doing it. We are the reason. In the end the world isnât better, we havenât convinced anyone, we havenât made anyone understand anythingâin the end weâre us, as in the beginning, but true. And behind, a wakeâsomething that remains, thatâs true .
He was angry with this thing of the true.
Maybe thatâs what it is, playing my music, he said.
I could no longer follow him.
Put like that, it sounds like colossal nonsense, you know? I said.
It is, he said. But it doesnât matter to Andre, in fact itâs like anything that can become emotional irritates her. She wanted the bass precisely because itâs the minimum of life. And she dances the same way. Whenever it might become emotional, she stops. She stops a step before.
I looked at him.
Every so often, he said, I do something that seems to me beautiful, strong, and then she turns toward me, without stopping dancing, as if sheâd heard a wrong note. She doesnât care if itâs beautiful in that way. Thatâs not what sheâs looking for.
I smiled. Did you sleep with her? I asked.
Bobby started laughing. You shit, he said.
Come on, you slept with her.
You really donât understand a damn thing, do you?
Yes, you slept with her.
He got up. He took a few steps in the corridor. We were alone. He kept walking back and forth until he thought the matter was finished. Luca? he asked.
I called him. He might come, he had problems at home.
He should get away from there.
Heâs eighteen, you canât leave home at eighteen.
Who said?
Come onâ¦
Theyâre simmering there. Is he coming to the hospital, to the larvae?
Larvae is what we call the sick people in the hospital.
Yes. Youâre the one who doesnât come anymore.
He sat down. Next week I will.
You said that last week, too.
He nodded his head yes. I donât know, I donât feel like it anymore.
No one feels like it, itâs that theyâre expecting us. Can we leave them shipwrecked in their own pee?
He thought for a while. Why not, he said.
Fuck off.
We laughed.
Then the Saintâs parents arrived. They didnât ask too many questions, just how was Bobby, and when the Saint would get out. They had stopped trying to understand a while ago, they confined themselves to waiting for the consequences and putting things back in order, every time. So they had come to tidy up, and seemed intent on doing so politely, without causing disturbance. The father had brought something to read.
At one point Bobby said he was sorry, he hadnât meant to hurt him.
Of course, the Saintâs mother said, with a smile. The father looked up from his book and said in a gentle tone something our parents often say. Not at all.
The Saint, however, wasnât really better, in the end. They wanted to keep him there, for observationâthe head, you never know. They brought us in to him; his parents seemed worried by his underwear more than anything else.A change of underwear. That in the details the world is saved is something we believe blindly.
The Saint nodded at Bobby, and he went over. They said something to each other. Then one of those gestures.
I stayed with Bobby to sign the papers for the hospital, for the prescriptionsâthe Saintâs parents had already left. When we went out, Luca was there.
Why didnât you come in?
I hate hospitals.
We went toward the tram, shut up like clams in our coats, breathing in fog. It was late, and in the darkness there was only solitude. We didnât speak until we got to the stop. Because a tram stop at night, in our cold fogs, is perfect. Only the necessary words, no gestures. A glance when needed. We speak like old men. Luca wanted to know and we explained, in that way. I told him about the afternoon at Andreâs motherâs. In those few words it sounded even more absurd.
Youâre crazy, he said.
They went to preach to her, Bobby said.
And she? asked Luca.
I
He was angry with this thing of the true.
Maybe thatâs what it is, playing my music, he said.
I could no longer follow him.
Put like that, it sounds like colossal nonsense, you know? I said.
It is, he said. But it doesnât matter to Andre, in fact itâs like anything that can become emotional irritates her. She wanted the bass precisely because itâs the minimum of life. And she dances the same way. Whenever it might become emotional, she stops. She stops a step before.
I looked at him.
Every so often, he said, I do something that seems to me beautiful, strong, and then she turns toward me, without stopping dancing, as if sheâd heard a wrong note. She doesnât care if itâs beautiful in that way. Thatâs not what sheâs looking for.
I smiled. Did you sleep with her? I asked.
Bobby started laughing. You shit, he said.
Come on, you slept with her.
You really donât understand a damn thing, do you?
Yes, you slept with her.
He got up. He took a few steps in the corridor. We were alone. He kept walking back and forth until he thought the matter was finished. Luca? he asked.
I called him. He might come, he had problems at home.
He should get away from there.
Heâs eighteen, you canât leave home at eighteen.
Who said?
Come onâ¦
Theyâre simmering there. Is he coming to the hospital, to the larvae?
Larvae is what we call the sick people in the hospital.
Yes. Youâre the one who doesnât come anymore.
He sat down. Next week I will.
You said that last week, too.
He nodded his head yes. I donât know, I donât feel like it anymore.
No one feels like it, itâs that theyâre expecting us. Can we leave them shipwrecked in their own pee?
He thought for a while. Why not, he said.
Fuck off.
We laughed.
Then the Saintâs parents arrived. They didnât ask too many questions, just how was Bobby, and when the Saint would get out. They had stopped trying to understand a while ago, they confined themselves to waiting for the consequences and putting things back in order, every time. So they had come to tidy up, and seemed intent on doing so politely, without causing disturbance. The father had brought something to read.
At one point Bobby said he was sorry, he hadnât meant to hurt him.
Of course, the Saintâs mother said, with a smile. The father looked up from his book and said in a gentle tone something our parents often say. Not at all.
The Saint, however, wasnât really better, in the end. They wanted to keep him there, for observationâthe head, you never know. They brought us in to him; his parents seemed worried by his underwear more than anything else.A change of underwear. That in the details the world is saved is something we believe blindly.
The Saint nodded at Bobby, and he went over. They said something to each other. Then one of those gestures.
I stayed with Bobby to sign the papers for the hospital, for the prescriptionsâthe Saintâs parents had already left. When we went out, Luca was there.
Why didnât you come in?
I hate hospitals.
We went toward the tram, shut up like clams in our coats, breathing in fog. It was late, and in the darkness there was only solitude. We didnât speak until we got to the stop. Because a tram stop at night, in our cold fogs, is perfect. Only the necessary words, no gestures. A glance when needed. We speak like old men. Luca wanted to know and we explained, in that way. I told him about the afternoon at Andreâs motherâs. In those few words it sounded even more absurd.
Youâre crazy, he said.
They went to preach to her, Bobby said.
And she? asked Luca.
I
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