There was nothing magical about it, nothing special in appearance, just an old dusty attic.
He made way through the spider webs.
He had spent so much time in there, in his distant past, and yet he could not manage to remember it.
He went through it, looking for books. They would have probably escaped him if it had not been for the TV. Even if it was covered by a bed sheet, it’s shape was unmistakable.
He did not even remove the bedsheet, he preferred to look in the boxes that surrounded it. Some were already open. One was filled with books.
He took them out, one by one: Alice in Wonderland, Peter Pan, Treasure Island. All of them were classical fiction adventure books, in ancient editions, bound and very valuable. He put them down carefully.
Then he found the special books. Just by looking at them, something moved between his memories and his hand shook. There were ten and the writer was always the same: Marina Pierangeli. That was his mother’s name, he was sure of it.
He took one and leafed through it. They were children’s books, filled with colored paintings. He also recognized those drawings and thought they were beautiful. His father had done those, he was certain. He caressed those pages and gripped the book against his chest.
It must have been terrible for them to give up their own art, just for him.
He kept searching in that box. He found some manuscripts and so many drawn paintings. He scrolled them down his hands. Those had not been published; maybe they had given up doing so just for him. Their dreams were buried, forgotten.
He read the title of one of the manuscripts: Lizzi Bizzi and the Red Witch.
He leafed through it, increasingly disturbed, and then he found the paintings. There were twenty of them, all painted by his father, who had given life to his wife’s fantasies.
Lizzi Bizzi. The red witch.
«Is this Lizzi Bizzi?».
«No, Orazio! That’s the witch, can’t you see?».
«How can I notice? You haven’t colored them yet!».
He was sitting on his father’s lap, and he was a child. He showed his paintings with pride.
«Mom has invented all of them, right?».
He giggled. «She says she did, that she created them in her head. I say she had some influence from Pippi Longstocking and Little Red Riding Hood, but don’t tell her that»:
«I heard you!».; a distant voice was heard behind them.
Orazio felt he was being hugged and kissed his mother’s cheek. She tapped on the sketch with her nail. «It doesn’t look like them at all!».
Orazio giggled happily. «Will you publish it mom? Will you publish this one too?».
«Certainly Orazio, that’s why I’ve written it, so that children can read it». She added: «As long as your father hurries and finishes these drawings!».
«Can I tell my friends? Can I tell them my mother writes books?».
A shadow crossed her mother’s face. «What friends?».
«Those I’ll make when I’m at school. Can I? Can I also take the books there? Can I show the paintings?».
The radiant smile came back to her mother’s face. «Of course Orazio; you’ll begin school next month. I’m sure you’ll make lots of friends, true friends. You can show them all the books you want!».
Orazio answered with an equally radiant smile: «Great!».
16
A tear solitarily ran down Mr. Orazio’s face. He remembered, he remembered his parents, but he also remembered those drawings, he remembered that attic, he remembered when, against their parents command, and he had gone up and seen those images once again, just like he was doing at that time.
He remembered what had happened later.
«Why did you do it?».
He had never seen her like that in all his life. Orazio was scared of her; her mother seemed crazy, she could not stay still for a moment and went back and forth through the room, hysterical.
His father was sitting at his side instead; he preferred to discuss, to make him understand that what he had done was wrong.
«You loved them. They were important».
It was pathetic excuse and Orazio knew very well.
«You’ve made them real! Precisely them! How could you?».
Lizzi Bizzi and the red witch did not seem worried at all. They were in the next room, along with Bobo, intent on filling themselves with the sweets that Ms. Peggy had taken to the table. They looked uninterested in their problems.
«You’ve been to the attic right? You’ve disobeyed us once more!».
«No, no! I swear it!», Orazio lied.
His father sighed. «Calm down, Marina. There was no reason for going up the attic; don’t you remember we talked about them to him? Have you forgotten that you used to read it to him in the evening when he went to sleep? He must have remembered them».
Orazio rushed to nod.
His mother continued to be hysterical. «What must we do now? There are two more children in this house, do you realize that? What do we do? Which is the breaking point? I live in fear that someone discovers them, of being asked who they are! We cannot see anyone anymore; it’s been months since I left the house! We’re prisoners! And he won’t stop, he keeps going!».
His father sighed again. «Can’t you understand, Marina? He’s a child; he doesn’t believe he did anything wrong. Who are we to say so? Maybe he truly made them real for you, thinking he would make you happy. After all it’s Lizzi Bizzi and the red witch».
«Happy?». Her voice was shrill. «I don’t know what else to do! I don’t even know how we’ll manage to hide what’s happening! What will befall us? What will happen to us if someone finds out?».
«Keep calm, my dear; after all it’s Lizzi Bizzi and the red witch. It was Orazio who created them, they’ll obey him».
Her voice rose. «Exactly! They’re Lizzi Bizzi and the red witch. I imagined them, and I can assure you that they’re intriguing, pestiferous and liars, that never obey and do whatever they want! I thought of them like that! We’re ruined!».
His father managed to giggle nervously. «You imagined them like that, but it doesn’t mean Orazio created made them that way. He always changes something, right?».
She looked at the table where both girls were binging and grimaced. «They’ll only bring trouble».
Mr. Orazio put the drawings down and stood. That was his kingdom, Billy’s kingdom. Where was Billy? Where were their memories of the time spent together?
He kept walking among boxes and old furniture.
What did they do up there? They played; did the play pirates? Were they always playing?
He freed his mind completely and continued to look for him.
Billy. Billy. He fixed his mind in that name, he fixed on him.
But no memories came to him.
«Mr. Agenore? Are you here Mr. Agenore? I’m… I’m Orazio. I think you know me; I don’t know who I am to you, I can’t remember anything, but I need your help».
He felt like an idiot talking to nothing. And yet they had said Mr. Agenore lived there. Was he hiding? He absolutely needed to speak to him.
«It’s about Billy. I need to talk about Billy. He told me you were his grandfather, right? Did you love him?».
The voice arrived suddenly, from very near, almost as if he was by his side. «I knew you’d return. I was waiting for you. I was hoping to talk to you so much, before dying».
There was no one around him, no one so close to him.
«Where are you? Let me see you! Where are you?».
«In your mind».
Mr. Orazio felt his heartbeat increase. «Telepathy? Are you talking about telepathy?».
There was something ancient in that voice, something old and wise in it. «Call it what you want. It’s the only way through which we can communicate».
«You… who? Billy and you?».
«Yes, Billy and I».
Was that why he could not remember his face? Did Billy not need to be beside
him to speak? No, it did not make sense. They played, they always played together.
«Can you read my mind?».
The voice seemed amused. «There’s no need, Orazio, I know what you think very well».
«Was Billy truly your grandson?».
«I’ve had so many children in my life, and so many grandchildren. Billy was the only one left, now I’m alone, all alone».
Mr. Orazio felt uncomfortable. «You’re not alone, there are others in the house, and they respect you».
«I’m the last one of my species. The only one».
«Can I… see you? Can you show yourself to me?».
«You still don’t know what I am, you don’t remember, right?».
A shiver went down Mr. Orazio’s back. «What are you? Will it be… unpleasant? Will I be upset?».
The voice giggled. «I don’t think so. You used to like us. You loved Billy».
«Yes, I remember», Mr. Orazio murmured.
«I’m here, in the end of the room. Just come forward. I barely move now, I’m too old».
«Billy… why did I create Billy? Where did I take the inspiration from? From which book?».
He walked very slowly, one step after the other. The end of the dark attic filled him with fear.
«You didn’t create us, Orazio. If anyone has ever done so, it must have been God».
«I didn’t create you?». Mr. Orazio was as confused as ever. «But I was told Billy was… an evolution».
«Right, you could say that. You made something new, but you didn’t create us, we already existed. We were born in here, and we’ve always lived here. You only found us»:
«What do my powers have to do with all this?».
«We weren’t like this when you found us. You changed us».
«I did… what?».
He had arrived to the end of the room but he still could not see anything. There was a wall in front of him, bare and without any furniture.
«You gave us intelligence, Orazio». Then, before he could answer: «You’re searching in the wrong place, you have to crouch, I’m not that tall».
Mr. Orazio’s heart was beating incredibly fast as he kneeled. It was then that he saw him. Nothing had prepared him for that. It was so absurd, incredible, that he almost burst in laughter.
There was a door on the wall, a small one, a few centimeters tall; a painted door with its glittering shutter. And, even more absurd, at the side of the door were a couple of vases with microscopic flowers.
He thought he had fallen into a cartoon.
Then the door opened and Mr. Agenore came out.
17
Mr. Agenore was a mouse.
Not a rat with a waiscoat and a bowler, but a simple mouse. He was also rather fat, surely an adult mouse. He stood on his two back legs and stared at him. The hair around his moustache had become white, and Orazio understood he was truly very old.
«Did I upset you?».
He tried not to stutter: «No, no».
«You liked mice, you liked us from the beginning».
He did not remember at that moment; Mr. Orazio had the unpleasant feeling of never having excessively loved mice, of being a bit disgusted by them, but he preferred to remain quiet.
It was painful asking that question: «Was Billy also a mouse?».
«Billy was young, so young, just like you. Billy was courageous, let’s say reckless. He was curious; he always had to poke his nose around everything. He only knew how to get in trouble».
«And he was a mouse».
«Yes, he definitely was a mouse».
«Oh».
It was not what Mr. Orazio had expected, that his best friend was a mouse. He did not know if he should have felt disappointed.
«They’ve killed them all, my children, my grandchildren. Everyone».
Mr. Orazio jolted. «Who?».
«Humans. They’ve hunted us since forever. They put their traps everywhere. This attic was filled with them before you took them away. There was just the two of us left: Billy and I».
Mr. Orazio felt something clamp his stomach. «When you say humans… you’re talking about my parents, right?».
«Right, your father put those traps. But he didn’t like doing that, deep down. It was your mother who couldn’t stand us. She was disgusted by us»:
Mr. Orazio crouched sat on the ground, feeling exhausted.
«How did Billy die?».
He did not answer. «You always came here. You weren’t even scared of us. And Billy was so curious!».
He took a step forward with great effort. He certainly had difficulty in walking.
«There was a trap, there, in the center of the room. And Billy wanted to know what it was, he didn’t wish for anything else. I didn’t, I felt that was dangerous, that it had hurt so many of us before. But I couldn’t tell him; I was just a mouse, and Billy couldn’t resist, he was walking to his death».
He stopped, and then added: «Do you remember?».
His mother was angry about Lizzi Bizzi and the red witch. She would not forgive him easily; this time he had got in big trouble.
He was sitting there, on the floor of that dusty attic, surrounded by those marvelous books, filled with fantasy, but that he could not read. There were the drawings, though, the most beautiful images ever seen. It was so difficult to resist; to keep himself from making them real!
He had that power to create other friends, special friends that would keep him company. He stroke the pages softly and suffered in silence, striving so hard to resist.
Then he saw him.
It was such a little mouse, sticking out its nose from under a piece of furniture. He saw it quiver and sniff.
He felt tempted to greet him, but was sure he would scare him away. There was a fat one next to the small one, maybe its mother, but only the small one started walking forward; heading straight towards…
Orazio jolted. He had not seen it, and had not thought about it, he was used to seeing them everywhere in that attic and would go past them everytime.
That trap was certain death for such a fragile little mouse. And it grew nearer and nearer. «No! No!», he said, but did not get any result.
How could it understand him? How could it understand the risk he was taking, what awaited it? It was too stupid, it was just a mouse! It was not intelligent!
And then and there, in that instant, without even thinking about it, Orazio gave it to it. He gave intelligence to that little mouse.
To Billy.
«You’re crying»:
Mr. Orazio could not help it.
«You remember, right? Are you remembering?».
He started sobbing. «Yes».
«Stop! It you go there you die!».
And the little mouse stopped.
He heard his voice for the first time: «Who are you?».
«I’m Orazio».
«What does die mean?».
«It means pain, so much pain; and then everything goes dark and you don’t move anymore».
«It’s horrible!».
«Yes, it’s horrible. Move away from there, come here with me»
The little mouse trotted towards him and Orazio burst in laughter.
«What is it? What are you doing?».
«I’m happy. I do that when I’m happy».
«Oh. Must I be happy too?».
«Yes, you should».
«What’s an orazio?».
«That’s my name».
«And don’t I have a name?».
«You’re Billy».
«Billy, eh? Not bad, I like it. What are you doing here Orazio?».
«I play».
«What does play mean?».
«It’s the most beautiful thing in the world. Would you like to play with me?».
«With you?».
«Do you want to be my friend?».
«What’s a friend?».
«It’s someone very, very important. Someone like you».
«Brother?».
«Good».
«Good?».
«Yes, good. We’re brothers then. Friends?».
«Friends. Brothers».
The sobs shook Mr. Orazio. «Billy is dead. He’s dead. And it was all my fault!».
«Why do you say so? Because you gave him intelligence? That didn’t kill him; his recklessness did, just that».
«He counted on me, he had faith in me»:
«Billy wanted too much, he didn’t realize what he was».
Mr. Orazio shook his head. «I let him believe he could do anything he wanted, I told him he would be safe with me! But it wasn’t true!».
«It wouldn’t have made a difference. Billy was like that, he wouldn’t have changed».
«Woah! Is it all for me? All of it? Really?».
Orazio was swollen with pride. «All of it. I told the cook what he had to do».
On the dining room table there was an immense mountain of cheese. Cakes of all sizes, delicacies, complete shapes of traforated grain. It looked like a castle. A castle made completely of cheese.
«Can I? Really? Are you sure?».
«Mom is not well and went to sleep, and Dad is out. No one will disturb us».
Billy jumped on the table, but before throwing himself into that treasure, he preferred to look around. «You are very well treated here in the lower floors».
Orazio felt a bit of guilt. «You don’t like the attic? Yes, I know it’s dark and moist. I could…».
«No, no, I understand. It’s too risky. Your parents might come and they cannot suspect anything».
«We’ll find a solution, you’ll see».
Billy took a piece of cheese and started munching on it. «Uhmpf… so good! Show me something, show me what you can do».
«Ehrm, what? Here? Now?».
«Yes, yes, show me».
«But I can’t do it here! Mom would find out quickly! It’s too dangerous!».
«I hope you aren’t scared of your parents! With the powers you have!».
«No, no, but… I don’t like making them angry».
«Something small then; something that won’t make them angry. Do like in that book we read yesterday. Give them life! Make them live!».
Lizzi Bizzi and the Red Witch Page 7