Lizzi Bizzi and the Red Witch

by Stefano Pastor

  «You should go back to your friends», she concluded, without looking at me. «Don’t always stay with Abraham. Now he has learned our language, he can continue on his own».

  I no longer had friends. I even asked myself if I ever had them. If a notebook fell, nobody bent over to pick it up. No one pushed my wheelchair unless Abraham was doing it.

  Even because of Cindy we had few problems.

  Every time we brought her to school, leaving her in the garden, at the end of the lessons we found her all dirty, as if she had broken into the mud. But there was no mud around there.

  Then it went worse. One day we found her dirty, painted with black paint, and it took many days to get her back to her original color.

  In the end, Abraham had to leave her at home, locked in the closet, but she didn’t like it, and even the priest complained about her barks.

  Abraham and I often talked about the past and the future. He was curious, he was craving for knowledge, but at the same time he was always a slave, and would have never dare to impose himself. Even the teacher became harder with him, often ignoring his questions and being very tough with every mistake he made.

  The state of grace that Abraham and his mother had enjoyed at the beginning had gradually disappeared.

  One day, I accidentally heard a conversation between the mothers of two of my schoolmates, which was a good synthesis of our situation.

  «We’ve also greeted them with open arms, those ungrateful people, and that’s how they paying us back? They deserve to be sent back to where they came from».

  I didn’t understand who they were talking about, whether Abraham or the refugees in general, but it didn’t make much difference. Tempers flared, without any reason. Abraham had not hurt anyone, he had always been remorseful, and his mother was still more than him. It seemed impossible to me that everything happened because of a dog.

  «Next week there will be elections», my mother said one night. «This time they will win».

  «The Pro-American?».

  «Call them as you want, nationalists, pro-Americans, intolerant. Their policy is one, Italy to the Italians».

  I was afraid to ask. «Will they send them away? Back in America?».

  «I don’t think they can. That would be against the whole world». Then she grimaced. «What am I saying? See what’s happening in Germany, it’s even worse there!».

  She bowed her head. «I don’t know what will happen, but it will be bad. Stop going to Abraham, please. You are not strong enough, you can’t do it».

  I wasn’t self-sufficient, that was the problem. A B class citizen to be tolerated, just to show the world how good Christians behaved. How they had tolerated escaping slaves until they were too many and they had not become a problem.

  They even murmured that the Americans would let them escape on purpose, to drag Europe into chaos. Governments fell and those who replaced them were more and more nationalists.

  Of course I didn’t think that way, but at a more basic level I understood the problem as well.

  «You have to leave», I said to Abraham one day, sitting on the ground watching the pond. «You and your mother need to find a safer place».

  Abraham had changed a lot in those last months, and I was the creator of that change.

  «Do you think there is such a place?».

  I didn’t know, but I was really scared.

  «Mom lost her job», added Abraham. «They say there is a recession and they can no longer afford a maid».

  I swallowed. «Who says that?».

  «All the ladies she worked for».

  «How are you going to live then?».

  «Mom has managed to put something aside in these months. We carry on. The Church also helps us».

  «What…». It was difficult to ask some questions. «What about you if they send you back?».

  Abraham’s gaze was impassive as he watched the water. «Nothing, I guess. It will be like here».

  It was not true, Cindy was here, and he could never keep her there.

  I was here too, though I still couldn’t figure out what relationship tied us. Were we friends, or was I just a burden that he had to take care of? The wheelchair to be pushed, the backpack to carry, the desk to be reordered? What I gave him was just a payment for his services?

  I was with him for courage, for loyalty, for true friendship, or just because I needed him, because without him I would be miserable, a useless invalid?

  Those thoughts were insinuating, I couldn’t get rid of it. But I kept staying by his side. We were all one thing, myself, Abraham and Cindy.

  Cindy was killed the day before the election.

  As it happened and who did it we never found out. The only thing that was certain was that Abraham had left her in the canonical room, like every day, and when we got back from school we found her in the garden hanging from a tree. She was hanged.

  I doubted it had happened there, we would have heard it, even with the windows closed. It was more likely that she’s been killed somewhere else and then they carried the body there to teach us a lesson.

  I wasn’t expecting that reaction from the kids, no one was making fun of us and a couple even burst into tears, because despite everything Cindy was liked by them too.

  The teacher did not interfere, but she got angry and went back to school to make a phone call.

  I couldn’t get my eyes off Abraham’s impassive face, I felt more guilty than all the others, because I was the one to give her to him.

  Cindy was painted entirely black, to the point that we did not even recognize her at first.

  Abraham didn’t cry, he didn’t even try to cut the rope. He did not even touch her. He just left.

  He forgot about me. Even today I don’t know if it was his choice, or he was so upset that he had erased me from his thoughts. However it didn’t matter much. In the immense pain he tried to hide, Abraham was alone, he had completely cut me off his whole life.

  I could have called him, but I didn’t. Maybe because I was terrified by the idea that it was not a lapse and that it would not come back anyway.

  I stayed there, alone. And even when the other children were taken away, I kept looking at that dog hanging until my mom came to pick me up.

  Because I was useless, I could not do anything.

  I thought a lot about it that day. I wondered if it could have been avoided. If I didn’t do all wrong, if Cindy wasn’t dead for my fault.

  Did Abraham know that this would have happen? That’s why he tried to give her to me?

  And did I know that? If I didn’t know, then why did I try to make everyone believe that Cindy was mine?

  We fooled ourselves, were we idealistic about it? Who paid for that, who was suffering more now?

  Even mom was feeling sad. She had put me in that situation, she felt guilty. But it was not only that, she was fighting a serious conflict, which saw her faith, her ideals against the reality.

  And the ideals were crumbling, now that I’ve been hit too, because her son’s security came before everything else.

  «I have to see Abraham», I said.

  No way she would allow me to go, for no reason in the world.

  «I have to see Abraham», I repeated, like a broken disc.

  Abraham had not come back home. Even her mother was worried, she knew what had happened to Cindy.

  We went to look for him, all together.

  We found him in the park, our park.

  Mom pushed my wheelchair, and there was Mrs. Lincoln with us.

  Abraham was by the lake, as always, and was down like the first day I met him. Down as before Cindy entered our life.

  I asked my mom to leave me alone, and I asked her, too, to Mrs. Lincoln. The ground was rugged, full of stones, sloping, for me it was a danger. I had never driven the wheelchair in the park.

  Mom was uncomfortable next to Mrs. Lincoln. Her who had always helped her. Yet at that moment her only desire was to run away, never having known either that
woman or her son.

  She agreed, and I went alone.

  «Hello», I said, stopping the wheelchair on the shore. Abraham didn’t make a move to help me.

  At that time I would have wanted to be his friend, but I knew it would never happen.

  I spoke without breathing because I was afraid I couldn’t finish.

  «Do not give up», I said. «Never give up. They are wrong and you are right. It’s good that you want to be free. It’s wrong that slavery still exist. It should no longer be anywhere in the world. You have to fight. You must win».

  Even he was amazed and turned to look at me.

  «You have to fight. You all have to fight. You must prevent that they send you back, putting the chains back on you. You must oppose. Don’t accept charity, pretend! They owe it to you! Everybody need to be blamed if slavery still exist, not just Americans! Don’t trust those who accept you, that’s not enough! You have to be equal to them and that’s it! There is no middle ground, there is no compromise!».

  My heart was pounding. I needed to cry for Cindy. To weep with him. But it would never have happened.

  I tried to turn the wheelchair to go away, and Abraham instinctively got up and came to my help.

  «Don’t do it!», I yelled. «Don’t you ever do that again!».

  It was very difficult to go back uphill on that ground, on my own, but I made it. Mom was waiting for me. They split up there, she and Mrs. Lincoln, without even a word, and the woman went to her son.

  We never saw them again, Abraham and Mrs. Lincoln.

  That same evening, before they knew the results of the elections, they left in great secrecy, directed to Switzerland. The reverend organized everything, finding a good woman willing to host them.

  I knew it would happen, but I suffered too much.

  I knew that our meeting at the lakeshore would have been a farewell, yet me and Abraham didn’t even say goodbye.

  I was alone now, as I had never been before, without anyone who would help me ever again.

  Yet I had to carry on anyway, I had to make it.

  Forty years have passed since then, me and Abraham have never met again, maybe he doesn’t even remember me. Perhaps he forgot Cindy as well.

  He is on television now, and his speech is on. He is talking to the United Nations, but it’s difficult to understand his words. The bar is full of people and they are all whistling. There are also those who give him insults. At the end of the day is normal, it’s full of pro-Americans in here.

  So many things have changed, but everything has remained the same. There was a war, governments alternated, yet at the end of the day everything is identical to back then. As always happens in human history, the ones in power today are the same people who in power forty years ago, and the people are happy about it.

  I just don’t care, I stopped thinking about it long time ago, one evening at the lake.

  I did nothing in my life. I have an office job, offered by the community, tailor made for a disabled. An empty house now that my mother left me. My life is useless, and continuing to survive is difficult and painful.

  Now I have to ask, if I drop a pen to the ground, I always find someone who collects it. But he complaints and he’s often rude. «Be careful, next time».

  The wheelchair is fortunately powered, and this is an advantage. You can make it yourself.

  Abraham no, he’s not alone.

  For Abraham Lincoln the whole world is ready to stretch out a hand. He has made it, he has achieved his dream.

  It is fresh news that the CSA has fallen. Twenty-four hours ago the slavery laws have been abolished. There are no more slaves in the whole world, we are all free human beings.

  How much of this is due to Abraham Lincoln is yet to be established. Of course his speeches inflamed the world. His determination, his strength. Two Nobel peace prizes, four assaults on his life, the last of which hurt his spine and paralyzed him, didn’t do anything but increase his popularity.

  Eventually the Confederation of States collapsed. The president resigned. That this has been caused by a severe financial depression due to sixty years of embargo is of little importance. Now the borders are open again, the world has become a single country.

  They won’t forgive him, too many governments hated him, too many people would like him to die, like all those around me, but it doesn’t matter to him. He smiles on that podium, careless of the wheelchair that never blocked him.

  He won, he made it.

  His words rumble, and I am the only one to understand them.

  I know them, I know them very well. Those are the same words that a kid said many years ago at a lakeshore. They are better now, they have been customized, but the concept has not changed. They are his hymn to battle, the dragging force that has moved the whole world.

  Who knows if he ever thinks of me, to this useless man who drags his existence into the most cowardly of the ways, who has never been able to do anything unless he stimulates the pity of others. He never had the courage to pursue what he believed in, to practice his teachings.

  «Another beer!».

  Only this I can do. Drink, burp, get drunk. And hope that someone is so charitable to bring me back home.

  «It’s a sucker!».

  «I would kill that fucking nigger!».

  «It is shameful that he’s allowed to give us orders!».

  I’m smiling, because this news has also been leaked, despite the government’s attempt to hide it. An embargo motion against Italy was filed because it was suspected of fomenting racial hatred.

  «What do you think, Guglielmo?».

  It’s so easy to pretend. I wink on the screen and spit on the floor.

  «Dirty nigger!», I shout, and I drink my beer.

  Everyone applauds.

  May 2011

  ANOTHER LIFE

  Translation by Alfio Loreti

  «Come on fucking nigger! Use those legs, push it!».

  The whip snapped, but it was Zeb to get struck. Moses continued to push, with all his strength. The stretched string was against his chest, making a bloody scar.

  The ox was in front of them, and even he pushed, the hooves pointed at the ground. The whip also struck him, who bellowed.

  «Come on, come on!», roared master Hennessy. «You are useless, you are useless!».

  Those damn roots right in the middle of the new field that master Hennessy had just bought were bed news.

  In the past, the woods came all the way up there, and although the trunks had been cut off and the ground was leveled, the roots of the trees had created an intricate underground that prevented any cultivation.

  They were already two days that they were working there and so far they extracted the roots of eight trees, but the field was vast. Moses doubted that he would survive. He and Zeb, as well as the old ox, had to get out one tree root after the other without rest.

  It was not rich, Master Hennessy. He had a nice house, yes, sometimes Moses got in, where he lived with his wife and daughter. He had only two slaves able to work in the fields, Zeb and Moses. Moses’s wife, Pheby, cooked for them and Spencer, their only son who thank God, was helping in the house serving on the table. He was still too young for the life in the fields, even though Moses feared he would sooner or later reach them.

  Master Hennessy shouldn’t have bought that field, they couldn’t cultivate it, they were just not enough. They wouldn’t have been enough even without finding that impediment. He always said he would buy another slave, but the opportunity had not come up, or perhaps he didn’t look for it.

  He wasn’t a good master, Hennessy, too demanding and violent, easy to anger. Moses never complained, he had a family to look after. Zeb was older than he was, but he was defeated, perhaps he had always been since birth.

  When the root came off the ground, Moses and Zeb fell to the ground for the rebound. The ox went on his way, dragging them for a few feet, along with the strings they were tied to.

  «What the h
ell is that?».

  They struggled to breathe, they didn’t have the strength to stand up, Moses saw Master Hennessy come down from the horse and looked puzzled the root they had extracted. He looked at him getting closer and then come back. He seemed worried.

  Moses helped Zeb to get up, then they dragged themselves to the hole. Things were about to get nasty.

  Master Hennessy was silent. Moses studied the strange object entangled in the root and understood why it had been so complicated to pull it out. It looked like iron and was very big. Though it has been underground for long time it had not rusted. It had an elongated shape, like that of a rifle bullet, only that it was over a meter long.

  «Don’t touch it», said Master Hennessy, with an unusually weak voice.

  «What is it, master?», he dared to ask Zeb.

  Hennessy didn’t know, but perhaps he suspected something, because he was more and more worried. «It must have being here for a long time».

  The roots had surrounded it, as if the tree had grown up around it, had incorporated it and it would not have been easy to pull it out.

  «What should we do?».

  Master Hennessy didn’t even know that, but he turned back. He was torn, that object could be dangerous, but he couldn’t leave it there if he hoped one day to use that field.

  He didn’t want to endanger his slaves, but he couldn’t do otherwise. «Don’t touch it, take the root off. There, along with the others».

  In saying this he went back to the edge of the field.

  Moses began to be afraid and asked Zeb for advice. «What do you think it is?».

  Zeb grimaced, for he had the same idea of Master Hennessy. «A bullet».

  Moses was tempted to smile. «There are no such great guns!».

  «Not a shotgun’s, stupid! A cannon’s one!».

  Moses had never seen a cannon, so he considered it possible. «And is it dangerous?».

  «I don’t know. It’s better not to move it too much».

  They would never have been able to drag it across the field.

  Moses turned to look at Master Hennessy and saw that the man was telling him to continue. He felt even worse.

  «What do we have to do?».

  «What he said».

  There was no choice. Even though they were endangering their lives, they couldn’t disobey.