As God Commands (10 page)

How on earth had his father been able to stand working with
such people? That psychopathic Nazi, along with all those other
layabouts, had nearly been the ruin of Euroedil.

The niggers were different: they had respect. And he thanked
his father's arteriosclerosis for enabling him to take up his rightful
position and steer the ship back into safer waters where he could
repair the leaks and drive out the parasites that had been infesting it.

At least Zena wouldn't show his face around there again. Something
advised him not to mobilize lawyers and make official complaints,
but to overlook what had occurred and keep out of his way.

But there was someone else who was going to have to pay. That
stupid bitch of a secretary hadn't warned him of Zena's arrival, and
hadn't even taken the trouble to call the police.

He lifted the telephone, pressed a button and said in a quavering
voice: "Mrs. Pirro, could you come here, please?" He hung up and
straightened the knot of his tie.

For weeks he had been looking for an excuse to get rid of the old
bat. Well, she had presented him with one on a silver salver.

The Nazis originated in Germany in the early twentieth century. And they owe everything to Adolf Hitler who thought
up the whole idea.

Adolf Hitler was a penniless painter but, he had a great
dream of glory making Germany the strongest nation in the
world and then conquering the whole of Europe. In order to
do this he had to drive, out of Germany all the Jews who were
polluting the Aryan race. The Jews had come and now they
owned the factries and practised usury, forcing the Germans
to work in the steel factories. The Aryan race was the strongest
in the world, only: they needed a leader and Hitler knew he
had to get power and take it by force and then send all the
Jews to the concentration camps because, they were polluting
the master race. He invented the sign of the swastika, which
is the sign of the rising sun and he told the Germans that if
they believed in him they would get rid of the politicians and
then he would create an invincible army. And he did all this
because together with Napoleon, he was the greatest man in
history. Though really Hitler is greater than Napoleon; today
we need a new Hitler, to drive out of Italy all the niggers and
the im migrants who steal work and to help real Italians to
work. The niggers and the im migrants are creating a mafia
in Italy: worse than that created by the Jews in the second
world war. The trouble is nobody in Italy is patriotic any more.

The European community is wrong every nation is different
and the Slavs must not be allowed to steal the Italians" jobs and
women. Because the Italians, have always been the strongest just
think of the ancient Romans and off Julius Caesar who conquered the world and brought civilization to the barbarians who
were Germans too by the way.

People hate Nazism today because they pretend it's right
to be open to different cultures. They always say that, but
they don't really believe it themselves. The Arabs are worse than the Jews: look at what they do to women they treat them
like slaves and make them go around dressed in black cloaks.
And they should cut each others" throats in their own countries. They want to distroy us. They hate us. Because our culture is superior. We must fight back. Attack them with our
army and exterminate them, like the Jews.

Cristiano paused for a moment. It was as if he had opened a tap
and the words had gushed out. He hadn't said much about how the
Nazis had seized power because he couldn't remember the dates.
The essay was a bit on the short side, too, but there was only a
quarter of an hour left before they had to hand their work in and
he still had to make a fair copy.

While Rino was talking to Max Marchetta, Quattro Formaggi had
slipped away from Danilo and gone to the personnel office.

He had looked in through the window. Sitting at her desk was
Liliana Lotti.

For a while Quattro Formaggi stood there looking at her, knowing
he himself was unobserved. She was a bit plump, but she was beautiful. Not at first sight. You had to look carefully and then you discovered that her beauty was hidden beneath her fat. She kept it
covered as grasshoppers do with their colorful wings.

Besides, he and Liliana had a lot of things in common. They
weren't married. They lived alone. And they both loved pizza (though
her favorite was the Napolitana). She had a little dog. He had two
turtles.

He often saw her at San Biagio, at the six o'clock mass. When
they exchanged the sign of peace she would smile at him. And once,
a few days before Christmas, he had met her on the main street
carrying a lot of plastic bags.

"Corrado!" she had called out.

No one ever called him Corrado, so it had been a few moments
before Quattro Formaggi had realized she was talking to him.

"How are you?"

He had straightened his glasses and thumped himself on the thigh.
"Very well, thank you."

"I've been buying the usual presents for my relatives..." Liliana
had opened the bags, full of brightly colored parcels. "How about
you? Are you giving any presents?"

Quattro Formaggi had shrugged.

"Look what I've bought ... But this one's for me." Out of one
plastic bag she had taken a statuette of a fishmonger standing behind
a market stall covered with octopus, mussels and silvery fish. "This
year I took my Nativity scene out of the cellar. And I thought it
needed a new character."

Quattro Formaggi had turned it over in his hands, astonished.

"Do you like it?"

"Yes. It's beautiful." He wanted to tell her that he had a Nativity
scene too, but supposing she asked to see it? He couldn't let her
into the flat.

"Listen, why don't you take it? As a Christmas present from me.
I know, I really should wrap it up..."

Quattro Formaggi had felt his face flush with embarrassment. "I
can't..."

"Please take it. I'd be so happy."

In the end he had accepted it. He had put it beside one of the
lakes in his crib. He considered it, together with the Barbapapa, the
finest piece in the whole scene.

If now, for example, he were to enter the office and greet her, he
was sure Liliana would be pleased. The problem was that he found
it impossible to speak to her. As soon as he came anywhere near
her the words dried up.

Quattro Formaggi gave himself a thump on the leg and a slap on
the neck, summoned up his courage and grasped the handle of the
door, but then he saw her answer the phone and start fiddling with
a large envelope full of papers.

Some other time.

Danilo Aprea, leaning against the van, saw Rino come striding out
of the prefabricated building. From his manner it was clear that he
was furious. He must have found out that they had been dumped.

Danilo had known for a couple of days that Marchetta's son
didn't want them, but had kept the news to himself.

He had heard it from Duccio, one of the old team, who had also
been ditched.

But that job with Euroedil was a serious problem. It would have
gone on for a month, if not longer. And Rino, who wasn't really
that keen on the bank raid, would have dropped out as soon as he
had the money in his pocket; and if he had dropped out, Quattro
Formaggi would have followed suit.

It was madness to slog your guts out for others when you had a
foolproof plan for making a million.

At the moment, however, Rino was too angry; this wasn't the
time to discuss the raid with him. Like a pressure cooker: he needed
to have his steam let out before you opened him up.

Danilo had a two-and-a-half liter bottle of grappa in his bag. The
perfect extinguisher for spitting rages and similar complaints.

"Let's go. Come on. Get in." Rino climbed into the Ducato and
turned on the engine.

Danilo and Quattro Formaggi obeyed without a word.

The van moved off, raising a spray of mud, and shot out onto
the road without stopping at the yield sign.

"What happened?" asked Quattro Formaggi hesitantly.

Rino stared at the road, his jaw quivering. "We've finished with
that dump." Then he went on: "I should have killed him, but ... Why
didn't I? What the fuck's got into me lately?"

"...for Cristiano's sake," Quattro Formaggi prompted him.

Rino swallowed, squeezing the steering wheel as if he was trying
to snap it. His eyes were glistening, as though he had put them too
close to a flame.

"Yes, that's it. I held back for Cristiano's sake."

Danilo realized that this was the moment to produce the extinguisher. He opened his battered old bag and pulled out the bottle.
"Surprise, surprise!" He unscrewed the top and waved the grappa
in front of Rino's nose.

"If it wasn't for you two..." Rino was overcome by emotion and
couldn't finish the sentence. He opened his mouth and gulped in air.
"Give it here." He took a good swig. "Shit, what crap! It tastes like
turpentine. Where did you get it, the hardware store?"

The three of them passed it around in silence. None of them was
thinking about where they were going. On either side, beyond the
rows of skeletal trees, the fields of black earth ran by, with their
rows of high-tension pylons resembling little Eiffel Towers.

Suddenly Rino started chuckling.

"What's so funny?" asked Quattro Formaggi.

"That prick Marchetta. He had some of those whitening strips on
his teeth. Like the ones in the TV ad. He swallowed one of them..."

All three of them starting roaring with laughter and thumping
the dashboard of the van.

The alcohol was finally taking effect.

Rino dried away his tears. "Hey, weren't we supposed to be finishing the work on your tractor?"

Danilo sat up abruptly. "Damn right we were! The only thing
missing is the ram."

Rino switched on the radio, did a U-turn and headed back toward
the village. "Okay, but first we'll go and pick up Cristiano. We'll
surprise him!"

We can be a great pure nation again like the ancient
Romans where there'll be jobs for everyone and there
won't be any communists who've destroyed the idea
of the family, they don't believe in God and they've
accepted abortion which is murder of the innocents
and they want to give the vote to the immigrants.

THE END

Cristiano quickly re-read the essay.

It was good. Pretty damn good.

He took a clean sheet of paper and was about to start writing
out the fair copy, when a doubt crossed his mind. He stopped. He
read it through again more carefully.

No, he couldn't hand it in. That commie bitch teacher would
show it to the social worker.

Doubtfully, he read it through yet again, gnawing at the end of
his pen.

Why land yourself in the shit for the sake of a fucking essay? It's
a pity, though, it was really very good.

He carefully folded the sheet of paper and slipped it into the
pocket of his pants.

"What's up?" asked Colizzi, who had handed in his own essay
half an hour since and was doing a cryptic crossword.

"Nothing. I'm not handing it in."

"You see? You should have let me do it for you." said Colizzi.

Cristiano didn't bother to reply. He rested his chin on the desk
and looked out of the window. He was astonished.

On the other side of the lawn, where the downward slope began,
were his father, Danilo and Quattro Formaggi. They were sitting on
a bench, looking perfectly relaxed, with their legs stretched out in
front of them, as they passed around a bottle of grappa.

Cristiano was about to wave to them, but restrained himself and
glanced at the clock above the teacher's desk. Only seven minutes
to go to the bell.

If only he had a cell phone ... He grabbed Colizzi's fingers and
gently squeezed. "Give me your phone," he whispered.

"I can't. Please, my mother checks it every evening. She'll kill me
if I make a call."

Cristiano squeezed a little harder. "You'd better hand it over."

Colizzi grimaced and stifled a yelp. "Be quick, though. And call
a local number if you can. I've got the Horizon special offer."

Cristiano took the phone and rang his father. He saw him pat
the pockets of his jacket and take out his own cell.

"Hello?"

"Papa! What are you doing here?"

"When do you finish?" Rino turned toward the school, spotted
Cristiano behind the window and pointed him out to the other two,
who started waving.

"In five minutes."

"We'll be waiting for you."

Cristiano burst out laughing.

Those idiots out there had started dancing. They were doing a
conga around the bench.

The Ducato bumped along the little road dotted with puddles and
white stones which followed the bank of the Forgese. Reeds and
brambles scraped against the sides of the van.

The sky was gray, but the rain had stopped.

Cristiano Zena was squeezed in between his father, who had his
feet up against the windshield and was smoking as he gazed blankly
at the road ahead, and Danilo, who was mechanically clicking his
cell on and off. Quattro Formaggi was driving.

When they hit the bottle too hard it was always Quattro Formaggi
who drove. Today they had started drinking earlier than usual; usually they didn't reach that state till mid-afternoon.

Cristiano guessed there had been a problem at the construction
firm. The previous day Rino had told him they were going to start
a job, yet here they were...

But if they didn't volunteer any information it was better not to
ask.

He looked at Quattro Formaggi. Alcohol had no effect on him.
According to Rino it was because of the electric shock. Whatever
the reason, Cristiano had never once seen him drunk.

He adored Quattro Formaggi.

With him you didn't need to speak to make yourself understood.
And it wasn't true that he was stupid. If he didn't say much it was
because the electricity had affected his speech. But he was attentive: he listened to everything that was said and made strange movements with his head as if he was conducting the conversation.