He’s prepared for what happens next. Irene moves cautiously, but the silence is too absolute for Egitto not to recognize the sound of the sleeping bag’s zipper inching down, then the rustle of the polyester fill, the soles of her bare feet sticking to the synthetic fabric of the floor. One step, another step. The lieutenant opens his eyes. The refrigerator’s tiny LED is the only light in the tent; it looks like a distant lighthouse glimpsed from out at sea. Egitto stiffens; he considers the most effective way to get out of the spot he’s in.
Now it’s the zipper on his bag that’s being slid open. It’s not time to open fire yet, he thinks; he has to wait until the enemy gets closer. Irene lies down on top of him and starts voraciously kissing his neck, his cheeks, his mouth.
“No!”
The lieutenant’s voice explodes in the silence like thunder.
She stops, but not right away, more as if she were trying to catch her breath. “Why not?”
“No,” Egitto repeats. His pupils have adjusted to the dim light—they must be dilated to the maximum, as he’s able to make out the contours of Irene’s face above him.
“But don’t you find it strange to sleep apart, you and I, just a step away?”
“Maybe. But no. I’d rather . . . not.”
For a moment he wavers. His body displays an unexpected interest in that nocturnal visit; it rebels, confuses him. Egitto is no longer sure why he’s steering clear of the trap. Really, why? Because he made that decision earlier, that’s why. Out of a sense of responsibility to himself. To protect himself.
Meanwhile, Irene is still lying on top of him. A hand quickly slips down to the lieutenant’s groin, dips into his briefs. The contact with Irene’s fingers radiates pleasure throughout his body. Egitto grabs her arm firmly and pushes it away. Then he clears his throat to make sure his voice will come out sounding decisive. “Get away. Now. Good night.”
She rises to her knees. That was easy, Egitto thinks, easier than he’d imagined. Irene places a foot on the floor, climbs off him. There, she’s going. He’s safe.
With a surprising move, the sweeping gesture of a bullfighter who makes the red cape vanish before the bull, she whips the flap of his sleeping bag open and uncovers him. A blast of cold air drifts over the lieutenant’s bare legs. Egitto murmurs another no, but it’s a lackluster attempt.
Still struggling with himself inwardly, he lets her have her way. In the end he closes his eyes again. All right. Okay.
When they’ve finished, he asks Irene if she’d like to stay and sleep with him there—the cot is narrow, but they could make do. Pure courtesy, a somewhat hypocritical and very inept offer of reparation.
“Don’t do me any favors,” she says. “Good night, Alessandro.” Her lips lightly brush his forehead.
Walking in the dark, she bumps into something, maybe the defibrillator cart. “Shit,” she exclaims.
“Did you hurt yourself?”
Irene whimpers in pain. She doesn’t answer him. Egitto, under the protection of darkness, smiles.
In the pitch-black dead of night, as the lieutenant finally sinks into sleep, the two soldiers on guard duty at the main sentry tower are alerted by unusual movement in the Afghan truckers’ camp. They mount the night vision binoculars to see better, but there’s no need, because the headlights of a vehicle come on in the meantime. A truck, just one, sets out slowly in a southwesterly direction toward the entrance to the valley, and within a few minutes disappears.
The soldiers debate whether or not they should alert the commander, then decide it’s not a serious enough reason to disturb an officer. They can just as well report the good news in the morning.
“They’ve decided to leave,” says one.
“Yeah. About time.”
Last Words from Salvatore Camporesi
From: flavia_c_magnasco@*****.it
To: salvatorecamporesi1976@*****.it
Subject: Great news!!!
Tuesday, September 28, 2010, 15:19
Great news! Remember the miniature greenhouse you gave to Gabriele? Well, yesterday a little seedling sprouted! I think it’s a bean plant, or maybe it’s tomato, I’m not sure, we got the seeds mixed up. You should’ve seen Gabriele’s face! He wouldn’t stop jumping up and down, he was so excited. He insisted I put the little greenhouse on the floor, he stretched out on his stomach and stayed there staring at it for half an hour at least, his chin resting on his hands. He was expecting it to grow before his very eyes, I think.
He’s getting big, you know? At times some of his expressions remind me of you, he seems like an adult. You always tell me not to send you any photos because the connection isn’t fast enough, but one of these days I’ll send you a picture anyway. I don’t give a damn about your connection. And I want you to send me one too, I want to smother it with kisses and see how handsome you are all tanned like that.
I love you enormously.
F.
P.S. I looked in the plant guide and I actually think the seedling is a bean plant. Wow, how tall it got! And in just a few hours.
From: salvatorecamporesi1976@*****.it
To: flavia_c_magnasco@*****.it
Subject: Re: Great news!!!
Tuesday, September 28, 2010, 23:02
Sweetheart, when I read your e-mail I started crying. The guys were around and afterwards they teased me all evening. But who cares. I can’t think of anything but that seedling. You have to take care of it, teach Gabriele how to. I think there was a little hose in the kit to water it with. Or you can use a spoon. When I get back we’ll plant it outside. We’ll make a nice vegetable garden for the summer.
There’s not much going on here. We mainly patrol the area around the base, nothing dangerous, no one comes to give us any trouble. I’m almost bored. You know, I think you’d like the desert. It gives me a strange feeling, if I stare at it too long my head starts to spin. The air seems lighter than it does elsewhere and the sky is dramatic, so blue during the day and black at night. It would be a magnificent place, if it weren’t for the Taliban and all. Maybe the war will end one day and we’ll be able to come here on vacation. Can you imagine? The three of us together in Gulistan. I bet Gabriele would be knocked out by the camels.
S.
From: flavia_c_magnasco@*****.it
To: salvatorecamporesi1976@*****.it
Subject: Re: Re: Great news!!!
Saturday, October 2, 2010, 19:03
I can’t stand sleeping alone anymore. I’m going to get sick, Salvo, I swear. I’ll get sick and you won’t be able to cure me. How many more nights yet? More than a hundred. I counted them, Salvo. More than a hundred! I can’t even say it. It seems impossible to me. I’d like to strangle you, really. It’s starting to get cold, today there wasn’t even a ray of sunshine. This weather is affecting me. I don’t think I can hold up until you get your leave. Gabriele misses you too, but in his own way. I mean it, sometimes I don’t understand him. Some days it seems he’s almost forgotten about you and that scares me and I feel like yelling at him. I show him your photo, the one when you signed up. “Who is this gentleman?” I ask him. “Do you remember him?” He looks at me with a blank stare, as if he’s never seen you. It gives me the shivers. I start talking to him about you and after a second he’s distracted.
Then, just like that, the other night at dinner he points to your place. I don’t get it, so he takes his plate and puts it where you usually sit. “Daddy’s dish.” As if you were about to come home at any moment. I ask him, “Do you know where Daddy is?” He laughs as if I’m kidding, and points to the floor. “He’s downstairs?” I ask him. He shakes his head. Finally I realize that he’s trying to tell me you’re in the cellar. Can you believe it? I don’t think I was the one who put such an idea into his head—he must have made it up. Or maybe it really was me. In the early days, after you left, I was out of my mind and said a lot of crazy th
ings.
Anyway, now I always set a place at the table for you too in the evening. It makes us feel less alone, the two of us. I pour a bit of wine in your glass, and after I put Gabriele to bed I drink it. That’s right: I DRINK YOUR WINE AT NIGHT! What’s wrong with that? You have some objection? Anyway you can’t do anything about it. At least by the time I get to bed I’m stupefied and I don’t have to think about the fact that you’re not there. Who knows how many unspeakable things you’ll do down there without me. I’m losing my mind, I swear.
I love you, you silly soldier.
F.
From: salvatorecamporesi1976@*****.it
To: flavia_c_magnasco@*****.it
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Great news!!!
Sunday, October 3, 2010, 21:14
I’m feeling low today too. Last night we had a little disturbance. Nothing serious, but I didn’t get any sleep. And when I got up, there was no water in the showers. It’s the third time in a few days. I sponged off as best I could, but even here it’s starting to get bitter cold in the early morning. I know, it seems like nothing, but it was enough to dampen my spirits. I started thinking about how rotten things are here, how everything sucks, and so on. I was so edgy that at one point I almost decked Cederna. He never knows when it’s time to shut that stupid mouth of his.
I spent nearly all afternoon on the cot. I tried to rest, but I couldn’t. I tried to read that book you gave me, but there was no way. Eventually I just started thinking. Especially about you and Gabriele. About all the things we could do together on a day off. Now that I’m here and can’t do them, I realize that I’m often too lazy. We’re both too lazy. When I get back, things will change though. We won’t waste a single minute.
I should have written to you sooner. I see it makes me feel better. You’re my medicine. I feel so stupid when you’re not around. I’m almost ashamed to say it, but sometimes it’s as if I just don’t know what to do with myself if you’re not with me. I thought about it lying there on the cot and I got even more worked up. Is that what you’ve done to me, Mrs. Camporesi? What witchcraft did you use to make me so dependent on you? You’re going to pay dearly, you know . . .
S.
From: flavia_c_magnasco@*****.it
To: salvatorecamporesi1976@*****.it
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Great news!!!
Tuesday, October 5, 2010, 11:38
Okay, I might as well tell you. In the end I can’t hide the truth from you even if I can’t see you and have to write to a stupid computer. Actually things are not going well at all with Gabriele. Yesterday they called me to the nursery because he hit a playmate. All he did was punch him actually, but it was a good solid punch and he knocked him down. The teacher was furious, she said Gabriele is manic, out of control. She used those exact words: out of control. She says that in her opinion there’s no congenital problem—he simply refuses to speak, his way of manipulating us all. She said it as if he were a criminal, a monster. How dare she! She also said that if the situation doesn’t improve we should consider taking him to a neuropsychiatrist. A neuropsychiatrist—you know what that means? I feel so lost, Salvo.
You want to know the whole truth? I think it’s your fault. That he won’t speak and that he always looks angry and that he hit that kid (though he’s a snotty brat and a bully and if you ask me he deserved it). I think it’s your fault, you and your damn mission. Because you should be here. It’s also your fault that I feel so exhausted. And ugly. In fact, I cut my hair short. Yes, that’s right! I cut off my beautiful curly hair, which you liked so much. And if you don’t come back soon, I’ll cut off what’s left of it too. Or I’ll dye it red or orange or purple. I swear. I’m so tired, Salvo. I can’t take any more. Anything or anyone.
From: salvatorecamporesi1976@*****.it
To: flavia_c_magnasco@*****.it
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Great news!!!
Wednesday, October 6, 2010, 01:13
Sweetheart, you’re always worrying about Gabriele too much. He’s just a child. Don’t listen to everything they tell you. The pediatrician was clear, wasn’t he? He’ll speak when he feels the need to. For now he’s probably fine the way he is. You know what I say? Good thing he’s learning to defend himself. He’s always been a little fearful and too gentle. The world out there is ruthless. I would have loved to see the face of the kid he decked! When I get back I’ll teach him one or two moves. And I have a few interesting ones to try out with you too . . .
You know Torsu found a snake? It was right near our tent. You’d die of fright if you saw it. That brainless Sardinian squashed its head to a pulp with a rock. He hung it up like a salami and we all started dancing around it like idiots, like some kind of tribe. It was fun. Remember that snake we found on the trail in Val Canzoi? Of course you remember. You did the rest of the walk clinging to my arm. You were terrified. You’re very sexy when you’re terrified, Mrs. Camporesi. As soon as I get back I’ll fill our room with snakes, spiders, cockroaches, and mice—that way you’ll stick to me all the time.
It’s very late. I’m going to sleep. Do me a favor, call my mother and tell her everything is okay. I haven’t been able to talk to her for the last several days and I wouldn’t want her to worry.
S.
P.S. You can wear your hair blue, short, straight, however the hell you want. I’ll still go nuts over you.
Shots in the Night
“I’m thinking of a prank,” Cederna announces to Ietri as they’re shaving early in the morning.
“What prank?”
“First tell me if you’ll go along, then I’ll tell you about it.”
They rinse their razors in the same basin of warm water resting on the ground. The shaving lather floats like cream on the surface. Cederna shaves carefully, because a few pimples have broken out and he has to pay attention. He can’t explain the frenzy that seizes him on certain days like today. All he knows is that he wakes up with a wild urge to do something, to pick a fight, smash things, knock people around, wreak havoc. He’s been that way since he was a kid and his memories of every one of those days are partly appalling and partly glorious. If there were someone he could beat up, it would be perfect, but the enemy doesn’t show its face, so he has to improvise.
“How can I tell you I’m in if I don’t know what it involves?” Ietri objects.
“Don’t you trust me, verginella?”
Ietri thinks it over. Cederna knows very well he has him in the palm of his hand. Ietri is his disciple. If he asked him to run naked toward a group of Taliban, he’d probably do it.
“Sure, I trust you,” Ietri says.
“Then tell me you’ll go along.”
“It’s not dangerous, is it?”
“Nope. You just have to keep watch.”
“Okay, then. I’m in.”
Cederna moves closer. He stops Ietri’s hand that’s holding the razor. He slides his own blade over his buddy’s cheek. Ietri’s eyes widen; he stiffens.
“What are you doing?”
“Ssshh . . .”
Ietri holds his breath as his eyes follow the razor’s path.
“Listen,” Cederna says. “Tonight, when the others are in the mess hall, we’ll take the snake out of the Wreck.”
“I’m not touching that thing.”
“I’ll do it. I told you, you’re the lookout—you just have to make sure no one approaches.”
“What are you going to do with the snake?”
“Put it in Mitrano’s sleeping bag.”
“Holy shit.”
“Dead right. Wait till you see how he jumps when he finds it.”
“But didn’t you see how scared he was last night? He couldn’t even look at it.”
“Exactly.”
Cederna draws the blade along his friend’s jaw, carefully following the curve of the bone. Their mouths are so close t
hat if they each pursed their lips, they’d touch. Never in a million years would Cederna ever think about kissing a man on the lips.
“What if he gets really pissed?”
“Who? Mitrano? That’s just the beauty of it.”
The beauty of it also has to do with getting back at Mitrano once and for all for how he made Cederna feel the night of the attack, sniveling like a woman to try to get his place back inside the bunker—but Cederna doesn’t say that.
“And what if René gets mad?”
“René never gets mad. Besides, who gives a shit? If we followed his lead, we’d all commit suicide out of boredom. It’ll be fun—take my word.”
“I don’t know. I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“You promised you’d do it. If you back out now you’re a sleazebag. Stick out your chin.”
“Okay,” Ietri mutters, barely opening his mouth. “I’m in.”
“The important thing is not to let anyone see us, otherwise the prank won’t work. When they don’t find the snake, they’ll go nuts.”
“Torsu is always in the tent.”
“That guy’s brain is fried from the computer. He won’t even notice.”
Cederna now focuses on his buddy’s mustache, as Ietri obediently draws in his lips to stretch the skin tighter. Cederna wipes off the residual foam with his fingers. His older brother used to do that for him when he grew his first facial hair. For him Cederna wouldn’t hesitate to run naked toward a group of Taliban and let himself be shot—you can count on that! It was his brother who taught him how easy it is to be adored by someone younger.
“Cederna?” Ietri asks.
The Human Body Page 15