Seven days earlier, Wednesday, October 21
The boys are getting ready to go out and start their workdays as apprentices with various artisans, for which they receive a few cents a week; all but Cristiano, who’s been fired by the cobbler for his disrespectful manners. Cristiano always has a smart answer. Cristiano won’t obey.
The door flies open and in comes Don Antonio, beside himself with rage. The door slams against the wall with a bang as loud as a gunshot; Tettè, who is washing up, jumps in surprise.
The priest strides into the middle of the room, then shouts:
“Everyone here, in front of me!”
The boys rush to get into position. Amedeo and Saverio, the two oldest, who have a right to the two cots, are the first to jump into line. Tettè sees the two boys exchange a glance, and starts to get scared.
When they’re all standing in a line, the priest says:
“Do you know what’s happened now? Three apples are missing. Three apples from the pantry: and I’m sure of it, because I put them there myself, only yesterday, and I counted them one by one!”
The six boys keep their eyes on the floor. They know from experience that the best thing to do now is keep quiet, because whatever they say, the rest will pay for it. Tettè clutches his shirt, which he had no time to put on, tight to his naked chest. The downcast heads are all shaved bald, to ward off lice.
Don Antonio resumes:
“Who did it? I’m only going to ask you once. If whoever did it confesses, then he will be punished, and no one else; if on the other hand the culprit doesn’t step forward and admit that he stole from the house of the Lord, which is a mortal sin, then you’ll all be punished for it. Also because if you know that someone has committed a sin and you don’t say it, then you go to hell just the same. I’m going to let you go without food for two whole days. You know me: I’ll really do it. And the culprit will be punished, you can be sure of that. He will be punished.”
Terror fills the room, like a gust of wind. Everyone knows what will happen to the culprit. The broom closet. He’ll be put in the broom closet.
In the dark, in the cold. Surrounded by a thousand nameless creatures that crawl on your skin, with quick little feet. If you go into the broom closet you come out with boils and rashes on your skin, and you scratch and scratch for days on end, but the itch still stays with you. And it’s dark as the blackest night in there, only you can’t move around because there’s no room, not even enough room to breathe. It’s a terrible place, the broom closet.
The other boys are breathing hard and loud. Tettè hears his own heart beating in his ears. He looks at his feet, on the rammed-earth floor. They’re purple from the cold. A minute goes by. Then two minutes. Then Amedeo takes a step forward.
Don Antonio looks at him.
“Speak up, if you have something to say.”
Amedeo’s metamorphosis as he stands before the priest is an incredible sight. He sinks his head down between his shoulders; he seems to shrink; his legs bend at the knees. Even his voice changes, becoming as faint and small as a child’s.
“Padre, forgive me. I don’t like playing the spy, but this is something I have to tell you. I don’t want to go to hell.”
Silence. Everyone’s eyes remain on the floor, except for Cristiano’s, which flash angrily for an instant as he glares at Amedeo, then look down again. Don Antonio demands:
“Well?”
Without looking up, Amedeo points a trembling finger at Tettè.
“The cacaglio. It was him, that rotten cacaglio. He thought no one was watching, but I saw him. Last night, he ate them, the apples. Last night, in his bed.”
The serpent of horror rises up from Tettè’s stomach and coils around his throat from within. He never even saw the apples. He looks up, tries to say something, but can’t speak. The serpent coils tighter.
“Really? And do you know what happens when you accuse someone without being able to prove it? Do you?”
Don Antonio’s voice is menacing. Nanni, the sexton, has come in through the door, and he’s rubbing his hands together. He likes it when punishments are handed out. Everyone knows how much he likes it.
At last, Amedeo looks up and nods. Then he turns around and walks over to Tettè’s pallet. He lifts it with a confident gesture and grabs something; then he walks back to the priest and opens his hand. The priest takes the object and shows it to everyone: an apple core, cleaned all the way down to the last bite. Two ants fall to the floor.
Tettè feels like shouting out in desperation: it wasn’t me, Padre! Can’t you see that it wasn’t me? I never even went into the kitchen! Why don’t you ask yourself who helped make dinner last night, and you’ll have your answer! Please, Padre, not the broom closet. I’m afraid of the darkness and the bugs and critters there!
But the serpent is coiled tight around his throat, and all that comes out of his mouth is a guttural gurgling sound. One of the twins can’t stop himself from laughing, out of relief for having dodged a punishment and because Tettè can’t speak, and the sexton slaps the back of the twin’s head. No one laughs this time, as the twin rubs his hand over the shaven stubble on his head, the way he does when the lice make his scalp itch.
Don Antonio goes over to Tettè. He gazes down at him sternly.
“Again. And yet you of all people shouldn’t be stealing. People give you things for free. You’re a lucky boy.”
Tettè would like to tell the priest that he’s not a lucky boy at all. That every time he comes back, the other boys take everything away from him. Everything, down to the last crumb. But the serpent keeps squeezing, and he feels like he’s suffocating.
With a sudden gesture, the priest grabs his left ear between his fingers and twists hard. Tettè emits a groan that sends a shudder through everyone in the room. Cristiano looks at Amedeo, whose eyes are still fixed on the floor. The other twin covers his ears with both hands. Now Don Antonio practically lifts Tettè off the floor. The child waves his hand in the air, trying to loosen the priest’s grip, but he maintains his hold on the ear, which is now bloodred.
Tettè is dragged out of the room, out into the cold rain. Everyone follows him and the priest, like a procession on its way to witness an execution. At the far corner of the courtyard, there’s a door that leads into the broom closet, a dark little space no more than three by three feet. Still holding the boy by the ear, Don Antonio reaches into his tunic pocket and pulls out a key. He opens the door, throws Tettè inside, and shuts the door behind him, locking it.
First he feels relief that his ear has been released, then waves of terrible, lacerating pain. Tettè massages the ear hard. He can’t hear a thing on that side, just a deafening ringing hum. He drags himself into a corner, grabs a rag, and brings it to his head. He can hear the feet of little animals scurrying in the dark, but he can’t see them. He kicks at them to keep them away. He wants to sob and shout, but his throat is locked tight.
He sees his angel, standing right before him. He hears the angel’s voice: when something bad happens, think of me, think of my smile. Think of it, Tettè. Think of it as hard as you can, and you’ll see, everything will be all right.
He thinks as hard as he can, his eyes squeezed shut under the filthy rag, it wasn’t me, it wasn’t me, he shouts in the silence inside him. Please, I beg you, tell me that you love me. Just tell me once that you love me, my angel.
The thunder shakes the door of the broom closet. The rain beats on the door and drips inside. Tettè kicks out when he feels the icy little snouts touching him. He knows that if he falls asleep, the snouts and the quick little feet will become bolder, and he’ll wake up to bites and stings.
He hears something scratch at the door, once, twice. He drags himself over, and finds a gap between boards; he breathes through it. He sees something close to the crack, and after a moment he realizes that it’s a dog’s nose.
He manages to poke out a finger and strokes the dog’s muzzle.
All he can do now is wait.
In the big room, Amedeo and Saverio sit on the cots and pull out an apple apiece from under their mattresses. Exchanging a sly glance, they bite into them and laugh.
Cristiano clenches his hands into fists but then tells himself: mind your own business.