The Human Body (2 page)

F
irst came the talks. A series of preparatory lectures by Captain Masiero: thirty-six hours of groundwork in which the troops received a smattering of Middle Eastern history and technical briefings on the strategic complexities of the conflict, during which western Afghanistan's endless expanses of marijuana were also talked about, with no avoiding the obvious jokes. Or the stories of soldiers who had already served in the area and now, with a certain condescension, were quick to dispense advice to those about to set off.

Head down on the incline bench where he has just completed a fourth set of crunches, Corporal Major Roberto Ietri listens with growing interest to the conversation between two veterans. They're talking about a certain Marica stationed at the base in Herat. He finally gives in to his curiosity and interrupts: “Are there really a lot of girls there?”

The guys exchange a look of tacit complicity; they'd been waiting for that. “As many as you want, buddy,” says one. “And they're not the kind we're used to here.”

“That's for sure. Over there they don't give a shit.”

“They're far from home and so bored they're willing to do anything.”

“Anything—believe me.”

“There's no goddamn summer camp where you fuck as much as on a mission.”

“And then there are the Americans.”

“Oooh, the Americans!”

They start telling him about a colonel's secretary who brought three NCOs into her tent and threw them out at dawn, worn to a frazzle. “No, not us—I wish! Some guys from another company, but everyone at the base knew about it.”

Ietri's eyes dart from one to the other, while the blood flows from his feet to his head, making him dizzy. When he leaves the gym, in the velvety air of a summer evening, his mind is full of wild fantasies.

It was Ietri himself, in all probability, who started certain rumors among the guys in the Third Platoon, rumors that filter back to him after making a lengthy circuit, and that he ends up believing with greater certainty than anyone. Mingled with a mild fear of death is a longing for adventure that gains the upper hand. Ietri fantasizes about the women he'll encounter in Afghanistan, the naughty smiles during morning muster, the exotic way they'll pronounce his name.

Even during Captain Masiero's lectures all he does is undress and dress them, over and over again.

“Corporal Ietri!”

In his head he calls them all Jennifer and has no idea where that name came from.
Jennifer, oooh Jennifer . . .

“Corporal Ietri!”

“Sir!”

“Would you be so kind as to repeat what I've been saying?”

“Of course, Captain. You were talking about . . . the tribes . . . I think.”

“Do you perhaps mean the ethnic groups?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And which ethnic group was I talking about, exactly?”

“I think the . . . I don't know, sir.”

“Corporal, leave this classroom immediately.”

The embarrassing truth is that Ietri has never been with a woman, not in the sense that he considers
complete
. No one in the platoon knows this and it would be a disaster if they were to find out. The only one who knows is Cederna; he told him about it himself one evening at the pub when they were both smashed and in the mood for confiding.

“Complete? You mean to say you've never fucked?”

“Well, not . . . fully.”

“A goddamn little virgin! Hey, I have a new name for you:
verginella
. Do you like that? That's what I'm gonna call you from now on.”

“Don't shout!”

“You're in bad shape, buddy. Really bad. Shit!”

“I know.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty.”

“Damn. So you've already wasted the best years. Listen up now—it's important. The tool down there is like a rifle. A 5.56, with a metal stock and laser sighting.” Cederna shoulders an invisible weapon and aims it at his friend. “If you don't remember to oil the barrel from time to time, it will end up jamming.”

Ietri looks down at his mug of beer. He takes too big a swig, begins to cough. Jammed. He's a guy who's jammed.

“Even Mitrano manages to shoot his wad every now and then,” Cederna says.

“He pays.”

“You could do it too.”

Ietri shakes his head. He doesn't like the idea of paying a woman.

“So, let's go over it,” Cederna imitates Captain Masiero's voice. “It's not all that difficult, Corporal. Follow me closely. You meet a girl you like, you weigh the size of her tits and ass—I personally, for example, like them both big, but there are some perverts who prefer their women skinny as a toothpick—then you go up to her, spout some bullshit, and finally ask her politely if she'd like to go someplace private with you.”

“If she'd like to go someplace private with me?”

“Well, maybe not those words exactly. It depends on the situation.”

“Look, I know how it's done. It's just that I haven't found the right one.”

Cederna bangs his fist on the table. The forks clink in the empty plates where they've eaten French fries, attracting attention from the other tables. “That's the point! There is no right one. They're
all
right. Because they
all
have a—” He specifies the part by forming a diamond with his fingers. “Anyway, once you start, you'll see how easy it is.”

Cederna's tone annoys him a little. He doesn't want to be pitied, but his friend's words are also reassuring. He wavers between irritation and gratitude. He'd like to ask him how old he was when he started, but he's afraid to hear the answer: Cederna is too cool, and also too good looking, with that high forehead and a smile full of white teeth and mischief.

“You're as tall as a giant and you let women scare you. It's nuts.”

“Don't shout!”

“If you ask me, it's your mother's fault.”

“What does my mother have to do with it?” Ietri balls up the napkin in his fist. An unnoticed packet of mayonnaise explodes in his hand.

Cederna pipes up in falsetto: “
Mommy, Mommy, what do all these naughty girls want from me?
”

“Stop it—they can all hear you.” He doesn't dare ask his friend for his napkin. He wipes his hand on the edge of the chair. His finger brushes something stuck underneath.

Cederna crosses his arms, satisfied, while Ietri grows more and more gloomy. He makes circles on the table with the damp bottom of the glass.

“Don't put on that face now.”

“What face?”

“You'll see. You'll find some twit who will spread her legs for you. Sooner or later.”

“I don't much care.”

“We're going on a mission soon. They say there's no better place. The Americans are wild . . .”

 • • • 

T
he guys are given a weekend's leave before the reassignment and almost all of them spend it with their respective girlfriends. The girls have come up with some outlandish ideas, like a picnic by the lake or a marathon of romantic movies, when all the soldiers want to do is tank up on sex for the upcoming months of abstinence.

Ietri's mother takes the night train from Torremaggiore to Belluno. Together they run some errands in the center, then go to the barracks, where he sleeps in a hot, messy dormitory with seven other men. She doesn't fail to comment on it: “All the fault of the vocation you've chosen. With everything you could have done, intelligent as you are.”

On edge, the corporal is compelled to get away. He invents an excuse and retreats to a corner of the square to smoke. When he comes back, he finds his mother holding the photograph of his induction oath tight to her chest.

“Look, I'm not dead yet,” he says.

The woman's eyes widen. She gives him a sound slap on the cheek. “Don't say such things. Idiot.”

She insists on packing his bags no matter what (“Mama knows you'll forget everything otherwise”). Ietri dozes off as he watches her devotedly lay out his clothes on the bed. Occasionally he gets distracted and his mind wanders back to the Americans. He lets himself drift into an exciting half sleep, drool trickling onto the pillow.

“There's moisturizer and soaps in the side pocket, one lavender and one unscented. Use the unscented one on your face—you have sensitive skin. I also put in some chewing gum for when you can't brush your teeth.”

That night they share a double bed in a deserted small hotel and Ietri is surprised that he isn't embarrassed to sleep with his mother, even now that he's a man and has been away from home for so long. He doesn't even find it strange when she pulls his head to her soft bosom and holds him there, listening to the strong beat of her heart beneath her nightgown, until she falls asleep.

The room is lit intermittently by the storm that broke out after supper and his mother's body jerks each time the thunder claps; it's as if it scares her in her dreams. It's past eleven when Ietri slips out of bed. In the dark, he empties the pocket of the backpack and throws everything into the trash basket, way down at the bottom so she won't see it. Then he fills the pocket with condoms of various kinds, which he'd hidden in his jacket and in his spare boots, enough to last his platoon for a month of nonstop orgies.

Back in bed, he has second thoughts. He gets up again, sticks his hands in the trash, and gropes around for the chewing gum: you never know, it might come in handy if he were to find himself close to the eager mouth of an American without having brushed his teeth.

Jennifer, oooh Jennifer!

 • • • 

C
ederna and his girlfriend are back in the apartment they've been sharing for almost a year. The storm caught them on the way home, but they were so high they didn't even look for cover. They went on staggering along under the downpour, stopping from time to time to exchange lingering kisses, tongues probing.

The evening has taken an excellent turn, though it didn't start out that well. For some time now, Agnese has become obsessed with ethnic restaurants and just tonight when Cederna wanted only to have a good time, Agnese decided to celebrate his departure with a proper dinner by settling on a Japanese restaurant where her university friends had gone. “It'll be special,” she said.

But Cederna didn't feel like anything special. “I don't like that Asian stuff.”

“But you've never even tasted it.”

“Sure I tasted it. Once.”

“That's not true. You're acting like a child.”

“Hey, watch your mouth.”

When he realized they were headed for a serious fight he gave up and said, “Okay, let's go to the damn sushi bar.”

Except he didn't eat a thing at the restaurant and spent the time making fun of the waitress, who bowed continually and wore terry socks with her Japanese tatami sandals. Agnese tried to explain to him how to hold the chopsticks and it was clear she loved playing teacher. He made only one attempt, then stuck the tips of the chopsticks up his nostrils and started talking like a retard.

“Can't you at least
try
?” Agnese burst out.

“Try what?”

“To be a civilized person.”

Cederna leaned toward her: “I
am
civilized. It's these people who are in the wrong place. Look outside—take a look. Does this seem like Japan to you?”

They didn't say a word to each other for the rest of the meal—a dinner at which he stubbornly refused to taste a thing, not even the batter-fried tempura vegetables that didn't look too bad, while Agnese forced herself to finish it all, just to show him how much braver and more emancipated she was. But the worst moment came later, with the bill. “I'm going to raise hell,” Cederna said, his eyes popping.

“I'll pay. Just stop making a scene.”

Cederna shot her down coldly: “I don't let my woman pay for my dinner.” He threw the credit card at the waitress, who bowed for the umpteenth time as she picked it up.

“What a shitty place!” he said when they were finally outside. “You ruined my last night of freedom, thank you very much.”

Agnese started crying softly, her hand pressed over her eyes. Seeing her like that made Cederna feel ashamed. He tried to hug her; she pushed him away.

“You're an animal—that's what you are.”

“Come on, baby. Don't be like that.”

“Don't touch me!” she yelled, hysterical.

She didn't hold out for long, though. In the end he nibbled her ear and whispered, “What the hell do they call that stuff—yadori?
Yu
dori?” Finally she laughed a little and admitted: “It was really disgusting. I'm sorry, sweetheart. I'm so sorry.”

“Yuuudori! Yuuuuuudori!”

They started laughing and didn't stop even in the pouring rain.

Now they're both sitting on the floor in the small foyer, sopping wet, and they're still chuckling, though less enthusiastically. Cederna is beginning to feel that dissociating sense of emptiness and dejection that comes after laughing so hard. And there's a lump in his throat, because he won't see her again for many long weeks.

Agnese collapses on him and rests her head on his legs. “Don't die over there, okay?”

“I'll do my best.”

“Don't get wounded either. Not seriously, at least. No amputations or conspicuous scars.”

“Only superficial wounds, I promise.”

“And don't cheat on me.”

“No.”

“If you cheat on me, I'll wound you myself.”

“Ooh!”

“Never mind ooh. I'm serious.”

“Uh-oh!”

“So will you come back for my graduation?”

“I'll be back, I told you. René promised me leave. But it means that afterward we won't see each other for a long time.”