preview of the novel: the carousel horses by antonio gentile

7/30/2019 Preview of the Novel: The Carousel Horses by Antonio Gentile

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Antonio Gentile

THE CAROUSEL HORSES


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Antonio GentileThe carousel horses Novelwww.thecarouselhorses.netAll rights reserved 2013 Antonio GentileISBN: 9788890847240

Italian review by Manuela LanziniEnglish review by Maria Alexsandra Bucciarelli

Cover picture aleshin - Fotolia


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THE CAROUSEL HORSES

To my wife and my daughters


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The uncompleted life remains in the air,waiting for someone to get free


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Flying Lessons


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The freedom of the wild horses

I saw them!Who?The carousel horses, I saw them, they fled away.Really?They broke the rods and ran away.Are you sure? But when?Yesterday evening, after sunset. You should have

seen them, they were very fast. Bianca, however, waslimping.

Did she get hurt?She had a red mark on her leg. Maybe she tumbled

while was running away. If it hadnt been for Nerone

What did he do?He waited for her. He rubbed his nose on her mane

and encouraged her. They went away together.We have to find them to be sure that Biancas okay.Yes, we do!Tonight, after mom and dad go to sleep.Yes, tonight.


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The abatjour traces on the walls the outlines of the softtoys perched on the bedside tables.

Reflects the mothers gestures who turns off the lightand tucks the children in, pecks the childrens foreheadsand sings them to sleep, with shining eyes thatilluminate the room, like the headlights of a diving bellthat scans the depths of the ocean.

The song to sleep recounts tales of the sea, pirates anddolphins and the children dream of being imprisoned

fishes in monstrous sea caves in the ocean depths,asphyxiated by the water pressure and the expectationof a diving bell to rescue them.

A few minutes and the mother leaves.The song ends and she leaves the room.She goes down the stairs and enters her room, making

a little noise in the bathroom.

Nothing else.The rooms falls silent.Shortly after, Letizia gives the signal.A slight whistle with folded lips over her teeth.Lorenzo jumps out of bed like a soldier at the sound of

a trumpet, quickly gets ready and gives Letizia thumbsup.

She nods.It 's the time, lets go.They tiptoe out of the room, fly down the stairs, open

the front door and keep it ajar with a stone.Theyre out surrounded by the night and look behind

for a moment.All the windows are dark and the house is squatting

in a bed of fireflies and cicadas.


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Silence, only silence and darkness.Another look of agreement.They start running down the driveway, with the

fervor of a hand on a gift to be discarded, reach the pineforest on the sea.

They disappear among the leaves of the trees, whichhave shaken off the green dusted by the sun and havebeen covered in the nights darkness.

The evening breeze has brought along some cloudsand now swings the foliage of the pines.

The moon has seized the sky.It contemplates itself on its sea reflection, imprints the

childrens eyes strengthened by the thirst of adventure,the most exciting that they have ever faced.

To save their closest friends, Bianca and Nerone,prisoners of the master of the carousel horses, whoforced them to ride the same alienating orbit of a

rotating disc.Their dearest friends, who have always dreamed of

escaping and returning to run along open plains andsunny beaches, swing their manes in the wind and climbthe wildest trails.

To savor their true identities.The freedom of the wild horses.

When the children begin to see the amusement park,the moonlight disappears behind the trees.Lorenzo and Letizia reach the secret passage,

slithering like snakes.Their clothes get dusted as they run towards the

carousel.They gape when they get there.

In disappointment, because the horses are still there.


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Their friends were not able to escape.The carousel horses are still there, hanging on those

metal studs, prisoners of an evil will that has reserved

the cruelest fate.The children remain there, with their mouths wide

open.They hold each others hands, trying to find the

strength to react.Oh my God, look over there! says Lorenzo,

suddenly.

I saw something!He runs to Bianca and calls Letizia.His leg is wounded.Letizia is approaching.Let me look.She examines the horses leg but doesnt see anything,

there is nothing on the leg.

So she turns to Lorenzo, looks at him and smiles.Its all red! she says.See! I have not dreamed it!We need to bandage it, Bianca is still bleeding.Letizia takes off her shirt, rolls it up and makes a

bandage.She wraps it around Biancas leg, then ties a knot,

putting Lorenzos fingers on it and pulling the two flaps.Now Bianca can run like the others, she says,stroking Lorenzos hair.

He smiles, then embraces his sister.You were great.They remain there for a few minutes, in front of the

carousel, admiring the manes of the horses that stand

out below the sky.


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Then they leave, in the middle of the sea breeze thathas trailed off and the pine trees that have stoppedswaying.

The children walk away, hand in hand, as proudwarriors after a victory on the battlefield.

I wonder if they try to get away again tonight, saysLorenzo.

If they do, Bianca will not remain behind.

The moon disappears behind the trees, in thechildrens eyes refreshed by the adventure, the mostexciting adventure they have ever faced.

The carousel horses are still there, still dreaming aboutgoing back to running along open plains and endlesssunny beaches, swinging their manes to the wind andclimbing the wildest paths.

To savor their true identities.The freedom of the wild horses.


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The pleasure of waking up

The woods was surprised.Such a deafening noise, the woods wasnt expecting it.It has spoiled the pleasure of waking up.The sun was burning, the dew was melting.Everything was perfect, as always.

Then that deafening noise.The woods wasnt expecting it.It spoiled the pleasure of waking up.Then that scream.A deafening scream.Hurry up. Jago will savage her!A foot after another, a tree after another, a branch after

another, his hand in his fathers, who shoves him amongthe branches.

A breath after another, a heartbeat after another,breathing through the breath of the plants, blended withthe mood of the fresh leaves, soaked by the sweat andthe damp of the woods.

Then the trees open up, like a rolling shutter, giving

the way to the light.


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The air is free now.Suddenly.It leans on the grass stems, brightens them up, widens

into the glade.Jago is there, in the middle of the field, raging on a

hare covered in blood, in the centre of the scene.A few seconds and his father is there too.He lashes out at the dog, takes him by the collar and

hurls it away.The greyhound obeys, but continues grinding his

teeth like a fool.Lorenzo is way behind.Slowly, he is now approaching.His legs are trembling.His father is crouched over the hare.He has hit it on the head with a rifle butt and has tied

the legs with a rope.

Then he turns around and shows it to his son, as avaliant hero who has killed a bad enemy.

The hare is there, covered in blood, its head iscrushed.

A few seconds earlier it was running among the treesin the woods, but now its there.

With sham eyes like teddy ones, like Lorenzos ones,

who has remained there, trying to swallow, to restrainthe tingling that runs through his shoulders and stopsbelow his stomach, where pressing becomes unbearable.

The guilty feeling.His knees cant hold up its weight and Lorenzo falls

on the grass.Lorenzo finds himself kneeling on the ground, as a

clairvoyant, with the arms stretched along his hips and


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eyes staring at an empty point of the sky.The teardrops fall on the grass, penetrate into the slots

of the ground and disperse among the roots of the

shrubs, such as the innocence of the child that is lost inthe folds of a death image and of his mouth, mixed withspittle, that tastes like sour milk.

His father approaches him and sees a wet stain onLorenzos trousers.

He grabs his arm and pulls him up like a fishing net.He shakes him, looks him right in the eye.

What is it? Are you scared?Lorenzo cant stop sobbing.The father continues to shaking him.Come on. Its not really dead, its just sleeping.The sun lengthens the shadows in the plains.A man, who wants to make a man of his son.A son, who doesnt want to become a man, like his

father.Two long shadows, two wires attached to the puppets

thrown on the scene, maneuvered by a sadisticpuppeteer.

The father unties the rope twisted on the hares legs,dangles it like a wet rag.

Then he catches it by the ears, lays it on the grass and

leaves it there, in the blood that widens into the ground.He finally takes Lorenzos hand, like the hares hear,looks at him, shakes his head, takes him away.

Without saying a word.

The woods was not expecting it.Such a scene, was not being expected.

The sun was burning, the dew was melting.


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Everything was perfect, as always.Then that dreadful scene.The woods was not expecting it.

It spoiled the pleasure of waking up.


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The coloring box

We are still in time.Are you sure?Yes, we can still heal her.How?The coloring box. Come on. We are still in time.

The coloring box is locked in the bottom drawer of hisdesk, under a stack of drawings.

Its hidden because no one must find it.It would lose its power.Turn around and close your eyes. You must not see.Lorenzo turns around, puts his little hands over his

eyes.

Letizia puts the key in the lock and turns it slowly, inorder not to make Lorenzo understand from where thenoise is coming.

She then takes the drawings.Grabs the box.Rubs her hand over the glossy cover, as to the lamp of

a Genie.

Closes the drawer.


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Now you can come.Letizia has got on the chair on her knees and now puts

a white sheet on the table.

The light from the window makes it shine.Lorenzo takes another chair and places it next to

Letizias one.He climbs on it and stands on it.The coloring box is on the table.Letizia opens it.The crayons are sorted by shades, as the rainbow

ones.You must tell me every single detail. Even the most

insignificant. It wont work, otherwise.Lorenzo starts to tell, with a weak voice, relives the

scene, the nightmare, the tragedy.The wetness in the woodsthe blinding sun.

the stinging wind.Go on.The tall grass of the plainthe hares smooth fur.the blood stains.A thicker line, a thinner one, a color, then another, all

the combinations.

Then the nuances, the graphite smeared with thefingertips.Red, green, blue, gray.Letizia imprints them on the paper with the

immediacy of a photograph.The clouds, the sky, the trees, the leaves, the flowers

hidden in the tall grass.

Everything is as it should be.


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The clouds glide over the blue sheet of the sky, thetrees sway on the chaotic gusts of wind, the leaves tinklelike bells.

Everything is as it should be.Everything lives, moves, changes.Letizia draws it just as it should be.She changes the feelings, warps the frequency of the

reflected light, of the colors perception.The woods, the trees, the plain.Together in a passionate symphony that tastes of

rebirth, of new life.The hare, in the middle, the final subject, the most

difficult to represent, to transform.What was it like?Grey, some white spots on the back and on the ears,

two black eyes, a small tail.Gray, black, white.

Letizia keeps all the crayons in one hand, pressesthem down the sheet, switching them between thephalanges like the letters of a typewriter.

The eyes, then the mouth, the legs, the tail.The blood is away.It was in the story, theres no more on the drawing.There can be no blood.

Because the hare is healed and runs again on thegrass.It runs, jumps, breathes the clear air of the morning,

heated by the sun that has just woken up.The hare is healed and now it rubs its paws on the

face, caressed by the cool breath of the wind, lulled bythe lively tone of the sounds, mixed with the leaves of

the woods.


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The hare is healed, has started running again.And Lorenzo has started smiling again.The last line, the last detail.

Finished.Letizia takes a deep breath.Then she gets the drawing and a roll of duct tape from

the drawer.She climbs on the desk, goes to the window.Come here.Lorenzo holds Letizias hand and jumps on the desk.

He crawls to the window.We have not finished. We have to make the light

shine through. So the air will be soaked by the newcolors.

Lorenzo unrolls a piece of tape and cuts it with theteeth.

It takes a couple, the drawing now sticks to the glass.

The light passes through it.The paper becomes transparent, the colors hang in the

air.Everything is as it should be, lives, moves, has

changed the feelings, the frequency of the reflected light,the colors perception.

Here. Right now.

Letizia holds the drawing in both hands.She sharply rips it in half.She hangs up the two pieces on the glass.Lorenzo puts his head under Letizias arm.Two black silhouettes against the light of the window,

which absorb the brightness and hide the regeneratedcolors under the skin.

They admire the pieces of the drawing glowing


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against the sky.Then, suddenly, as if by magic, Lorenzo sees

something in the garden.

Look!A hare has appeared and has started running across

the lawn.Its running again. Its healed.The blood had disappeared.There couldnt be blood.It isnt in the drawing.

And Letizia smiles.She puts a hand on Lorenzos shoulder and smiles.Then she takes the pieces of the drawing, detaches

them from the glass and gets down from the table.She sticks them with a strip of the adhesive tape and

puts the colors back in the box, in shade order.Then she lays the hares drawing under the other ones

and locks the drawer.Finally she joins Lorenzo, who is still by the window,

with his hands printed on the glass.She sits down next to him.I told you that we were still in time.


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Circle and square

He could not sleep a wink last night.Its too much an important day.Now hes curled up in his chair, in the waiting room,

like an abandoned dog.From there he stares at the sun reflections on the

chromed coat hook.Its very hot and the fan buzzes resigned dangling

from the ceiling.His mother is sitting beside him, pretending to read a

magazine, but shes always on the same page.Every now and then, she strokes Lorenzo hair, asks

him are you ok?, are you thirsty?, do you need to go in

the bathroom?, but that attention makes him feel evenmore guilty.

His father got up, reads the comics on the wall.He fiddles with some coins in the pocket of his cotton

trousers, produces a dull, hateful tinkle.In a little it will be their turn.Sooner or later, the fat lady sitting in the other room

will come and call them.


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The heartbeat increases.Till a while back it was normal, because Lorenzo

thought he could manage not to get excited.

But now that the time has come, he has the suddenurge to pee, as usual.

He doesnt say anything and remains seated.The fat lady looks at them.She has a threadbare notebook in her hand.They are there, but she consults it all the same.Its your turn.

Lorenzo, lets go.His mother holds out her hand.Lorenzo hangs on to it, like the handle of a bumper

car.The way up to the doctors door seems a mile away.He is waiting for them at the door, he has black

smooth hair, a stern and aloof look.

Could he possibly be waiting for him?He didnt do anything.Lorenzo tries to convince himself that its a terrible

misunderstanding, but the relief lasts only a fewseconds, just enough to find the strength to enter theroom.

Please, sit here. You, Lorenzo, sit at that desk.

The doctor eventually smiles a little.He lies down on a chair and starts writing in a folderwith Lorenzos name written on the front cover.

A tie with lots of bunnies sticks out of his white coat.Another smile to relieve the stress, but it doesnt get

the desired effect.Lorenzo is more troubled than before.

His mother has a funereal look, her back is stuck to the


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back of the chair, her arms quit on the armrest, like aman sentenced to the electric chair, waiting for the coupde grace.

His father is standing, arms folded, hiding anopinionated expression behind the graying mustache,but if he could, he would run away.

So, let us begin.The doctor draws something on a colored cardboard.Well, Lorenzo. Just tell me which one is the circle and

which one is the square. Take all the time you need.

The dreaded moment has come.What shouldnt happen is about to.Lorenzo taps his fingers nervously on the desk.He must not fail to prove that he is like the other

children.If he makes a mistake, mom and dad will continue

quarrelling and it will be his own fault.

He breaths heavily, wipes the sweat from hisforehead.

Then takes the card with both hands, stares at the twogeometric shapes, tries to focus on the contours.

Useless.He turns the pictures round again and again, but

doesnt notice any difference.

Maybe its a trick and theyre testing him.And if the two figures were the same? And if he wasreally different from the other children? And if it weretrue that his brain doesnt work as expected?

He doesnt want to think about it.He must do it.Maybe changing position, point of view.

He tries, tilts his head and crosses his legs, but his


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bladder hurts and he must tighten his hand between hislegs to stop the urge.

The room falls silent as the grave, its possible to

perceive the buzzing of the flies drawing randomtrajectories on Lorenzos head.

The sound of the car horns penetrates from the half-open window.

The air is full of stress and wetness.The doctor looks at Lorenzo, impassive, as if he had

foreseen everything.

His mother is terrified.His father is furious.Come on Lorenzo. Answer the doctor!He begins pacing around the room.He would destroy the room if he could.Lorenzo cant take it anymore, hes going to pee on

the floor, a few drops have already burst out.

He stands up and squeezes both hands between hislegs.

The bathroom is at the entrance says the doctor.Lorenzo runs away stumbling.He can barely open the door.He leaves the room in utter anguish.His mothers eyes are teary and she seeks comfort in

her husbands face.He has reached the window, leaned his hands on thewindow sill and now is looking at no place along theroad.

The doctor gets the folder and writes something on it.Then he turns to Lorenzos mother.Your son needs help.

She looks at him as you would watch your own


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executioner.In such cases, playing a musical instrument can be

very helpful.

His father has not moved an inch.Hes scrolling his head.Nobody could understand what he is thinking.Perhaps that is so simple.Finding the difference.Between the circle and the square.


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The most natural feeling

Those screams split the ears.Cut the heart in half.They thrust the thorns in the flesh.They freeze the blood.They choke the breath.

They scatter all the heat of the skin, among theshelves, among the crutches.

Letizia is hidden among the clothes, in the masterroom, in the wardrobe.

When the screams arise, she refuges in the wardrobe.And the screams decrease, there they can no longer

hurt her.

There she is protected by the clothes, impassivesoldiers, who stand in defense of her just born dreams,already stained with indelible ink.

Letizia has run away into the wardrobe, as thosescreams have begun.

She has slipped her mothers most beautiful dress onand has begun dreaming.

Her mothers clothes are ladies, her fathers are


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knights.She is the princess, waiting for the court ball.The orchestra is playing the most romantic

composition.The princess closes her eyes.The prince takes her hand and they begin dancing.She puts her arm on his shoulder, closes her eyes and

lets herself be carried away.Everything is merry, everything is as it should be.But then the dream is lost and Letizia returns feeling

badly.She puts her hands over her ears, to break the screams

that cut her heart in half, thrust the thorns in the flesh,freeze the blood, choke the breath, scatter the warmth ofthe skin.

The smell of mothballs is suffocating.It thins with the dark, when her mother opens the

wardrobe door and the light is a little harmful.Her mother heard her sobbing.When she returned to the room, she laid down,

clutching the pillow to be pampered and heard someonesobbing.

So she got up, rubbed the sheet over her face, pressedit hard on the eyes, finding strength in a sigh, grim asthe night.

She cleared her throat, painted a smile on her face notto make hurt.

Then she opened the wardrobe door and saw her.The princess, wearing the dance dress.

How beautiful you are she says, with the remnants


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of tears on her face.The light is harmful.But that look hurts even more.

The look of a queen expelled from her castle, like anoutcast, the most unfaithful lover.

The look of a fairy who has lost her wand, condemnedto live as the most common mortal.

That look really hurts.When she offers her hands, like a beggar who fights

against hunger.

When she yearns her daughters embrace, as a dyingman who seeks water in the desert.

Letizia welcomes those hands.She squeezes those hands, filled with the sweat,

striped by the despair.Without strength, without warmth, jelly on a cake that

you can cut without effort.

Letizia tightens those hands and let those handstighten her.

And everything seems lighter, cheered by a soancestral contact.

Mother and daughter, daughter and mother, wipingtheir tears, slicking their hair, caressing their cheeks.

And everything goes as it should.

The evil is won and the knight has returned, from theearths border, after winning the war.He carries the banner of peace, which can be

recognized from far away.The blare of the trumpets is carried away by the wind.Everything seems lighter, cheered by so an ancestral

embrace.

Words are useless.


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Mother and daughter, daughter and mother.The great scene in the world.The most natural feeling.


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Learning to fly

The room seemed enormous.From his desk, the room seemed enormous.The way up to the chair seemed endless.Lorenzo only had to read four sentences, four simple

sentences and it would be over.

But the steps up to the chair were endless, theteachers worried expression was an unbearablethunder.

He had only to read the four sentences on theblackboard and he would be able to return to the safeisolation of his desk.

Four simple sentences, meaningless, only piles of

scattered letter.Lorenzo couldnt find any difference.An encrypted meaningless message.The mysterious background of the space.The secret code launched from a submarine in the

depths of the oceans.Lorenzo remained there, motionless, in front of the

blackboard, without saying a word.


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The teacher sent him to his desk.The classmates followed him with implacable eyes.Then, finally, the ringing of the bell arrived.

From the car seat, the way to the main entrance of theschool seemed interminable.

On the stairs, his mother was arguing with theteacher, who gave her some pats on the back andexhausted her with consolation gestures.

Through the window, his mothers steps seemedendless.

Her crestfallen look surprised him curled up on theseat, squeezing his legs in his arms, trying to become assmall as possible, to annihilate and delete the cause of allthe pain.

It's not your fault said his mother, when she started

driving and when she kissed him on his forehead.She stopped in front of a store, on a street which

Lorenzo had never seen.She turned and gave him a caress on the cheek.Lets get out. Mom wants to buy you a gift.

The stool is too high, his feet cant touch the ground.The stool is too small for his mother to sit next to him.She is still standing keeping her hands on his

shoulders.Her lips are a little crooked, an oblique line between

anxiety and determination.Do you like it? asks his mother, afraid of getting an

answer.


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A three legged enormous object, with hundreds ofblack and white keys and a smooth surface, glossy likeglass.

Lorenzo doesnt answer, he feels like an eagle in thenest, watching the sky through the leaves, terrified oflearning to fly.

Try to press some keys.His mother gets his hands and puts them on the

piano.His little fingers get lost on those huge rectangles, on

that perfect sequence of white and black keys, longerand shorter, on that enormous object that seems veryfamiliar and inspire him a desire that he can no longercontrol.

The shop has just opened and is still empty.The salesman is pulling up the last shutters.Only Lorenzos fogged breath breaks the silence and

the fixed air, pasted on the walls, that stifles and makesears whistle.

Lorenzo begins to feel at ease.The muffled atmosphere nurtured his unexpected

safety sense, reassured him and encouraged him.So he suddenly presses a key, almost unintentionally,

as if someone had pressed his hand on his fingers.

Here! The sound.A sudden explosion, an unexpected detonation.The sound.How wonderful is it.It unglues the silence from the walls.How wonderful is the sound, unglues the fear from

his aching heart, makes him feel a sense of pleasure that

inflames his stomach.


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How wonderful is the sound.A light pressure and the note is sweet, soft, sustained.A stronger one and the note is definite, compact,

sharp.Lorenzo can calibrate the touch in an extraordinary

way.Dozens of different timbres, with the same note.It s great.He feels alive, excited, clever.It seems that he has never done anything else.

He presses the main C.He taps over it a couple of times.The next sound is obvious for him, natural, the F.Then, in the same way, the E.And then, again, the G.In a few moments, Lorenzo generates an elementary

melody, simple, but very clean.

A key after another, a note after anotherLorenzo creates a melody that squirts out of his body

just like the power of a river that breaks onto its banks.The shop no longer exists.The music takes Lorenzo away.There is no longer anything.There are only him and the piano, on a cloud swept by

the wind, travelling far away.Lorenzo presses the fingers on the keys as if he isflying in the sky, plunging into the sea, dissolving in thelightning.

His hands move wildly, gushing like a flame that runsafter the oxygen that tries to escape.

Far away.

Lorenzo feels like hes being dragged away, among


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the trees of a rainforest, in the midst of the sharp dropsof a storm and the mad vortex of a torrent, among thefiery stones of a volcano.

A melody that he always hid inside.The shop no longer exists.There is no longer anything.The music drags him away, dissolves him among the

imperfect folds of the time, the parallel lines of the space.There is no longer anything.There are only him and the piano.

And his mother, who looks at him amazed, whotightens her hands on his shoulders to savor thewhirling movements of his arms, which awaken thesleeping keys of the piano.

Then, with the same unexpected passion with whichhe started, Lorenzo stops.

He presses the last note on the keyboard, giving off an

infinite echo and then he stops, keeping one finger on akey and following, with the other hand, the notes thatruns away.

He turns to her mother, who had never seen such alook.

Two ecstatic, enraptured, inebriated eyes.The eyes of a pilgrim who has reached his destination.

The eyes of an eagle looking at the sky through theleaves, with the great desire.Of learning to fly.


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Final credits

Be quiet. Otherwise she will hear us.Letizia puts her forefinger over her mouth.Lorenzo hints to keep her lips sealed.They approach the door, moving their legs like two

waders.

Then they place their ears on it, Lorenzo the right oneand Letizia the left one, so they could look into eachothers eyes and feel closer, while they try listening.

Their mothers words are confused, incomprehensible,terrible.

They freeze the breath trapped in their nostrils.The ringing suddenly arose.

Their mother answered the phone in the living room,then moved into her room.

She came out no more.They were supposed to go to the market.On their mothers day off, they always go together to

the market.But today that damned phone rang and their mother

locked herself in her room.


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She filled the air with nervous, agitated,incomprehensible words.

And now they are there, with their ears hanging on

the door, trying to understand, praying that thosescreams and those sobs would end as soon as possible.

They hold hands squeezing more and more.At every word of their mother, they squeeze their

hands as one is attached to a rope, to avoid falling into aravine.

Then, suddenly, the words dissolve.

They go out like the flame of a candle that hasconsumed all the wax.

The children get away from the door, which opensafter a few moments.

Their mother finds them there, staring at her with ahurt look.

She bends her knees and enfolds the children in her

arms.They crouch over her shoulders.Dont you realize what day is today? Its mums day

off. And on mums day off, we have to go to themarket.

The driveway that leads them to the market has adark, melancholic color.The sky is hard and impenetrable like the concrete, the

sun has been reduced to a dot swallowed by the clouds.The grayness of the sky has widened on their mother

face, like a wax flow, like the reflection of a blear mirror.The first raindrops fall.

Their mother turns on the wipers.


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She hangs onto the steering wheel to keep fromfalling, tugged by those gloomy thoughts which dontleave her, which go everywhere she goes and suck all

her power.They drag her away, as the river current, without

waiting, without giving her time to latch on to a branchand at least hope for a miracle.

When he left, he only said Sorry.Only five miserable letters.But those five letters are not enough to give a sense to

the pain.It would take at least a thousand, ten thousand, a

million letters, to find peace, put a dot and start again.With five letters you can only buy a ticket to hell.Those gloomy thoughts dont leave her in peace.They nettle her eyes and bring out the tears that fill

her lashes, then drip down her coat collar, disappearing

amidst the wool.She would like to do it too, disappear, not act

anymore and close the curtain.Final credits.Go away, off the stage, listening to the applause.Lorenzo is in the passenger seat, hes shaking.The anxiety stirs him like a tablecloth full of crumbs.

He would like to cry too, but pretends to be strong.His mother cries, sobs and cant stop.She has a desperate need to shout, two lost eyes, two

blue glass beads in two deep lakes, which ask for help toget out of the abyss.

Letizia sees them in the rearview mirror, but isnt ableto support them and so she turns to the window.

She prays that the torment would be over, as if by


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magic, with the touch of an enchanted wand, that thepain would finish, that it would be just a bad dream andthat, on awakening, everything would be ok.

But thats not how it had to go.A matter of few seconds.Lorenzo feels a deep shiver that goes from his back

and reaches his bladder, such as an uncontrollableelectrical impulse, a hot shiver that goes through histhighs and bursts out, without giving him time to hide,crossing the legs.

His mother realizes it and bends down to get somehandkerchiefs from the glove compartment.

The sky is filled with storm thunders and flashes.It seems to have predicted what would happen.It seems to have realized that it was the time to close

the curtain.Its not a special day, nothing special, but the audience

will clap all the same.She has been a good mother.It would not have happened, if that car had chosen

another street, if that man had not been burned with acigarette right now, if he could have seen that he wasskidding.

It would not have happened, if the mother had not

been distracted to get the handkerchiefs in the glovecompartment.She could have swerved and avoided the impact.But its too late.When she raises her head, the other car is too close

and in a few moments it will be over them.A few moments.

Billions of thoughts.


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Only one to put into practice.The most important.To protect Lorenzo.

She does it, throws herself over Lorenzos body toprotect it with hers.

The crash.A noise that you can hear from a mile away.A frightful noise.Then nothing else.Only the murmur of the rain pounding on the car and

the steam hiss that shoots out of the engine.Nothing else.The show is over.The curtain is closed.She has been a good mother.And the audience will clap for sure.Final credits.

(continue)


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We are nothing if we do not take care of someone

preview of the novel: the carousel horses by antonio gentile

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