"The medium, Madame Geneve, as she called herself, closed the heavy velvet curtains. The room plunged into darkness. I sat with my hands resting on a dark wooden table. She was on the other side of the table. She began to call out my son's name. I felt stupid and petty at that point. How could I put my pain in that woman's hands? I knew she'd been in jail for fraud, but she lived in my neighbourhood, she was a stone's throw from my house, and the death of a child doesn't make you lucid. Yes, I was confused…"
(pause. Start sobbing)
"Please, you don't have to justify yourself. I'm not here to judge you."
"Y… yes, of course. I wanted to leave, when suddenly I heard blows in the window. You know that noise that glass makes when it's hit by big hailstones?"
"Yes, I do. Only it wasn't hail, was it? Tell me, didn't you think of a trick?"
"I don't know what I thought. It just happened out of the blue. And then, no. It wasn't a trick. I know because when Madame Geneve moved the curtains, she screamed. She was frightened. I say, if it was a trick, what was the point of screaming in fear?"
(nodding)
"The ticking became louder, you could hear the noise even over the rooftops. The medium was at the window to check what was going on. The fog had lifted outside. But we still saw the coal hit the building."
"Coal? Coal falling from the sky?"
"That's right. Pieces of burning coal. It was banging on the tiles, on the wall. "Big and hard enough to dent the gutters."
"How did you react? Did you get scared?"
"Look, it's funny to say, but I was calm. An unusual calm. In fact, I was almost happy. I had deluded myself that it was a signal from my son. I was certain of it. But the psychic was terrified. I found myself calming her because Luca was there. He was there with me. And it was because of her. But she said it had nothing to do with what was happening. All she had to do was read me the papers, or something, she said.
Like all the other bums, she was shuffling holy with the layman. Then the window suddenly opened wide. Pieces of coal fell into the room and hit the medium. The poor thing fell to the floor and lost a slipper.
I don't know why the slipper stuck me. But it was all a blur at that point. Everything else, except the slipper that stuck to the carpet, is vague. I remember the table hit by the burning coal, the carpet that started to catch fire. It almost seemed as if that rain was hitting us as if to get us out of that place.
A sort of warning coming from the sky. I tried to escape but the door was closed and wouldn't open. I was hit by some kind of fire. I got scalded and bruised. The blows hurt. Well, I don't know if what I saw was real. I just know that I wasn't calm or happy anymore. At that moment, I felt a dark and evil presence. I was terrified. I screamed. I realized no, it couldn't be my son. The last thing I remember was the statue of the patron saint. It was made of marble, very heavy, at least that's what it looked like to me. Before I fainted, I saw the statue fall. Madame Geneve was on her knees, hit on her back by large pieces of coal, but unable to find her slipper.With all that was going on, she was thinking about that shoe. I understood that she was trying to escape from that malignant reality by diverting it to simple, banal thoughts. What would be the point of fixing on a stupid wool slipper? That's when the statue fell on her and hit her on the back of the head. The poor woman's eyes turned to stare at the ceiling, the white of the sclera glittering in the light of the
fire. A bloodstain came out of her head, spreading across the carpet. Then darkness. They found me an hour later at the bus stop. I don't know how I got there. I hoped I'd imagined it all. I thought the stress of losing my son, the medication I was taking to withstand pain that can't be explained, was causing the hallucinations. I held on unnecessarily to that hope. The night the police arrived in the neighbourhood. Madame Geneve had been found dead. Everyone thinks it was a murder. But I know what happened. It was something bad that killed her. The same thing that killed my son."
(witness begins crying again)
"Why didn't you go straight to the police?"
"Because I was afraid! I couldn't tell them what I saw. They'd think I was crazy. Above all, I didn't want to be accused of murder."
"You are aware that when the medium was found on the ground with a broken skull, there was an inscription on the wall marked with a piece of coal: 'Decus et Damnationisʹ. Beauty and Damnation. What do you think that means?"
"I… I don't know. I swear I don't know."
(Crying)
"Thank you for your testimony. I have no further questions."
"Just one last thing: the coal… the house was full of coal. Has anyone seen it?"
"No. They didn't find anything."
End of recording.
3
Professor Marzioli was a stiff and dusty guy, with his goggles hovering on the tip of his aquiline nose, with his jacket and a bow tie worn to give him the appearance of an intellectual.
Torquato Tasso had a Catholic upbringing. The influence of Petrarch's poetry can be recognized in the Rhymes of Love…'.
As usual, Marzioli would explain the lesson with the enthusiasm of a gravedigger who was measuring a deceased. Guido noticed that Daisy was not taking notes. She was nervously drumming her pen on the counter, the air of those chasing distant thoughts.
When the badger lesson was over, a collective sigh of relief rose up. The professor had managed to make even the scholar's restless life surprisingly boring. Lorena said goodbye to Daisy and left in a hurry. Her father waited for her at the entrance in overalls, sitting in the van loaded with boiler tubes. He was supposed to take her to the Leopardians' high school team match. Lorraine didn't like football, but she had a crush on Christian Skendery, a full-back with solid shoulders and a fiery gaze.
Daisy greeted her friend and crossed the dark avenue in the face. Guido hurried to catch up with her.
"Daisy, can I talk to you?" he asked nervously, hoping she would not tell him to go to hell. She stopped. She looked at the boy arching her eyebrows, abandoning her thoughts and concentrating on his contrite face.
"I'm sorry about the picture" he exclaimed with a shrug of his shoulders, as if to say that the damage was done and could no longer be repaired.
"It's not that important" Daisy dismissed, noting how nervous the boy was. She, the grumpy air of those she hadn't completely forgiven, walked down the avenue, assuming he would follow her.
Guido took courage and hastened to catch up with her. They walked side by side through the row of plane trees that led to the exit. Autumn spread the first leaves on the pavement. Two boys would pass each other a joint sitting under a sycamore tree with an imposing bark, the sunlight slipping through the branches and breaking into many small, glistening rays. ‘Apart from that, it's a very romantic picture’ Daisy thought. Guido tried to have a little conversation. She replied in monosyllable, single-syllable fashion, because she was thinking about the comment posted on You Tube again.
Adriano must stop looking for me. Or he'll come to a bad end.
She found it a horrible joke. All his friends knew he was sick. What was the point of hurting a disabled person?
"Daisy, are you all right? You've got a strange face" Guido worried.
"No, it's nothing. It's just that I'm lost behind certain thoughts” she replied by having her lower lip sticking out to blow on her bangs. Sandra waited for her in the car while a traffic policeman watched the four lighted arrows without patience.
Guido watched Daisy turn the corner. Although he didn't see him raise his hand to greet her, his gaze was captivated by her curves moving seductively under her grey coat. She walked with the certainty that her eyes were on her.
ʺShit.