Che cosè larte (Saggine) (Italian Edition)

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His eyes are black like stone in water. Next thing I feel is his fist smashing my mouth. I taste the blood and he hits me again. I feel the jagged edge of a broken tooth against my lip, and more blood. You are red and howling against my chest. I can't stop him! The third blow comes to me softly, through your body. There is silence then, until I start to scream. I look like a monster, blood dripping onto my chest. I hear a voice in the distance: What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?

We had no money, you and I, but we got by somehow. You do, don't you? I found a way. Get on your bike and look for jobs, the man said. Blow jobs, a fiver a time. Trade was good and I was only doing what I did before I met Davey; but this time it was better. I was getting paid for it, see? I bought you clothes, and tiny toys. Bears with pink ears and a little rabbit that you loved, with a bell round its neck.

You loved the sound of that bell.

Wouldn't be parted from it. And we were happy. Your first word was sun.

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I used to talk to you all the time. There was no one else to talk to, ever; and you listened. I used to say to you, 'Look, there's the sun, Jordan, sun! It means that God is smiling at you, Jordan. You slept with me. I was too jumpy. Every little noise and I thought it was you suffocating, choking, dying in your cot. We used to go and walk by the sea. Me pushing your buggy, all wrapped up in my old jumpers, like a bag lady; you swathed in layers of wool, and nylon and gloves and scarves, like a round bundle of rags, chirping away to yourself.


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I couldn't talk to them. I was somewhere else, smiling back but distantly, giving a silent warning; Keep Off The Grass.

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We used to go down to the sea and just stare out at it. You loved the waves. I loved the noise they made, falling over and over, like breath. I often hear that noise now. Comforts me at night.

They left me some magazines and a drink and some yoghurt. It was nice of them; they didn't have to do that. There's a bloke next door. I know because I heard him shouting a while ago. He wanted a piss, poor bastard. And then Davey comes back.

Wearing a shirt, and someone's ironed the collar. Jesus Christ, I think, and then I see why. A woman follows him in; bubbles of blonde hair piled on her head like a poodle in a show and she's plump, but smart, really smart. And look at the state of this place. I wouldn't even sit down in here! The bath is stearning, full of your dirty nappies.

Damned if I'm going to cry. Barbara sniffs and tugs Davey towards the cot where you lie. She picks you up. And you betray me by smiling at her. How can you know that you are all I have? Two little words like drops of acid. I threw everything I could find, howling, howling like a cat. They fled, clattering and threatening all the way down the stairs. Nerys banged on the ceiling. There were no more men after that. No more odd men; men in pubs; men who reek of beer and pies, men with lazy eyes travelling up and down, assessing the meat for plumpness, freshness, stamina. No more nights spent under these men.

No more hands touching but not seeing. No more foul breath on my neck. No more hours wasted; waiting, waiting; dry lips, creased skin, legs goosepimply and cold, selling my wares. Never warmed me up, those men. I used to pay a kid from the flats to sit with you while I was out. A twelve-year-old bloody kid; someone too young to know my shame. Anyone could have taken you from me then. I'd come in blue and shaking with cold, the shape of their hands still printed on me; blank inside.

I'd pay the kid and he'd bugger off. Then I'd go towards you and pick you up and you'd be warm; so warm; always warm and wriggling, giggling, my baby. Playing with you on the sofa; a game where I hide the rabbit with the bell and you scream and laugh until you find him. I hear a tiny, gentle sound and I see that a letter, a letter in a white envelope has landed on the mat.

There's typing on the front. I put you down for a nap and when I read it I'm sick. In the end I tear it with my teeth into a thousand pieces and when it's no more than mush and spit I take it to the window and throw it to the gulls. But the letters come thick and fast. First from Social Services, then from the council, then another white envelope with writing saying I've been summoned.

I chuck them in the bin.

source url When people knock at the door, I never answer.