As God Commands (51 page)

He looked around. There were hundreds of drenched people.
Among them, perhaps, was the person who had thrown the body
in the river.

Who are you? Where are you? I want to talk to you. Perhaps
you can help me understand.

He took his head in his hands and pressed his temples.

Too many thoughts were going through his mind. Too many
voices were talking to him together and muddling him. Though he
sensed that soon these thoughts that were infecting his brain would
stop and there would finally be silence.

His phone, in his pocket, started ringing. He took it out. "Hello?"

"Hello, Quattro Formaggi?"

Don't call me that! It's not my name, can't you all get it into
your heads? "Who's that?"

"It's me, Cristiano. Listen to me. It's important. Where are you?"

"Nowhere special."

"Can we meet at the hospital? I need to talk to you."

"When?"

"Right away. I've had an idea. Come quick."

The Carrion Man heard the sound of a siren behind him. He
turned and saw a police car advancing slowly through the crowd.
Through the rain-streaked rear window he saw a man.

It's him. He's the one who threw the body in the river.

He swayed, his legs were giving way, he clutched hold of the
railing.

"Quattro Formaggi, are you there?"

"Sorry." He switched off his phone. He began to follow the police
car, to stagger among the people, to struggle forward, panting, in
that mayhem, frantically elbowing his way through, almost fainting
with the pain in his side and shoulder. Everything had dissolved into
a darkness crowded with monsters who grew angry, who insulted
him, who noticed him, who recorded his face in their memories,
but it didn't matter; he had to follow that man.

At last the car stopped and the siren fell silent.

The Carrion Man wanted to get closer, but a cordon of policemen
prevented him from doing so.

A woman holding an umbrella and a flashlight opened the door
of the police car. The man got out, covering his head with a newspaper. The two disappeared down an iron stairway that led to the
river bank.

The Carrion Man pushed through the crowd and leaned over to
watch them.

He saw them go down a long iron stairway and reach the bank,
where Ramona had been brought. He saw the man crouch down
beside the corpse and then put his hands over his face.

It's her father ...

He opened his mouth and for a moment a ray of light lit up his
heart. He was breathless, overwhelmed by the grief of that man
whose daughter he had killed.

What have I done?

But it only lasted for a moment. The darkness enveloped his heart
again and he realized that he would never finish the nativity scene.
Now they would put Ramona in a coffin and cover her with earth.

Everything that he had done had been in vain. Nobody understood that she had died for something great, something more
important. Because God commands it.

The people were beginning to return to their cars. The show was
over.

There was a child in a blue raincoat with a helmet of black hair
who was holding her mother's hand and kept sniffing, with tears
in her eyes. The Carrion Man stopped, looked at her and felt like
crying too. He raised his hand and, sobbing, waved to her. At first
the child covered her face, awed by the figure of that thin man
crying under a yellow hood. But then she waved back.

They smiled at each other.

Could it have been Rino who threw Ramona into the river? A
flash of lightning lit up the dusk of the Carrion Man's mind.

What if Rino, in the woods, hadn't died as he had seemed to do?
If he had only been pretending?

Beppe Trecca, sitting in his Puma, was still stuck in the traffic. If
until half an hour earlier the traffic jam had been moving at walking
pace, now it had come to a complete stop. He could see the turning
a hundred yards ahead, like a mirage.

He snapped his cell phone shut, irritably.

The little hooligan didn't answer.

He had really gone too far this time. What kind of behavior was
this? He tried to help him and the boy just dashed off like a madman.
What if something happened to him?

Who'll get it in the neck? Yours truly!

When he found him he would give him a piece of his mind.

He must have gone to see his father. Where else could he go? But
supposing I don't find him in the hospital? What if the little fool
has run away?

He felt as if a boa constrictor was crushing him. He loosened the
knot of his tie, unbuttoned his shirt collar and started to hyperventilate, trying to dispel his anxiety.

I've even run out of Xanax.

It was impossible to breathe in that damned car. He opened the
window, but that didn't help. It was that endless traffic jam that
made him feel so bad. He was boiling.

He steered the Puma into the emergency lane, switched on the
hazard lights, took his folding umbrella from the back seat and got
out.

It's only a panic attack. Once you've felt a few drops of rain on
your face you'll feel better.

He leaned with one hand on the hood, as if he was exhausted
after a long marathon, and looked around. The leaden sky. The
honking cars. The never-ending rain.

What am I doing? Why am I still here?

I must go to Burkina Faso.

Cristiano had better go to a home. He had done what he could
for him. But now, enough was enough.

And after all... I'm a free man.

He didn't depend on anyone. And no one depended on him. He
could choose to do what he liked with his life. It had been his decision to remain single, free to travel, to explore new worlds, new
civilizations.

So why the hell did I get myself stuck in this lousy wasteland?
Helping people who don't want to be helped. If anyone needs help,
it's me. No one asks how this poor loser is feeling! Not even my
cousin, not so much as a phone call...

He glanced at the motionless line. A dozen yards away was a
people carrier. At the wheel a friar. In the back he could just make
out two big St. Bernards, who had misted up the windows with
their breath.

Beppe gazed at the friar in astonishment.

I've got to talk to him. Right away.

He went over to the car and knocked on the window. The man
started in surprise.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to alarm you."

The window rolled down.

The friar had a thin face and straight white hair. An olive complexion. A pair of narrow glasses were perched on his long nose.
"Do you need help?"

"Yes."

"Problems with your car?" The huge beasts' muzzles pushed forward to see who this person was and started dribbling happily over
the driver's seat.

"Isolde! Tristan! Down!" shouted the friar and then turned back
to Trecca. "They've been shut up in here for hours..."

"Can I get in? I want to confess..."

The friar frowned. "I'm sorry, I don't understand."

"I want you to hear my confession."

"Here? Now?"

"Yes, now. I beg of you..." implored the social worker. And
without waiting for an answer, he jumped into the Espace.

The milky glow from the streetlamps bathed the wide stairway of
the Sacred Heart hospital. The Carrion Man parked his scooter. His
scarf and his hat left only his eyes exposed. All hunched up and
limping, he entered the half-deserted entrance hall of the hospital.
He saw Cristiano standing in front of the lift.

He went over to him. "Here I am."

At first the boy seemed not to recognize him. But then he grabbed
him by the arm: "What on earth's happened to you?"

The Carrion Man was about to tell him the fatuous lie he had
prepared ("I fell off my scooter") when he had a sudden brainwave.

He lowered his gaze. "They beat me up."

Cristiano stepped backward and clenched his fists as if he was in
a boxing ring. "Who was it?"

"Some boys on motorbikes blocked my path and then started
kicking and punching me."

"When did this happen?"

"On Sunday evening. I was on my way to Danilo's..."

"Who was it?" An expression of hatred distorted Cristiano's features. "Tell me the truth. Was it Tekken?"

He's fallen for it.

At this point the Carrion Man, like a consummate actor, nodded.

"Why didn't you call me?"

"I don't know... When they went away I picked up my scooter
and went home. And then I couldn't get out of bed."

"Why didn't you tell me when we talked on the phone?"

Quattro Formaggi shrugged.

"You should have told me, Quattro. Tekken beat you up because
you're my friend. He's got it in for me so he picked on you. That
bastard's going to pay for this. I swear to God he is." Cristiano
looked at the cheek covered with a big, purple bruise: "Have you
seen a doctor?"

The Carrion Man tried to play it down. "It's nothing... I'm fine."

Cristiano touched his forehead. "You're boiling. You must have
a temperature. You can't even stand up straight ... There's an accident and emergency ward here..."

"No! I said no. They'd lock me up somewhere. They're just
dying to..."

Cristiano breathed in through his nose. "You're right, Quattro
Formaggi. They want to put me in a home, too. Listen, I've had an
idea. A great one..."

The Carrion Man wasn't listening. He had turned white and was
grinding his teeth as if he wanted to crush them, and puffing his
cheeks in and out. It was the third time Cristiano had called him
Quattro Formaggi and it wouldn't do. Nobody should ever call him
that again.

He restrained himself from grabbing him and hurling him against
a glass door in the foyer, shouting: "Nobody! Nobody should call
me that. Do you understand? Nobody!"

Instead he gave himself a couple of slaps on the forehead and
with an anguished sigh managed to mutter: "You shouldn't call me
that."

"Huh?" Cristiano had been talking and hadn't heard. "What did
you say?"

"You shouldn't call me that anymore."

Cristiano raised an eyebrow. "How do you mean? Call you what?"

The Carrion Man thumped himself twice on the leg and lowered
his eyes, like a child who has done something naughty. "What you
called me just now. You mustn't call me that any more."

"You mean you don't want me to call you Quattro Formaggi any
more?"

"Yes. I don't like it. Please don't do it again."

"So you're Quattro Formaggi."

Cristiano Zena seemed to hear Tekken and the others as they
kicked him.

"What a nice tasty little pizza."

That was why he didn't want to be called that any more.

Tekken, you bastard, I'll get you for this.

He moved closer to Quattro Formaggi and hugged him tightly,
feeling, under his poncho, that he had been reduced to a trembling
skeleton. And that he smelled.

He had spent all those days on his own. Suffering like a dog.
Without eating. And with no one to help him.

He imagined him lying on the bed in that dump where he lived.
Cristiano's throat tightened as if he had swallowed a sea urchin.

In a broken voice he said: "I promise. I'll never call you that
again. Don't worry."

And he heard him murmur: "I'm the Carrion Man."

Cristiano stepped back and looked into his eyes. "What?"

"The Carrion Man. From today that's my new name."

It's finally happened. He's flipped.

Rino was in a coma. Danilo was dead. And Quattro Formaggi
had gone completely around the bend.

Perhaps the beating they had given him had tipped him over the
edge.

"Listen to me..." Cristiano strove to speak clearly and slowly.
"Listen to me carefully. The two of us have got to go away from
here. If we don't run away there'll be trouble. I know there will."

"But where can we go?"

Cristiano put his arms around Quattro Formaggi again so that
he could speak in his ear. In the bar behind the glass partition a
group of doctors seated at a table were laughing with the barman,
who was putting a coin on his elbow and then catching it as it
fell.

"To Milan. We'll go to Milan. Listen. I've heard that a lot of
people live underground in Milan. People who don't want to live
with the people on the surface. There's a king and a kind of army
that lives in the tunnels of the metro and decides whether you can
enter. I think they put you through some tests. But you and I can
pass them. Then we'll find ourselves a secret hole where we can set
up home. You know, a place with a hidden entrance that only you
and I know about. And we'll put beds in it and a kitchen area.
And at night we'll go out and while everyone sleeps we'll find everything we need. What do you say? Do you like my idea? It's good,
isn't it?"

Cristiano closed his eyes, certain that Quattro Formaggi would
never go with him. He would never leave the village and his
apartment.

But he heard him murmur: "All right. Let's go."

The Carrion Man was crying, with his arms around Cristiano.

At last someone had told him what to do. Cristiano, his friend,
was there with him, and would never leave him ...

Yes, they must go to Milan and live underground. And never
come back. And forget everything. Ramona. The rain. The woods.

The horror of what he had done made him giddy and he felt as
if the ground was crumbling under his feet. He clung to Cristiano.
He wiped away his tears and mumbled: "What about Rino? What
shall we do with Rino? Shall we leave him here?"

"Let's go and see him." Cristiano held out his hand. "Come on,
I'll help you."

The Carrion Man grasped it.

"...But in your opinion, father, if I sent her a text message would
I be breaking my vow? I wouldn't actually be seeing her..."

Beppe Trecca and the friar were parked in the rest area, while
alongside them the line of traffic had finally started to flow. The
rain drummed on the bodywork of the people carrier.