Message from the Shadows Read online

  – Very boring, answered Isabella, really very boring, imagine if there weren’t ideals, fortunately there are ideals.

  – Sure, confirmed the man, fortunately in history there are ideals, who told you this, the president or your teacher?

  Isabella seemed to mull this over.

  – Now I’m not sure who told me.

  – Perhaps the president gave the input, said the man, and what can you tell me about ideals?

  – They are all respectable if one believes in them, answered Isabella, for example the patriotic ideal, then maybe someone makes a mistake because he’s young, but if his intentions are good, the ideal is valid.

  – Ah, said the man, this is something I need to think about, but it doesn’t seem the right day for it, today is so hot and the sea looks so inviting.

  – Then get in the water, she prodded.

  – I don’t really feel like it, responded the man.

  – That’s because you aren’t motivated, I think your problem is stress, you can’t imagine the negative effect of stress on our spirit, I read it in a book my mother keeps on her bedside table, would you like me to get you something at the hotel bar, something for stress? As long as it’s not a Coke, that I wouldn’t get.

  – This you’ll have to explain, you really must, said the man.

  – Because Coke and McDonald’s are the ruin of mankind, said Isabella, everybody knows it, at my school even the janitors know it.

  The man dug into his bag and took another pill.

  – You sure take a lot of stuff, exclaimed Isabella.

  – I have an hourly schedule, said the man, my prescription calls for it.

  – All these pills can’t be good for you, she stated with conviction, Italians take a ton of pills, they said that on television, what we should be doing instead is tuning our spirit to the positive forces in the universe, that’s why we should avoid certain foods and drinks, because they carry negative energy, they aren’t natural, am I being clear?

  – Isabèl, can I tell you something in confidence?

  The man wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. He was sweating.

  – Coke and McDonald’s never took anybody to Auschwitz, to those extermination camps you must have learned about at school, but ideals did, have you ever thought of that, Isabèl?

  – But those were Nazis, objected Isabella, horrible people.

  – I totally agree, said the man, the Nazis were truly horrible people, but they too had an ideal and went to war to impose it, from our point of view it was a perverted ideal, though for them it wasn’t, they had great faith in that ideal, you have to be careful with ideals, isn’t that true, Isabèl?

  – I need to think about it, answered the girl, maybe I’ll do it at lunch, it’s twelve thirty, before long they’ll serve lunch, you’re not coming?

  – Maybe not, said the man, today I don’t have much of an appetite.

  – Excuse me for repeating this, but in my opinion you take too much medicine, you’re doing the same as all the Italians who take too many pills.

  – So are you Italian or not? the man repeated.

  – You already asked me that and I already answered, replied Isabella, irritated, I’m totally Italian, maybe even more than you, anyway if you don’t come to lunch you’ll be missing out, today there’s a buffet lunch at the hotel and after that Croatian stuff they’ve been giving us, they’re finally going to serve fettuccine all’arrabbiata, actually on the menu it says fetucine all’arrabbiata, anyway it should be ours, sometimes when you’re abroad you have to forgive spelling mistakes, but sorry, why do you take so many pills, you aren’t a deviant like those guys who go to discotheques, are you?

  The man didn’t answer.

  – Come on, tell me, insisted Isabella, I won’t tell anybody.

  – I’ll be sincere, said the man, I’m not a discotheque deviant, a doctor prescribed them to me, they are legal pills, they just make me less hungry, is all.

  – They make you throw up too, said Isabella, I realized that, yesterday you came for lunch and at a certain point you got up and ran to the bathroom and when you came back you were white as a corpse, I bet you went to throw up.

  – You’re right on target, said the man, I really did go and throw up, that’s the pills.

  – So why take them? Don’t take them, she concluded.

  – That would be logical, the thing is, on the one hand they’re good for me, but on the other they’re bad, maybe pills are a bit like ideals, it depends who you force to swallow them, I don’t push them on anyone else, I’m not hurting anybody.

  The girl kept making squiggles in the sand.

  – I don’t understand, she said, sometimes it’s hard to understand you adults.

  – We adults are stupid, said the man, we’re often stupid, however, sometimes you wind up having to take pills regardless of whether you’re Italian or not, but you, Isabèl, since you say you’re totally Italian, will you tell me where you were born? Look, it’s not fundamental, I for instance was born in a country that’s no longer on any maps since they call it something else now, but I’m Italian, to the point where I am, or rather I was, a captain in the Italian army, and to be a captain in the Italian army you can’t be a foreigner, does that seem logical to you?

  Isabel nodded.

  – And where were you born? she asked.

  – In a district that was just invented now, have you heard of Walt Disney?

  Isabella’s eyes shone.

  – When I was little, I saw all the Disney movies.

  – Right, it’s a place like that, a wonder-world, all made of crystal, a crystal that’s actually ordinary glass, from a realistic point of view it’s in northern Italy, in the same way Tuscany is in central Italy and Sicily is in southern Italy, but at this point geography has become secondary and so has history, better not to talk about culture, what counts today is the fable, but since adults aren’t just stupid, they’re complicated, I don’t want to complicate things any more, let’s get to the point, the question I first asked you, where were you born?

  – In a little town in Peru, said Isabella, but I became Italian really soon, as soon as my parents adopted me, that’s why I feel Italian like you.

  – Isabèl, said the man, to be perfectly honest, I did realize you weren’t Aryan like me – anyway I’m white as a corpse, you said so yourself – whereas you’re a little bit darker, you’re not pure Aryan.

  – Which means?

  – It’s a nonexistent race, answered the man, some fake scientists invented it, but you know, if the people with these kinds of ideals had won the war, you wouldn’t be here now, or rather, maybe you wouldn’t be at all.

  – Why? asked Isabella.

  – Because non-Aryan people wouldn’t have had the right to exist, dear Isabèl, and people with skin that’s a little dark, like yours, which actually has a very beautiful color, especially now with the bronzing cream, would’ve been…

  – Would’ve been what? she asked.

  – Never mind, said the man, it’s a complicated matter and on a day like this it’s not worth complicating our life, why don’t you take a good swim before lunch?

  – I can maybe take one later, answered Isabella, right now I don’t feel like it, but then, sorry, when I saw you last week, always here reading under the beach umbrella, I thought you were someone who could explain things I didn’t understand, I thought I would have an interesting conversation with you like it’s hard to have with grown-ups, but now it’s even worse, we’ve been talking for half an hour, and to be perfectly honest you seem a little out of it, all the nonexistent countries and people destroying houses and you making war that was really peace, in my view there’s a lot of confusion in your head, and I don’t get what your so-called profession was, either.

  – It involved watching those who destroyed each
other’s houses, responded the man, this was the war mission for peacekeeping, and it was happening right here.

  – On this beach? asked Isabella, excuse me, but that doesn’t seem possible, no offense.

  The man didn’t answer. Isabella stood up, she had her hands on her hips and was looking at the sea, she was thin and her slender figure was outlined against the strong noon light.

  – In my view you say these things because you don’t eat, she said in a slightly altered voice, not eating makes you say strange things, you’re not thinking straight, excuse me for saying this but we have a first-class hotel here, it’s super expensive because I’ve seen the prices, you can’t say these things just off the top of your head, you don’t eat, don’t sunbathe, don’t go into the water, I think you have some problems, perhaps you need to get some food in you or drink a good fruit shake, would you like me to get you one?

  – If you’d really like to be kind, I’d rather have a Coke, said the man, it quenches my thirst.

  – I want to be kind, declared Isabella, but you’re the one who isn’t kind, first you have to explain to me why you came right here for vacation if there was a war and houses were destroyed and you stood here watching, can that be true?

  – That’s how it was, it’s just that nobody wanted to know it, and even now, you know, people don’t like to know that there was a war where they spend their vacation, because if they think about it, their vacation gets ruined, you follow the logic?

  – So why’d you come here too? It’s a logical question, if you don’t mind my asking.

  – Let’s say it’s for the rest of the warrior, said the man, even if the warrior wasn’t fighting, in the end he was a warrior, and he must find rest where the war once was, that’s classic.

  Isabella seemed to be mulling this over. She was kneeling in the sand, half in the sun, half in the shade, she was wearing a bikini on her slender, childish body, but the top wasn’t necessary, her thin shoulders began shaking as though she were weeping, but she wasn’t, she seemed cold, she kept her hands buried deep in the sand and her head was bent over her knees.

  – Don’t worry, she murmured, when I get like this everyone worries, but it’s only a little developmental crisis, the thing is, I have developmental problems, that’s what the psychologist said, I don’t know if you understand.

  – Perhaps if you raise your head, I’ll understand better, said the man, I can’t hear you very well.

  The girl looked up, her face was red and her eyes damp.

  – Do you like war? she murmured.

  – No, he said, I don’t like it, do you?

  – So then why’d you do it? asked Isabella.

  – Like I told you, I didn’t, I was there to watch, but I also asked you a question, do you like war?

  – I hate it, exclaimed Isabella, I hate it but you talk like all grown-up people and you’re making me have a developmental crisis, because last year I didn’t have any developmental crises, then at school they taught us about the various kinds of war, the bad ones and the good ones, and we wrote three essays about it, and it was only after that when I started having these developmental crises.

  – Take your time explaining yourself, said the man, tell me calmly, in any case the fettuccine all’arrabbiata is being kept warm under the halogen lamps, I didn’t even ask you what grade you’re in.

  – I just finished seventh grade, but after ninth grade I’ll go to ginnasio so I’ll also be studying Greek.

  – Wonderful, but what does that have to do with your crisis?

  – Maybe nothing, said Isabella, the thing is that throughout the year we studied Caesar and also a bit of Herodotus, but most of all whether war can serve peace, that was the theme in history class, am I being clear?

  – Not quite.

  – In the sense that sometimes war is necessary, unfortunately, she said, war sometimes is useful for bringing justice to countries where there isn’t any, but then one day two kids came from that country where they’re bringing justice and the kids were hospitalized in our city, and it was my class that brought them candy and fruit, that is, me and Simone and Samantha, the best students, am I being clear?

  – Go on, said the man.

  – Mohamed is right around my age, and his little sister is younger, but her name I don’t remember, though when we entered the little room in the hospital, the thing is that Mohamed didn’t have any arms and his little sister…

  Isabella broke off.

  – His little sister’s face…she murmured. I’m afraid if I tell you about it, I’ll have another developmental crisis, their grandmother was with them, keeping them company because their mother and father died from the bomb that destroyed their house, and so I dropped the tray with the kiwis and tiramisu, I started crying and then I had a developmental crisis.

  The man didn’t say anything.

  – Why aren’t you saying anything? You’re like the psychologist who keeps listening to me and never says anything, say something to me.

  – In my opinion you don’t really have to worry, said the man, we all have developmental crises, each person in his own way.

  – You too?

  – I can guarantee you, he said, despite what the doctors think, I believe I’m right in the middle of a developmental crisis.

  Isabella looked at him. Sitting cross-legged now, she seemed calmer and no longer had her hands buried in the sand.

  – You’re kidding, she said.

  – Not at all, he answered.

  – Wait, how old are you?

  – Forty-five, answered the man.

  – Like my father, that’s late for having a developmental crisis.

  – Absolutely not, objected the man, the developmental period never ends, in life we don’t do anything other than evolutionize.

  – The verb evolutionize doesn’t exist, said Isabella, we say evolve.

  – Right, though in biology it exists, and it means each one of us evolutionizing has our own crisis, your parents have theirs too.

  – And you, how do you know that?

  – Yesterday, said the man, I heard your mother talking with your father on her cell phone, and it was easy to understand that they’re right in the middle of a developmental crisis.

  – You are such a spy, exclaimed Isabella, you shouldn’t listen to other people’s conversations.

  – Sorry, said the man, your umbrella is three meters from mine and your mother was talking as if she were at home, what should I do, plug my ears?

  Isabella’s shoulders shivered again.

  – The thing is they aren’t together anymore, she said, and so I was left in my mom’s custody and Francesco in my dad’s, one for each is just, said the judge, Francesco was born after they’d stopped waiting, but I love him like I love no one else and at night I feel like crying, but my mom cries at night too, I’ve heard her, and you know why? Because she and my dad have existential disagreements, that’s what they call them, does that mean anything to you?

  – Sure, said the man, it’s a normal thing, everybody has existential disagreements, there’s no need to get worked up about it.

  Isabella had her hands in the sand again, but now she seemed almost jaunty, and she giggled a little.

  – You’re clever, she said, you haven’t told me yet why you spend your days under the umbrella, you know everything about me and you don’t talk about yourself, but why did you come to the beach if you spend your days in a beach chair taking pills, what are you doing?

  – Well, murmured the man, to put it simply, I’m waiting for the effects of the depleted uranium, but that takes patience.

  – What do you mean?

  – It’s too long to explain, effects are effects and to understand the results there’s nothing to do but wait for them.

  – Do you have to wait for long?

 
– Not so long now, I think, about a month, maybe less.

  – And meanwhile what do you do all day long, here under the umbrella, don’t you get bored?

  – Not at all, said the man, I practice the art of nefelomanzia.

  The girl opened her eyes wide, made a face and then smiled. It was the first time she’d really smiled, showing little white teeth crossed by a metal thread.

  – Is that a new invention?

  – Oh no, he said, it’s a very ancient thing, imagine, Strabo talks about it, it has to do with geography, but you won’t study Strabo till ginnasio, in junior high you only study a bit of Herodotus as you did this year with your geography teacher, geography is a very ancient thing, dear Isabèl, it’s existed forever.

  Isabella was watching him, doubtful.

  – And what would this stuff consist of, what’s it called?

  – Nefelomanzia, said the man, it’s a Greek word, nefele means cloud and manzia, to foretell, nefelomanzia is the art of predicting the future by observing the clouds, or rather, the form of the clouds, because in this art, form is substance, and that’s why I’ve come on vacation to this beach, because a friend from the air force who deals with meteorology assured me that in the Mediterranean there’s no other coast like this one where clouds form on the horizon in an instant. And as quickly as they take shape they dissolve again, and it’s right in that instant that a real nefelomant must practice his art, to understand what the shape of a certain cloud foretells before the formation dissolves in the wind, before it transforms into transparent air and turns to sky.

  Isabella had gotten to her feet, mechanically shaking the sand from her thin legs. She combed back her hair and threw a skeptical glance at the man, but her gaze was also full of curiosity.

  – I’ll give you an example, said the man, sit in the chair next to mine, to study the clouds on the horizon before they vanish you need to sit and focus carefully.

  He pointed toward the sea.

  – Can you see that white little cloud, down there? Follow my finger, more to the right, near the promontory.

  – I see it, said Isabella.

  It was a little puff rolling in the air, very far away, in the lacquered sky.