What Hell Is Not

by Alessandro D'Avenia

  Then the crowd is a mix of salutations and words. Such joy hasn’t been seen in this piazza for a long time. And the crowd can barely contain it. For a second, everyone realizes that normality is a luxury around here. It’s a luxury enjoyed by those who let hope complicate their hearts and actions.

  Even the TV cameras know this since they usually only come to Brancaccio to report on crime. They interview Don Pino, and his words ring out in the living rooms of those who are sleeping and those who never sleep. No one knows which is more dangerous.

  ‘We have been working for three years without any results. In the waiting rooms of mayors, superintendents, the prefect, and even the police chief and the director of the city services office. We’ve been asking for at least a middle school, a social and health services district, and a little bit of green where the kids can play and run around.

  ‘All of our requests have been endorsed by the neighborhood council and the homeowners’ association. The result? Nothing. There is hope for the district: The special superintendent has promised that he will begin drawing up the necessary documents. The buildings are already there. We will never stop asking because the doors will eventually open for those who keep knocking. Even here.’

  It’s the beginning of an earthquake, and the TV cameras have documented it by letting those rock-solid words roll out into the ether. Antennae will receive them and transform them into signals that travel across cables. Unabated, they will reach TV sets in people’s homes like bombs waiting for their fuses to be lit.

  Everyone believes that nothing like this has ever been seen in Brancaccio. A target so clear has never been seen.

  Manfredi shakes Signor Mario’s hand.

  ‘You can see how he is. I think those are all the medicines he takes,’ says Lucia. ‘Look how many bottles.’

  I watch the scene as if I were watching a movie. My brother is at Lucia’s house. It’s as if beakers connected by tubes had exchanged their respective contents in order to achieve a balance previously unthinkable. And yet it seems men were made to reach this balance and not to destroy one another. It’s hard to understand why evolution has driven us so far apart.

  In the end, two horses eat from the same trough even after a race where one won and the other lost. And they don’t waste time focusing on their differences. They eat in the same manner. We are beings that run counter to evolution. With the same brain and the same hands, we create both The Divine Comedy and Mein Kampf.

  ‘The medicines are fine but they need to be combined with other drugs so that Mario can have more mobility and more sensation. I’ll get them at the hospital and I’ll make sure you have them.’

  ‘There’s no need for that. We’re covered for our costs. All you need to do is let us know which medicines he should take and our general practitioner will prescribe them.’

  ‘Whatever you think is best. But first let me ask my attending physician and maybe we can try them out for a while.’

  ‘Whatever you say.’

  Manfredi already seems like a real doctor. I’m proud of my brother. I can see the joy of someone who can alleviate someone else’s pain on Lucia and Gemma’s faces. Life is simple when it is made so by love.

  Chapter 10

  The little girl is sitting in the shade and her dog is sitting next to her. There are three arches over the terrace of an abandoned building that faces the sea. Her doll doesn’t say a thing. She looks straight ahead with her ever-open blue eyes.

  The sea unfolds disproportionately and it makes for an optical illusion where it ends and blends in with the sky. Somewhere, land contains the sea. And the child doesn’t yet know if the land is in the sea or the sea is in the land. She only knows that she would like to get to the other side. Maybe her father is there waiting for her. But she doesn’t know how to swim. And she has no one to teach her.

  Pieces of glass, condoms, and syringes are scattered on the salt-encrusted pavement.

  The child longs for love and she longs to escape.

  The white foam on the water looks like little doves and they make the water seem more inviting.

  The doll sitting next to the girl keeps her eyes wide open as she stares out at the horizon. The girl describes the sea to her: ‘If something as beautiful as the sea exists, then life must be beautiful, too, at least somewhere.’

  Then she holds the doll to her chest and her tears, the signs of neglect, fall from her eyes.

  At a certain point, the tears stop. The barren sea is still there and so are the hunger and thirst that force her to return to the fire.

  Chapter 11

  The light speckles her hair like the light of the moon on the nighttime sea. She is reading aloud and explaining the stories to the children.

  Every question generates another. Lucia never seems to tire and her talent as a narrator is something I never imagined I would find around here.

  She moves her hands as if she were a puppeteer. Her words come to life and her eyes become even deeper and sharper and they light up, now filled with fear, as she adapts her expression to convey the feelings of her imaginary characters.

  Her way of laughing and taking little breaks touches me deep inside. It explores my soul and reveals otherwise empty zones that lie inside. Her presence gives me a sense of owning myself. The more I watch her, the more I long for someone to lose, someone to cry for, with all the pain that comes with putting someone into your heart’s heart.

  Chapter 12

  Mother Nature moves without being seen, like God. The meeting takes place in a basement, safe from indiscreet eyes. The muscle of his operation in this territory is the Turk, a nickname not owed as much to his dark complexion as to the cigarette smoke that follows him wherever he goes. The description is spot on and not open to interpretation.

  ‘I read it. I read it all in the papers. So now they have parties for cops in Brancaccio? Journalists, TV cameras, and cops. And more cops. What do they think this is, New York City? It’s crazy!’

  ‘Crazy it is. I told you that you needed to be careful.’

  ‘He’s making us look like a bunch of assholes.’

  ‘A communist priest who talks shit to newspapers. That’s all we need. Who does he think he is? The Pope?’

  ‘So he wants a party? We’ll throw a special party just for him, with plenty of little candles.’

  ‘Want me to take care of the cake?’

  ‘Yes, but not right away. They just had their party. Let’s wait a month or two. The right opportunity will present itself.’

  The Turk gestures with his forefinger and thumb as if he were grinding something.

  ‘Take your time. There’s no rush. First let’s give him a taste of how it’s going to end. Maybe the lost sheep will see the error of its ways.’

  ‘Okay. It’s best that the meat be tender for the party. Otherwise it will be too chewy.’

  ‘Speaking of eating, have someone bring me some good bread and some panelle. And take one for yourself as well.’

  ‘It’s always a pleasure to carry out your orders,’ responds the Turk with a smile.

  Mother Nature would never accept losing control of his territory. It would be a sign of weakness, and one cannot afford to be weak in the era of the Corleonesi. The words of Don Luchino are seared in his mind: ‘You’re allowing yourselves to be humiliated by a priest from your territory. That’s ridiculous. You should have done something earlier.’

  But who even noticed him? He was just doing things that priests do: Communions, confessions, weddings, and catechism for the children.

  Mother Nature and his brothers need to reaffirm their hold on power, once and for all. Others blew up a section of freeway and an entire city street. But they haven’t been able to break the will of a priest who’s only five feet and seven inches tall. There’s a dangerous rival in those five feet and seven inches, capable of obtaining what should only belong to them. He needs to be eliminated because he’s like them and could take their place. The moment to show their stre
ngth has arrived.

  The Turk will show it to Mother Nature.

  The Hunter will show it to the Turk.

  Nuccio will show it to the Hunter.

  For ever and ever.

  Chapter 13

  ‘Don’t come around here anymore. You understand me?’ says a boy who’s bigger than me.

  There are two of them and they push me up against a wall. The street is depressingly deserted. Only the televisions, inexhaustible, fill the silence. The sea is far away and it has stopped speaking. I can feel my saliva drying up in my throat.

  ‘What am I doing wrong?’

  ‘What are you doing? You’ve been spending time with a priest who’s breaking our balls. And you also need to stop eyeing the girls around here.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Nuccio, this guy’s being a smartass.’

  A punch lands on my face before I can duck. For a moment, a flash of light shines in my eyes. And then everything goes black. The adrenaline explodes in my legs. With no help from me, they start running and surprise my aggressors. There’s a bitter taste in my mouth and my lungs are burning. But I’m running like there’s no tomorrow. The alley that seemed so small now seems endless. I’m faster than them. If I can get out of here, I know I can reach safety. Two more suddenly appear and block my escape. Before I can manage to stop, they’ve already got their hands on me. There’s no time for words. Words are useless.

  I try to muster all my strength and resist the vise that’s pressing in on me. But one of them kicks me in the knee and I’m knocked to the ground. I don’t even know if my leg is still completely attached. I kick with my other leg but strike nothing. I feel the pain of a blade cutting my back.

  Someone grabs me by the hair and beats my head against the asphalt. I have blood in my eyes. A kick to the stomach and my saliva is transformed into dense, bitter liquid.

  ‘And just be thankful that I didn’t kill you. Don’t show yourself around here anymore,’ says the voice from before. It’s hard to make out with all the blood on my face. I’m still on the ground looking for air in my lungs. They’ve been emptied out by fear.

  When I see their four shadows leaving, I spread my arms open to see if they are still attached to my body. I feel like my whole body’s been strewn about. As I stare at the sky, my throat is leathery from the dryness. Now I know what violence is.

  I try to get up but my knees can’t take it. And one of my eyes is closed. I touch my hair with a hand that hardly belongs to me: It’s dripping with blood.

  I pull myself up and sit against a wall. I feel like crying but the rage and the pain leave no room for self-commiseration. The only thing I want to feel on my face is the sea and its wind. I wish I were in England or anywhere else but here, in hell.

  Minutes pass. Maybe hours. The street is now dark save for the yellowish light of lamps hanging on a wire between the houses.

  When I try to move, the pain knocks the wind out of me.

  It’s Lucia who finds me and she’s the last thing I see. I hear a jumble of words being shouted. Then everything goes dark.

  Chapter 14

  I wake up in a hospital room.

  My head burns like there’s a worm grazing on it from the inside. My eye is throbbing and it’s bandaged.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ asks Lucia. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her this worried.

  ‘Tip-top shape. Doesn’t it show?’

  ‘Nothing’s broken, luckily. They gave you some stitches on your eyebrow. You’re just going to have to rest for a while before you get better.’

  Little by little, I discover my body parts through the pain. My knee is wrapped up as well.

  ‘Who brought me here?’

  ‘The ambulance did. Do you want something to drink?’

  ‘I dunno. The guys who beat me up. One of them was named Nuccio. You need to get away from here, Lucia. You’ve got to get away. It’s hell. You need to sign up for college. We could go to another city. I can’t leave you here with these beasts. That’s what they are: Beasts.’

  Lucia comes over to me with a glass of water.

  ‘You’re right. It’s too dangerous. But it’s not all hell. Like Don Pino says, hell is when you are no longer able to love. When you can no longer give of yourself and receive from others. It’s still possible.’

  ‘It’s an illusion. It’s not worth it.’

  ‘Well, I don’t want you to come here anymore. You have to stop coming here.’

  ‘You should come away with me.’

  ‘You just don’t get it, do you? This is my neighborhood. It’s where my family lives. Running away and making a life somewhere else isn’t going to make me happy. You just don’t get it. You really don’t understand, do you?’

  ‘Then forgive me for not getting it. I just risked being killed and I really don’t get it.’

  ‘Exactly. So don’t come here anymore. We have to stop seeing each other. This is it. Never again.’

  She puts the bottle of water on the stand next to the bed and she leaves without saying another word.

  ‘Wait! Lucia, wait!’

  The door remains closed and the bitter taste of being abandoned is added to my pain. I try to get up and run after her but my parents come in just at that moment.

  ‘What happened?’ asks my father.

  ‘Are you alright, Federico?’ my mother cries.

  I close my eyes and lay my head on the pillow as I submit to my parents’ interrogation, which is at once emotional and rational. My father takes care of the rational part. My mother, the emotional part. Together, they make a complete being. My father doesn’t say it but his conclusion is that I deserve what happened to me but that he’s proud to have a son with guts.

  My mother’s conclusion is nothing new: This game of trying to be a hero is over and I will never set foot again in that neighborhood. She will talk to Don Pino, and do a thousand other things that I don’t remember, because at some point I fell asleep.

  I don’t know how long I’ve slept but my brother wakes me up by tickling my foot. Tickling me has always been his favorite form of torture. His top technique was to block my legs by sitting on my knees. And then he would hold my arms over his head with one hand and tickle me under my arms with the other.

  I would laugh so hard that I would practically choke. And I would offer him anything he wanted: Setting and clearing the table every day for a month; loading and unloading the dishwasher; folding his pajamas, and other similar favours. When I would finally manage to break free, I was as tired as a beached whale.

  He stares at me and starts to laugh.

  ‘You are looking really good. Now you can really call yourself a “beat” poet.’

  I smile and a jolt of pain radiates from my eye all the way down to my toes.

  ‘Cut it out. It’s not funny.’

  ‘And if I don’t? Then what will you do?’

  ‘I hope you get diarrhea!’

  ‘If you were a woman, I would marry you, Poet. You’re my hero. You really got clobbered. I would never have had the courage.’

  I smile, but cautiously.

  ‘Let me know if you need anything. As long as you’re off your feet, you can count on me. My little Kerouac!’

  ‘Go teach Totò how to play the guitar.’

  Chapter 15

  The loneliness of the days that follow is so thick that you could cut it with a knife. I’m a recluse, and the only thing that I have to do is to follow the chromatic evolution of my eye from black to purple to reddish-purple with violet undertones. I read and watch every television show, from Supercar to Happy Days. Don Pino came to see me. And he went to see Giuseppe in Malaspina too.

  He apologized to my parents. It was his fault, he told them, that things went the way they did. He agrees with them that I need to stay away from Brancaccio. It’s become too dangerous.

  ‘How’s Giuseppe?’

  ‘He’s as good as he can be. He told me to tell you hello.’ />
  ‘I barely even spoke to him.’

  ‘He remembers you. He has a good heart, that kid. That’s why I can’t give up on him. I’ve learned to tell the difference between those who are simply ill-mannered and those who are ill-intentioned.’

  ‘I think I’ve learned how to do that, too,’ I say as I point to my eye.

  Don Pino smiles.

  ‘I’m going to take them to Mondello in a few days.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The kids. You should come with us, if you like. That way you could see them and say goodbye.’

  ‘What will my parents say?’

  ‘It’s not like you’re going to Brancaccio. You’re going to Mondello.’

  Don Pino smiles and winks.

  During the first week of August, the sunlight triumphs unimpeded in fantasies that seem like hallucinations. The July heat makes your knees weak. The August heat cooks your thoughts.

  How many hourglasses do you need to empty a beach? How long does it take for a bud to become an apple? Is there an average time, or is each a unique event? At what speed does light travel when it lights up the sea in the morning? Is it a precise or an arbitrary distance that allows for combustion between two people looking at each other? Is the black in Lucia’s hair the absence of light or the reverse, the complete absorption of light? How much does a secret weigh? What’s the ratio between happiness and the broadness of a smile? How do you calculate the volume of the heart?

  My brain peppers me with useless questions that go unanswered as I continue to obsess over them in the white loneliness. I feel like Kafka’s Gregor, who wakes up one day to discover that he’s been transformed into a cockroach and that all of his fears have become reality.

  I grab Kafka’s book and I find five words written in pencil on page 34: Waves, darkness, caress, dream, seed.