gets up and looks at me as if he just woke up from a dream. His eyes sparkle with joy. He’s smiling. He’s disarmed and disarming.
‘I’ve never had anything as beautiful as this.’
I sit down next to him.
‘Keep going. I’m lending it to you but you have to take care of it.’ As I listen to myself say this, I can’t help but think that I am making the umpteenth big mistake.
I see the better but grab hold of the worse.
Totò smiles with his still-bright eyes.
‘It’s my talent,’ he says as he kisses my brother’s guitar.
He hugs me.
I know I’m a dead man. That’s what one part of me says.
I know that I’m alive, says the other part.
Chapter 5
The evening is punctuated by dim lights and the Martian fluorescence of electric mosquito-killers outside the sidewalk cafes. You can smell the blend of burning mosquito coils and fried food. The girls’ exposed skin and the mousse in their hair reawakens the hunt in streets still marked by the survival instincts of the species.
‘You’re only an hour late. Where were you?’ Gianni asks me.
‘I had some things I needed to do.’
‘In summertime? You’ve got to be kidding.’
‘So tell us what happened to you. Why didn’t you leave?’
‘There’s got to be something you’re not telling us. Is she blond with blue eyes? Have you already gotten . . .?’
It’s an eloquent gesture.
I order a pizza and a beer. And then I tell my friends everything. As they listen, they find it hard to believe, but they also show compassion.
‘Why don’t you guys come with me?’
‘Where to?’
‘To give me a hand in Brancaccio?’
‘We’re on vacation, Federico. I don’t know if you’re familiar with the concept.’
‘My brain isn’t on vacation. Just the opposite. I guess you could say that it just got back from a very long vacation. We are organizing an event to commemorate the first anniversary of Borsellino’s death. There will be athletic competitions: Track, cycling, and tug of war. There will be a cake-baking competition for the mothers and there will be plenty of food to eat. It needs to be a day that people remember! And we need help to make sure that it’s all done in the most professional manner possible. All we need is for everyone to give a little bit of their time . . .’
They all nod. Of course, of course. We’ll begin getting organized. I just need to find a free moment. Definitely, before it gets started. This is definitely going to take a lot of work. Unfortunately, I have to go the beach with my parents. Otherwise, I’d be there in a heartbeat. Maybe when I get back. I volunteered for something once. I’ll be there for sure. But I’m already busy that weekend. Don Pino is still the best. The thing is, my grandmother isn’t exactly doing so well.
The litany of excuses continues in the form of clichés and platitudes.
‘Why don’t you just say that you’re not coming instead of giving me your lame excuses?’
‘Just because you’ve decided to be a hero doesn’t mean that you need to think you’re better than us.’
‘Hero? What are you talking about? I’m asking you to give up a couple of hours of your time when you don’t have anything to do anyway.’
‘Has Don Pino brainwashed you? I’ve always said you should stay away from priests.’
‘You have no idea what you’re talking about. You guys are nothing but a bunch of lame excuses.’
‘Excuse us for not being heroes,’ comments Gianni sarcastically. He’s always defended me at times like this. But now I realize how distant we’ve become.
‘What do heroes have to do with it? As always, you haven’t understood anything. Heroes are just men with balls. You don’t even remember where you left your balls.’
‘It’s too dangerous. Just forget it, Federico. It’s better to avoid people like that. I’m telling you as your friend,’ Gianni concludes as he cuts me off.
‘How would you know?’
‘There are certain things you just know. You are talking about Brancaccio, Fede. Let me just say it again: Brancaccio.’
‘You know what? Go to hell. Let me say it again: Go to hell.’
‘Calm down. What’s wrong with you?’
‘What’s wrong is that you are breaking my balls.’
I get up and leave.
Just let me go for a walk. No destination. I just want to lick the wounds of this city with my eyes. The winding, light-speckled streets form a maze that is too complex for my legs tonight.
A scooter rolls up beside me. It’s Gianni.
‘Did you think we were going to say goodbye like that? Get on.’
I hop on his souped-up scooter without thinking twice about it. And we head to one of our favorite places. It’s where we smoked our first cigarette. It was also my last cigarette, since it was followed by a cough that made me feel like I was being asphyxiated for two days.
It’s a spot near Vergine Maria beach where they used to keep the tuna boats. No one has used it for years. It has a tower with a balcony that looks out over the sea. It looks like it came straight out of a fairytale.
All you can see before you is the black darkness of the sea. It rises up like an immense beast that’s exhausted from the heat of the day. It pants slowly.
‘Tell me what’s really going on, because I don’t get it.’
‘I’ve fallen in love.’
‘With who?’
‘A girl from Brancaccio. Her name is Lucia.’
‘Why did you have go to Brancaccio to fall in love? With all the girls here in Palermo? What about Agnese? She’s been after you for months now.’
‘This isn’t a game.’
‘Are you boyfriend and girlfriend?’
‘No. We’ve only spoken to each other three times. And one of those times was a fight.’
‘Come on! That’s just what you call your average Platonic love. Snap out of it, Fede!’
‘But there’s more to it than that.’
‘What is it?’
‘Everything.’
‘What do you mean, everything?’
‘Everything else. Life there just seems more real to me than ever before. I couldn’t go on living in unreality. If I had gone to England, it would have been like swimming in the kiddie pool after having swum in the sea.’
‘So what’s so real about Brancaccio?’
‘The children. And the things that you can do for them, even though it’s hard to make a difference. And then there’s Don Pino. He has so much energy. I don’t know where he gets it.’
‘You’re not converting, are you?’
‘Converting to what?’
‘How should I know? Have you started praying as well?’
‘No. I’m talking about living without feeling alive. It’s as if up until now I had lived in the magical world of children who have everything going their way, just the way they want it to go. It’s different there: Things happen only if you have the courage to make them happen.’
‘So what’s this Lucia like? Does she know how to speak Italian? Or does she only speak Sicilian?’
‘Don’t be an idiot.’
A gentle gust of wind caresses the tops of the palm trees and makes the stars shudder slightly.
‘She has beautiful green eyes and black hair like the sea tonight. She likes reading. She’s not like other girls.’
‘The last time I checked there was no shortage of black hair, green eyes, and books where we live.’
‘Sure. But she’s real.’
‘I sure hope so, Federico. This wouldn’t be the first time you fell in love with a girl that only exists in your imagination.’
‘What I’m trying to say is that she is brave. She doesn’t run away, she doesn’t back down. She takes life as it is and she doesn’t let it crush her.’
‘How could you know that? You just met her.’
‘Come and see for yourself, Gianni.’
‘I’m about to leave, Fede.’
‘How are things going between you and Giulia?’
‘Good.’
‘What do you mean by “good”?’
‘It has its ups and downs.’
‘You could stay a few extra days in the city. You should come. You could even bring Giulia.’
‘To do what?’
‘You could give me a hand with the kids’ soccer games. Giulia could help Lucia.’
‘I don’t know. It would be tough to change our plans at the last minute.’
‘Didn’t your parents get crazy mad?’
‘They’re the ones who wanted a second child. And this is the child they got.’
‘Lucky them.’
I give Gianni a gentle pat on the shoulder and we sit there in silence watching the sea. You could do this for hours without getting bored. Now the sea looks like it’s been paved with the darkness of the night. Maybe it’s harder to stay and endure on land than it is to put out to sea. It’s even harder not to embrace the vastness that the sea has stuffed into your heart.
Chapter 6
I’ve invited Lucia to come over to my house to work on the script for Little Orlando. I couldn’t wait to show her my room but now everything seems inadequate, including myself.
Lucia arrives dressed like herself. Total simplicity is one of her best traits. It’s thanks to her that I learned the difference between a girl who shows off and a girl who shows herself. The first type of girl interposes a demonstration of who she wants to be between herself and others. And before she’ll have anything to do with you, you need to move past her layers of feigned insecurity. The second type of girl doesn’t protect herself with any demonstration. She simply wants to be the product of who she already is.
I have nothing to add. Lucia doesn’t wear makeup. Her skin is like that described in medieval Arab poetry, the art of spices and the unwitting exoticism of this land. Maybe I’m idealizing her. It’s all Petrarch’s fault. I’m still afraid to say it, but I believe that the name that Love wrote in my heart is hers.
Lucia is made of calm light and fresh shadows. Of clear water on days of thirst. And here you are in my room, in my port. Now that you see my things, I understand how pitiful they are and how little I have to offer you. But you can dock here, in this serene little port.
‘Are they all yours?’
‘Yes.’
She examines them one by one. My books. Underlined, dog-eared, and worn. I go into battle with my books.
‘Why do you underline certain sentences?’
‘So I can remember them.’
‘You want to keep all of that in your head?’
‘Is it wrong to want that?’
‘No. But I believe that life is much greater than what we can fit in our heads. Sometimes it seems that you want to break everything down into little pieces so that you can keep it all under control.’