[A] man walking, in the clothes of a buffoon, holding a bag and supporting himself with a staff, which he does not use to chase away the dog attacking him.
The silence smelled of metal and terror. Holding his breath, his body crushed behind the barrels, Nicola didn’t move a muscle. He had heard footsteps, after the girl left, and had been afraid that the sailor would return to do to him what he had done to her. If there was something he was good at, better than anyone, it was remaining motionless: he had done it every night of his life, with or without the ropes that tied him to the bed. Now the bed had become a vertical wall, the need not to exist in order to save his life had remained the same as ever, a torpedo boat had taken the place of the cellar, and Maria wasn’t dead, she was embodied in the demon eyes of a sailor. Vincenzo, Maria: the male devil and the female devil in the tarot cards subjugated a third being, half male and half female—or was it he who controlled them? Vincenzo, Maria, the sailor. The sadistic trio of the card turned over by Madame was complete.
Voices of men laughing, soldiers shouting. Behind the barrels, the shadow of a hidden boy.
The torpedo boat Morgana raucously weighed anchor.
It’s impossible, Nicola thought, and ran toward the exit, imagining diving in and swimming to land. He was afraid, he had never stopped being afraid. He had gone there to be safe, Messina was the only place he knew, apart from Reggio, and now he was leaving it again. Running, he heard footsteps, and, even more fearful of being discovered, he looked for another hiding place. In the dark he realized he was shaking. The barrels and the walls of the ship were shaking along with him, jolted by the engine. Where would he end up? He was afraid of finding himself in a strange city, with incomprehensible dialects and alien streets. In Messina he knew how to get to the cathedral, he knew the shops, and the accent of the inhabitants wasn’t different from his and his father’s. Had the devil boarded the ship? And if, seeing him, he killed him? If he did to him what he had just done to the girl from Messina?
Nicola breathed softly, tried to hold his breath beyond the limits. The voices came closer.
“I had to take on three of them!” one laughed.
“Without husbands they’ve gone mad . . .” said a second.
“They were just waiting for the earthquake to display their true nature.”
“They’re all like that here.”
“My cousin had himself sent on purpose to Messina for the women—all whoors.”
Among the soldiers’ voices was also the devil’s, no longer alone, but one among many. Together, as they had approached, they left. Nicola breathed again.
How long would the voyage last? Where were they headed?
To distract himself, the boy began to count.
Once he got to a million they would land in Naples, he said to himself. Five hundred and four, five, six. They landed. Where had they arrived in such a short time?
He kept counting, listening to the din diminish.
When he was sure he was alone, he gathered his courage and slipped outside. Again the dock, the port. The starry night, the calm sea, a destroyed and familiar landscape.
He had returned to Reggio Calabria.