Read Online The Last Man Standing by Davide Longo - Free Book Online Page B

told him he could do nothing more for him unless he came to the office by car. Leonardo had promised to think about it but had done nothing. So, from one day to the next, what he had thought of as an essential lifeline had been cut off. And this had been the second point on his list.
    “Would you give me a hand to finish the grape harvest?”
    Elio looked at him as one might look at someone on the bridge of a ship heading to a place from which he was unlikely to return.
    “You must be joking.”
    Leonardo shook his head.
    “If you don’t, in a few days the grapes will have to be thrown away.”
    Bauschan came out onto the veranda and sat down beside Leonardo. He had a slipper in his mouth, but his serious eyes were fixed on Elio. Apart from a shambling gait and huge paws, there was almost nothing left of the puppy with the round stomach he had once been; he seemed more like the miniature version of an adult dog.
    “Even if we did harvest the grapes, what could we do with them?” Elio said. “The wine growers haven’t even harvested their own.”
    Leonardo drank more water. Far off, beyond the river, he thought he could see movement amid the yellow stubble. It turned out to be two men carrying jerry cans down to the waterside. The sky was clear, but the heat made the atmosphere transparent.
    “Maybe I can give them to the cooperative,” he said.
    “Do you think they’ll be getting orders anymore?” Elio snorted. “Most of the wine used to be exported to northern Europe and America. Have you noticed it’s been nearly a year since the last truck passed on the main road?”
    Leonardo went back to contemplating the point where the hill met the river. The two men had stopped on the bank; one was filling a container, while the other was watching the road that touched the edge of the river two hundred meters lower down before regaining height with a couple of sharp bends.
    “Anyway, if you could spare a couple of afternoons to give me a hand I’d be grateful,” he said.
    Elio set the bicycle on its stand and took a few steps toward the veranda. Leonardo heard him go into the house, take a glass, fill it with water, drink, rinse it, and put it back in its place. When he came back out he placed his hands on the back of the empty chair.
    “The people who started the fire were not the ones you think,” he said.
    Leonardo watched the men on the other side of the river carry their containers across the last open stretch of field and disappear into the forest.
    “Who was it then?” he said.
    Elio put his hands in his pockets.
    “The schools are still shut and the boys are hanging out all day with nothing to do. The other day four or five of them had a few words with that young man who was staying with you.”
    Leonardo rubbed one of Bauschan’s ears between his fingers. It was like silk. The sun was sinking and the shadow of the blackened walls of the store was reaching the edge of the veranda. Elio returned his hands to the back of the wooden chair and studied them, as if he suspected they might have changed color while in his pockets.
    “Gabri’s in touch with her sister in Marseilles. She says they’re going to close the frontier, and these may be the last good days for crossing it. I’d like her to take the children, but she doesn’t want to go alone.”
    Bauschan barked twice at the hazel grove near the house and a few seconds later a stocky shape emerged from the thicket. The wild boar looked fearlessly at them, then it grunted and three striped piglets came through the opening it had made.
    The little family filed past the veranda at a gentle trot and disappeared behind the remains of the store. When they had gone, Bauschan sniffed the scent of forest in the air and lifted his head to see what the two men might have to say about it.
    “There seems to be some gasoline at C.,” Elio said. “Shall I get you some too?”
    Leonardo shook his head. The sun had half disappeared behind the mountains; the sky