I'm Not Scared

by Niccolò Ammaniti

  I clung onto a branch. If that blessed tree hadn’t been there to break my fall I would have been smashed to a pulp on the rocks. Like Francesco.

  A segment of moon had opened a gap through the bluish clouds and I could see, below me, that long gash in the countryside.

  I tried to turn round but the trunk was rocking like a bowsprit. Now it’s going to break, I said to myself. I’ll take the whole tree down with me.

  My hands and legs were shaking and at every moment I felt I was going to slip down. When at last I gripped the rock between my fingers I breathed again. I climbed back up onto the edge of the gravina.

  It was deep and stretched right and left for several hundred metres. Inside, it was all holes, gullies and trees.

  Filippo could be anywhere.

  To my right was the beginning of a path that wound steeply down between the white rocks. There was a pole fixed in the ground, and tied to it was a worn rope which Melichetti evidently used to help him get down. I grabbed hold of it and went down the precipitous track. After a few metres I came to a terrace covered in dung. It was surrounded by a fence made of branches tied together. Some clothes, ropes and scythes were hanging on a projecting rock. A little further on there was a pile of wooden stakes. Three small goats and a larger one were tethered to a root that protruded from the earth. They stared at me.

  I said to them: ‘Don’t just gawp at me like idiots, tell me where Filippo is.’

  A silent black shadow dropped down on me from the sky, passed over me, I shielded my head with my hands.

  A little owl.

  It rose again, dissolved in the blackness, then swooped towards the terrace again and went back up into the sky.

  Strange, they were friendly birds.

  Why was it attacking me?

  ‘I’m going, I’m going,’ I whispered.

  The track continued and I went on down holding the rope. I had to walk crouching down and feel with my hands the obstacles that appeared in front of me, as blind people do. When I reached the bottom of the gully I was astonished. The holly bushes, the thistles, the arbutuses, the moss and the rocks were covered with luminous dots that pulsed like tiny lighthouses in the night. Fireflies.

  The clouds had thinned and a half-moon tinged the gravina with yellow. The crickets were singing. Melichetti’s dog had stopped barking. There was peace.

  In front of me was an olive grove and behind, on the other slope of the gully, a narrow cleft in the rock.

  From inside there came an acid smell, of dung. I went in just a little way and heard movements and bleating. A carpet of sheep. They had been shut inside the cave with wire netting. They were crammed in like sardines. No room there for Filippo.

  I went back to the other slope, but I couldn’t find any holes, any dens to hide a boy in.

  When I had jumped out of the window it hadn’t even crossed my mind that I might not succeed in finding him. All I would have to do was go through the dark and not get eaten by the pigs and there he would be.

  It wasn’t like that.

  The gravina was very long and they might have put Filippo somewhere else.

  I was disheartened. ‘Filippo, where are you?’ I shouted. But very quietly. Melichetti might hear me. ‘Answer me! Where are you? Answer me!’

  Nothing.

  Only a little owl replied. It made a strange noise, it seemed to be saying: ‘All for me, all for me, all for me.’ It might be the same one that had attacked me before.

  It wasn’t fair. I had come all that way, I had risked my life for him and he was nowhere to be found. I started running backwards and forwards between the rocks and the olives, at random, as desperation gripped me.

  I felt so angry I seized a branch from the ground and started banging it against a rock, till my hands were sore. Then I sat down. I shook my head and tried to banish the thought that it had all been useless.

  I had run away from home like a fool.

  Papa must be furious. He would give me a thrashing.

  They must have noticed I wasn’t in my bedroom. And even if they hadn’t, they would soon be arriving there to kill Filippo.

  Papa and the old man in front, Felice and the barber behind. At top speed, in the dark, in the grey car with the gunsight on its bonnet, squashing the toads with its wheels.

  Michele, what are you waiting for? Come home, Maria’s voice ordered me.

  ‘I’m coming,’ I said.

  I had done what I could and he had been impossible to find. It wasn’t my fault.

  I must move quickly, they could arrive at any moment.

  If I ran, without stopping, I might get home before they went out. Nobody would have noticed anything. That would be good.

  I climbed quickly among the rocks back up the path I had come down. Now there was a bit of light it was easier.

  The little owl. It was wheeling above the terrace, and when it passed in front of the moon I could see its black silhouette, its short broad wings.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I ran across the terrace, near the goats, and the bird swooped again. I went on a little way and turned back to look at that crazy owl.

  It kept wheeling over the terrace. It skimmed the heap of poles resting against the rock, wheeled round and returned, stubbornly.

  Why was it behaving like that? Was there a mouse there? No. What, then?

  Its nest!

  Of course. Its nest. Its young.

  Swallows, too, if you knock down their nest, keep wheeling round and round till they die of exhaustion.

  They had covered up the little owl’s nest. And little owls make their nests in holes.

  Holes!

  I turned back and started shifting the piled-up stakes with the owl brushing past me. ‘Wait, wait,’ I said to her.

  There was an opening in the rock, roughly concealed. An oval cleft as wide as the wheel of a truck.

  The owl darted in.

  It was pitch black. And there was a smell of burnt wood and ash. I couldn’t make out how deep it was.

  I stuck my head in and called. ‘Filippo?’

  I was answered by the echo of my voice.

  ‘Filippo?’ I leaned further in. ‘Filippo?’

  I waited. Not a sound.

  He wasn’t there.

  He isn’t there. Run home, my sister’s voice repeated.

  I had taken three steps when I thought I heard a cry, a low moan.

  Had I imagined it?

  I turned back and put my head into the hole.

  ‘Filippo? Filippo, are you there?’

  And from the hole came ‘Mmmm! Mmmm!’

  ‘Filippo, is that you?’

  ‘Mmmm!’

  He was there!

  I felt a weight dissolving in my chest, I leaned against the rock and slid down. I sat there, slumped on that terrace covered with goats’ droppings, with a smile on my face.

  I had found him.

  I started crying. I dried my eyes with my hands.

  ‘Mmmm!’

  I got up. ‘I’m coming. I won’t be a moment. You see? I’ve come, I kept my promise. You see?’

  A rope. I found one, coiled up near the scythes. I tied it to the root where the goats were and threw it into the hole. ‘Here I come.’

  I lowered myself down inside. My heart was pumping so hard that my chest and arms were shaking. The darkness made me giddy. I couldn’t breathe. I felt as if I was swimming in petroleum and it was cold.

  I hadn’t even gone two metres when I touched the ground. It was covered with stakes, pieces of wood, piled-up crates of tomatoes. On all fours I groped in the dark with my hands. I was naked and shivering with cold.

  ‘Filippo, where are you?’

  ‘Mmmm!’

  They had gagged him.

  ‘I’m …’ One foot got caught between the branches, I fell, with my arms forward, on top of some bundles of thorny twigs. A sharp pain bit my ankle. I cried out and a hot acid flood of bile came up to my throat. An icy wind swept my back and I felt as i
f my ears were on fire.

  With shaking hands I pulled out my trapped foot. The pain pressed me inside my ankle. ‘I think I’ve sprained my ankle,’ I gasped. ‘Where are you?’

  ‘Mmmm!’

  I dragged myself, with gritted teeth, towards the moan, and found him. He was under the bundles of wood. I took them off him and felt him. He was lying on the ground. Naked. His arms and legs were bound with packing tape.

  ‘Mmmm!’

  I put my hands on his face. He had tape over his mouth too.

  ‘You can’t talk. Wait, I’ll take it off. It might hurt a bit.’

  I tore it off. He didn’t shout, but started to pant.

  ‘How are you?’

  He didn’t say anything.

  ‘Filippo, how are you? Answer me!’

  He was panting like the hound that was bitten by the viper.

  ‘Are you ill?’

  I touched his chest. It was swelling and subsiding too quickly.

  ‘Now we’ll get out of here. We’ll get out. Hang on a moment.’

  I tried to untie his wrists and ankles. It was tight. Finally, with my teeth, desperately, I started to saw through the tape. I freed first his hands, then his feet.

  ‘That’s it. Let’s go.’ I took his arm. But the arm fell limply back. ‘Get up, please. We must go, they’re coming.’ I tried to pull him up, but he fell back down like a puppet. There wasn’t a scrap of energy left in that exhausted little body. The only difference between him and a corpse was that he was still breathing. ‘I can’t carry you up. My leg hurts! Please, Filippo, help me …’ I grasped him by the arms. ‘Come on! Come on!’ I sat him up, but as soon as I let go he flopped down on the ground. ‘What have I got to do? Don’t you realize they’ll shoot you if you stay here?’ A lump blocked up my throat. ‘Die like this then, you fool, you stupid fool! I came here for your sake, all the way here, I kept my promise and you … and you …’ I burst into tears. I was shaken by my sobs. ‘You … must … get … up … idiot, idiot … you … idiot.’ I tried again and again, stubbornly, but he sprawled back in the ashes, with his head all bent, like a dead chicken. ‘Get up! Get up!’ I shouted, and I pummelled him.

  I didn’t know what to do. I sat down, with my head on my knees. ‘You’re not dead yet, do you understand?’ I sat there, crying. ‘This isn’t heaven.’

  For an instant he stopped panting and whispered something.

  I put my ear to his lips. ‘What did you say?’

  He whispered: ‘I can’t do it.’

  I shook him. ‘What do you mean you can’t do it?’

  ‘I can’t do it, I’m sorry.’

  ‘Yes you can. Yes …’

  He wasn’t speaking any more. I embraced him. Covered in mud, we were shivering with cold. There was nothing more to be done. I couldn’t do it either. I felt tired out, dead beat, my ankle was still throbbing. I shut my eyes, my heart started to relax and without wanting to I fell asleep.

  I opened my eyes again.

  It was dark. For an instant I thought I was at home, in my bed.

  Then I heard Melichetti’s dog barking. And some voices.

  They had arrived.

  I tugged him. ‘Filippo! Filippo, they’re here! They want to kill you. Get up.’

  He panted. ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Yes you can. Do you want to bet?’ I knelt down and with my hands pushed him forward, among the branches, regardless of the pain. Mine, his. I must get him out of that hole. The bundles of wood scratched me but I kept pushing, gritting my teeth, till we were under the mouth of the hole.

  The voices were close by. And a glare flashed on the branches of the trees.

  I gripped him by the arms. ‘Now you’ve got to stand up. You’ve got to. And that’s that.’ I pulled him up, he clung to my neck. He straightened up. ‘You see, stupid? You see, you have got up, haven’t you? But now you’ve got to climb up. I’ll push you from below, but you must hold onto the edge.’

  He started coughing. It sounded as if stones were shooting around in his chest. When he finally stopped, he shook his head and said: ‘Without you I’m not going.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Without you I’m not going.’

  I put my arms round him as if he was a rag doll. ‘Don’t be stupid. I’ll be right behind you.’

  Now they seemed to be there. The dog was barking above my head.

  ‘No.’

  ‘You’re going, do you understand?’ If I let go of him he would fall down. I took him in my arms and pushed him up. ‘Grab the rope, come on.’

  And I felt him become lighter. He had got hold of the rope! He was on top of me. He was resting his feet on my shoulders.

  ‘Now I’m going to push you, but keep pulling yourself up with your arms, all right? Don’t let up.’

  I saw his small head surrounded by the pale light of the hole.

  ‘You’re there. Now pull yourself out.’

  He tried. I felt him straining unsuccessfully. ‘Wait. I’ll help you,’ I said, grasping him by the ankles. ‘I’ll give you a push. You jump.’ I pushed at his legs and gritting my teeth I threw him out and saw him disappear swallowed up by the hole. At the same moment I felt as if a long pointed nail had been driven into my ankle bone right through to the marrow and a cutting spasm of pain ran like an electric shock through my leg up to my groin, and I collapsed.

  ‘Michele! Michele, I’ve done it! Come on.’

  I belched acid air. ‘I’m coming. I’m just coming.’

  I tried to get up but the leg no longer responded. From the ground I tried to grab the rope but I couldn’t reach it.

  I heard the voices coming nearer and nearer. The sound of footsteps.

  ‘Michele, are you coming?’

  ‘Just a moment.’

  My head was spinning, but I got on my knees. I couldn’t pull myself up.

  I said: ‘Filippo, run for it!’

  He looked down. ‘Come up!’

  ‘I can’t. My leg. You run for it!’

  He shook his head. ‘No, I’m not going.’ The light behind him was brighter.

  ‘Run for it. They’re here. Run for it.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You’ve got to go. Please. Get away!’

  ‘No.’

  I shouted and pleaded. ‘Get away! Get away! If you don’t they’ll kill you, don’t you understand?’

  He started crying.

  ‘Get away. Get away. Please, I beg of you. Get away … And don’t stop. Don’t ever stop. Ever… Hide!’ I fell down on the ground.

  ‘I can’t do it,’ he said. ‘I’m scared.’

  ‘No, you’re not scared. You’re not scared. There’s nothing to be scared of. Hide.’

  He nodded and disappeared.

  From the ground I started trying to find the rope in the dark, I touched it, but lost it. I tried again, but it was too high up.

  Through the hole I saw papa. In one hand he had a pistol, in the other a torch.

  He had lost.

  As usual.

  The light blinded me. I closed my eyes.

  ‘Papa, it’s me, Miche …’

  Then came the white.

  I opened my eyes.

  My leg hurt. It wasn’t the leg that had been hurting before. The other one. The pain was a climbing plant. A piece of barbed wire twisting round my guts. Something overwhelming. Red. A dam that has burst.

  Nothing can check a dam that has burst.

  A roar was increasing. A metallic roar that grew and covered everything. It throbbed in my ears.

  I was wet. I touched my leg. Something thick and warm was smeared all over me.

  I don’t want to die. I don’t want to.

  I opened my eyes.

  I was in a whirl of straw and lights.

  There was a helicopter.

  And there was papa. He was holding me in his arms. He was speaking to me but I couldn’t hear. His hair shone, waving in the wind.

  Lights blinded me. From the darkness blac
k creatures and dogs appeared. They were coming towards us.

  The lords of the hill.

  Papa, they’re coming. Run for it. Run for it.

  Beneath the roar my heart was marching in my stomach.

  I vomited.

  I opened my eyes again.

  Papa was crying. He was stroking me. His hands red. A dark figure approached. Papa looked at him.

  Papa, you must run for it.

  In the roar papa said: ‘I didn’t recognize him. Help me, please, he’s my son. He’s wounded. I didn’t …’

  Now it was dark again.

  And there was papa.

  And there was me.

  Copyright

  First published in Italy in 2001 by

  Giulio Einaudi Editore

  First published in Great Britain and the United States in 2003

  by Canongate Books Ltd,

  14 High Street, Edinburgh EH1 1TE

  This digital edition first published in 2008

  by Canongate Books Ltd

  Copyright © Niccolò Ammaniti, 2001

  Translation copyright © Jonathan Hunt, 2003

  The moral right of Niccolò Ammaniti and Jonathan Hunt

  to be identified respectively as the author and translator

  of the work have been asserted in accordance with the

  Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

  I’m Not Scared is a work of fiction. The characters, situations

  and places are the author’s own creations. Any similarity to real

  events or to persons alive or dead is purely coincidental

  The publishers gratefully acknowledge general subsidy

  from the Scottish Arts Council towards the

  Canongate International series

  The English translation was supported by

  The Italian Cultural Institute, Edinburgh

  British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data

  A catalogue record for this book is available on

  request from the British Library

  ISBN 978 1 84767 3572

  www.meetatthegate.com