sissy and the killinkanzari

helene paraskeva

«Policheni Bruno, De Campos Araujo Manuel and Rossi Mauro! To the Headmaster, now!» Janet the janitor is wearing the look she puts on for important occasions because she knows it’s the bummer of the day. We have been called down. Lovelylip wants to have a word with us.
Mrs. Littlelost rolls her eyes and sends us off: “Good luck, boys!” with the well-known “better-you-than-me” smile. She’d even prefer a lethal meeting with the mum-dads of the ‘one-against-all’ sort to those five minutes in Lovelylip’s office.
Titeass and I are the first to enter the lair of the Headmaster, who is there waiting for us, licking his hang-lip. Last of all Black Dante, alias BeDe, our spokesman, goes in. The contrast between his black skin and his seminarian’s accent always produces a brilliant effect.
«Now then, boys! Sit down! Well…. So, tell me, what is this mm...questionnaire? What is this sociological exploit of yours?»
We had proposed a survey questionnaire and now is the moment for the Lip’s Great Decision. «Sir, we foreign students, children of immigrants or mixed marriages, represent a real presence in our school, as we do in our country. Therefore, we thought we would distribute this questionnaire to evaluate, based on the results …»
«Evaluate?»
The recently licked hang-lip begins to quiver in excitement, with the sarcasm the Methusalah always shows when you fire him a word he can’t digest. “Did you say ‘evaluate’?”
«Certainly, evaluate. Evaluate opinions, express ideas about the future, compare life styles, opinions about integration, relations with schoolmates and teachers, how it feels to be a foreign student, friendships, barriers, prejudices, discrimination…»
«What? Go and ask the non-European students if they feel discriminated against? In other words, if we are racists here, right? You are doing a survey on this so-called racism, am I correct?»
«Also. If it really exists, why not, Sir?»
«But did they ask you to? Your non-European classmates, did they ask you to carry out this survey? Did the initiative come from them?»
«Sir, the initiative is all ours!»
«Yours? That is, the three of you?» He stares at us in relief. «Well then, boys, I can’t understand why you should start … goading them.»
«Goad, Sir?»
BeDe starts making fun of him. Repeating.
«Yes, goad, incite, stir up dying ashes. If they’re fine as they are, if they have no problems and they’re happy, in a word if our non-Europeans don’t make trouble, what need is there to go and …»
«Goad?»
«Exactly! Those students stay put and don’t complain, they stay by themselves and don’t bother anyone. The hardly ever leave the classroom, only to go to the toilet and sometimes not even that, they’re calm, content and pacific. Now just you tell me, why do we have go and needle them with questions: “Are you happy or not?” “Are the others prejudiced towards you or not?” Huh! What more can I say?»
«What do you think should be done, Sir?»
«My boys, why should we shoot ourselves in the foot? Has anyone asked us to do this survey? To ask questions? To snoop around? No!»
«Yes, but you see, Sir, that’s exactly the point!»
«Listen to me! You are boys and you need to have a good time. You want a good time? Fine, then your Headmaster will give you the chance to have a good time. There’s a proposal for a two-day spiritual retreat on the Riviera. Do you want to go? The three of you? Your "sociology team"? It’s all paid for and authorised, even counts as an extra curricular activity! But I’d leave the non-Europeans in our school alone, if I were you.»
Titeass is about to accept. I break in to save the situation.
«Thank you, Sir! But we wanted to point out that if our schoolmates don’t talk to anyone, if they don’t make friends with anyone, there must be a reason. You see, it’s not really normal for people of our age….»
«Yes, yes, I understand. But you know what this is? You know what it’s called?»
«What, Sir?»
«It’s called inverted racism! What you want to prove with this questionnaire is precisely inverted racism!»
«Inverted racism?»
«That’s right! Now then, do you want to take part in this spiritual retreat on the Riviera? It’s all paid for, and counts for extra credit!»
We promise to give him our final reply “as soon as possible”, say good-bye and withdraw into the toilet, with a bunch of considerations to divide in half three ways.
«Titeass, you were about to give in! You’re a skunk!»
«But can’t we hand out the questionnaire and then go and do the spirit thing on the Riviera afterwards?»
«No. That’s called selling out!»
«It’s called there’s fuck-all to do’, that’s what it’s called»
We all start feeling depressed and BeDe turns from ebony black to ash-and-Boccea-smoke colour. The bell rings for the second period, and all at once everyone pours out of the classrooms. The Lip will go ballistic. All hell breaks out. They all lie down on the ground, on hallway floors covered with gum that’s been chewed and spit-out, they all stretch out, boys and girls, a carpet of losers mixed with dudes, mixed with neutrals, even Palmo is there, the bastard.
«What’s going on, guys?»
«Down, Daunts! Get down!»
I throw myself down, too, it’s not possible to walk anyway. The teachers are blocked inside the classes and to get out they have to walk over our bodies.
«Want one?» Titeass offers me a stick of gum.
«But what’s going on? What are we doing? Why are we lying down?»
«We’re protesting. Sit-in against the war! They sent word around while we were in with Lovelylip.»
At the end of the sit-in, Lovelylip goes into all the classes threatening to “take serious measures”.
School is over for today. Afterwards, at the bus stop, BeDe, Titeass and I meet up. BeDe has a plan.
«Listen! The Lip is terrified by the sit-in and is ready to bust his gut. I move we give up the idea of the questionnaire for now, to give him time to calm down. But let’s organise a party!»
«‘Oh, puke!»
«Let’s organise an intercultural party with stories of immigration, songs, dances and multiethnic food! That way we don’t accept the compromise of the spiritual retreat on the Riviera, we don’t irritate Lovelylip and we still introduce the issue of racial prejudice.»
«Sure. A nice way to lick the ass of paternalism!»
«Well, I like the idea! Let’s do it, this party! We can even invite the mum-dads. We can even interview them! What did they do before they emigrated, why did they come here, what problems did they have, getting permission, their first job. My old man, for example, was a bookkeeper!»
Now, here, he’s a waiter.
«And your old lady, Daunts?»
Really pissed, I jump onto the bus. My moped has been ripped off. No, I don’t feel like talking about my old lady, she’s entered the tunnel once and for all and she won’t get out again. She fries meatballs, eats, gets fat and cries. I open the window to get a breath of street air, catalytic stink and diesel. A day marked by Lovelylip and without a moped is hopelessly lost. Now that I think about it, what was my old lady’s job? They’ve ripped off my moped, and the insurance is one of those telephone lines that say “thank-you-for-calling-us”.
My old lady looks me up and down as soon as I walk in, understands it’s been a shit day and goes back into the kitchen. On the table the usual dish of spaghetti is waiting. I taste it out of habit, it’s overcooked, as always. She’s been here all these years and she still hasn’t learned to cook pasta.
«Why don’t you eat? Are you on a diet? You want to lose weight? Don’t you like the pasta? Is it overcooked? How did it go at school? Did you have a test?»
She manages to ask all these questions without waiting for any answers. Always the same questions.
«Hey ma, do you know how many kinds of racism there are?»
«I made meatballs! Eat some!»
«Yeh, I know, with onions and mint!»
«How do you know?»
«Your bathrobe tipped me off!»
She gets up, offended, her eyes brimming.
«So now I can’t even crack a joke!»
I eat my overcooked spaghetti without talking. It’s better that way.
«So what were you saying about racism?»
«Today the Head taught us about inverted racism! Do you want to know what it is? It’s when you go to interview a victim and you ask him: “Have you ever been the victim of prejudice?” That’s inverted racism.»
She gives off the same scent as Mrs. Littlelost but the bouquet of fried food makes it smell more maternal. The time has arrived to fire the fatal question.
«Hey ma? What did you do there?»
«What? Where?»
«What work did you do when you were there, before you came here?»
«What makes you ask that question?»
«Nothing! Aren’t you always complaining that I never ask you to talk about yourself? So, what did you used to do there?»
«Well—you won’t believe it!»
«Why not? Is it so terrible?»
«No, but you won’t believe it! Want to bet you won’t believe it?»
«Don’t tell me if it’s something that’s better not to tell! Do me this favour, ma!»
«There’s nothing not to tell! Just that you won’t believe it! I was a DJ!»
She was right.
«What did I tell you? You don’t believe it. I was a Disc Jockey in radio station called “The Kallikanzari”. Our group ran it. One of my friends had a father who loved radios, and he created the station. The group was called “The Kallikanzari”, too. Do you know what it means? They were creatures….»
«Let’s leave the anthropology out of it, ma, tell me what you did as a DJ!»
«I was part of a three-person comic group, over-the-top, foul-mouthed. We made up jokes, skits, satire, parody, everything. I was the leader. We were a big hit -- wherever we went there were crowds. If there was a party and we didn’t go, no one went! Without us it was a desert!»
«Is this going to be a long story?»
«You’re the one who asked!»
«But you always make it edifying, ma! And with a message at the end!»
«I’m not pushing it on you, you know? Do you want to hear the story of the Kallikanzari or not?»
«Later.»
For today I’ve had my full of edification from Lovelylip. My old lady wasn’t always like this, though. Now she’s only messages and meatballs. I search for the Kallikanzari online.
“Malicious, mocking creatures, always undecided between spiteful tricks and practical jokes, they embodied minor ancient deities who haunted Mediterranean countries, determined never to disappear”
«Bye ma! I’m going out!»
«Where are you going?»
«To study with BeDe. We have to finish the history essay.»
BeDe and Titeass are waiting for me, chewing on those bloody cashews. I fire the news.
«My mother used to be a Disc Jockey!»
Titeass is knocked for a loop. BeDe comments,
«A prehistoric DJ! The Deus ex macchina of the party! Just think! We can find a dozen ‘60s and’70s covers, from her days, and she can be the MC. Success guaranteed!»
«No good, my old lady’s too fat now!»
«Put her on a diet!»
«She walks around the house all day long in a stinking robe!»
«Make her take a shower and send her to the beautician’s!»
«It’s not a case for the beautician, it would take a crane. Her breasts fall down to her knees! My old lady is not presentable!»
«We can try at Emy’s “Ri-Kama”! Titeass will foot the bill!
«You mean?»
«We can buy a little gift for your mother from Emy! Titeass will sponsor us!»
Emy is Titeass’s ex and she’s a salesgirl in a sexy underwear shop inspired by ancient wisdom. Titeass is in raptures. Emy tries to convince me. «My dear child, “Anàbasis” isn’t a bra, it’s the hi-tech of underwear! Look! It’s got liquid crystal stuffing, self-regulating cups, and it’s equipped with a manometer that regulates the equilibrium between internal and external pressure!»
«And what’s my mother supposed to do with it? Scuba diving?»
BeDe breaks in.
«She puts it on, throws away the robe, gets dressed, puts on some perfume and gets going!»
«You’ve got to be joking!»
«We need a DJ at our intercultural party. She’s perfect! She has experience! She got to help us!»
«Who? You guys?»
«You, her son!»
«And what would she have to do?»
«What she knows how to do!»
«Meatballs!»
«The DJ! She’ll be the Disc Jockey! She’ll present songs from her days, but mixed! Titeass will do the mixing! She’ll present them like they were back then! People will go crazy! Roll of drums! “Good evening, ladies an’ gentlemen! We’re featuring here tonight the Queen of Rock ‘n’Roll! And when I say the Queen, I mean her Majesty the DJ!”»
«Wow!»
« But what are you talking about? What people?»
«Is this an intercultural party or not? We’ll invite our mum-dads to school and they’ll tell us what they used to do there, in the old country. then there will be songs, dances, multiethnic food…»
«And my mother is supposed to appear wearing this contraption? Go screw!» Now I really am pissed off. I go home on foot. BeDe sends me an SMS: “In 2h at yr place” I answer. “at ½ past. Dile’s here.”
If I don’t irritate Dile, I may be able to get away early. Before going down to the garage I put on the pair of old trousers he likes so much. In the last three years I’ve only worn them for him, and then I take them off. He’s never realised it.
Dile has furnished the garage with the old Formica furniture that used to belong to his family. We all eat here, in the “taverna”, and then he falls asleep in his grandfather’s broken armchair. He practically lives here, surrounded by the Formica of his childhood.
«Hiya, dad!»
Dile is getting ready to go into hibernation in front of the TV. He isn’t aware of our presence, but it’s his rule is that we all have to eat together, at the same time. It’s the principle that counts. We’re up to the second news program. He watches two or three every night, and keeps himself informed. My old lady wants to make conversation and, as always, she feeds on me.
«How did it go at BeBe’s (sic)? Did you do your homework?»
«Yeh, but we haven’t finished. We have to work on the essay some more after dinner. Do you need a hand with the dishes?»
«No, don’t worry about it! What essay is it?»
«History, ma! I already told you! “Describe a personality in your daily life who resembles a historical character.” So, can I go?»
«Where? Back to BeBe’s (sic) ?»
«Yes, ma! The essay is only halfway done, and we have to hand it in tomorrow morning. And his name isn’t BeBe! It’s BeDe! The initials of Black Dante! Be-De!»
I’ve done it. We’re at the good-byes. No we aren’t -- Dile, still hibernating, slowly opens one eye.
«Where are you off to?»
He has to be handled carefully when he’s half-asleep, because he can open an eye and close it again, reassured, or else he can eat you alive in just one move. My old lady answers him.
«He’s going to do his homework!»
«Where?»
«At his friend’s! His name is BeB…ah, BlackD…ah Black Dante!»
«Black what? And who is he?»
«Don’t you remember? It’s his friend. His classmate, the coloured boy he goes around with.»
«And why does he go around with a coloured boy? Aren’t there any whites left?»
That’s my father’s sense of humour, Dile, short for Crocodile. But I’m safe. Titeass and BeDe are waiting for me outside, in Titeass’s sister’s convertible.
«Hey guys, my old lady is out of the picture! Don’t count on her!»
«Get in!»
«What’s up? Where are we going?»
Titeass takes off, tires screeching. BeDe outlines the plan.
«Ok, listen here. I got the idea when you didn’t want to tell me what your mother’s job was.»
«Tell me where this is leading to ‘cause I’m starting to get pissed already!»
«We’re going whoring! My father’s sponsoring!»
«Wait a minute! Is this some sort of fucking allusion?»
«Calm down! Didn’t you say your mother doesn’t want to take part in the party? So, the alternative is to find a hooker who can play the part of your mother! We choose the right one, we explain it all to her, we pay her and we ask her to present herself at the party as your mother! Didn’t you say your old lady is in the tunnel? That she’s in a deep depression?»
«Bastards! And why does it have to be a slut who interprets the part of my mother?»
«Because we can’t afford a graduate of the Actors’ Studio! And because a non-European DJ mom’s a really spectacular thing!»
«My old lady was a DJ, not a whore!»
We’re almost at the slip-road and there’s a slight breeze blowing. Titeass starts to get excited.
«There they are! There they are!»
BeDe warns us,
«We have to ignore the ones who are too dark or too blond!»
«I’m not ignoring anyone! Look at that one!»
«Listen to me! The ones who are too fair or dark have to be excluded!»
«Is that inverted racism or the classical sort?»
«Pure statistics. Your mother is brown-haired, more or less like you.»
«And this one? How does she look to you? She’s even a little past her prime, like you want, BeDe!»
«No! She’s too long in the tooth! Pathetic!»
«Hey guys, look over there! What do you say to that brunette?»
«Too slutty, she’s no good!»
The brunette comes over to the convertible to offer a special deal.
«Ciao, boys! Ok special price? Only for students!»
BeDe makes the introductions.
«I’m Manuel. These are my friends, Bruno and Mauro. We pay well, but we have to talk to you first!»
A distinguished-looking man brusquely interrupts the conversation.
«No preliminaries, boys! Time is money! Do you have any idea what price petrol is at? Yesterday, in London, Brent passed the threshold of 70 dollars! I’m talking about per barrel! You have to be quick! Concise! The girls are timed!»
«We’ll pay double the normal price, but she has to work with us in the afternoon!»
«Sorry, but for afternoon hours you’ll have to talk to the Cash Manager!»
«Ok, sorry! It’ll be next time round!»
«Don’t you want to talk with the Cash Manager?»
«Next time round. Bye, sorry about this!»
The brunette and the distinguished man move off, commenting, “Pain in the ass!”
«But why did we send her away?»
«We have to find an independent professional, one who is self-employed and can make her own decisions. We can’t stay here to explain our project to the entire Quadraro neighbourhood racket!»
There aren’t any more prostitutes. We drive up a narrow dead-end road. Titeass loses his patience and turns off the engine.
«That’s enough, guys’! I’m not in on this! The idea of the party is shit. It’s not for me! First the convertible, then the scuba bra and hiring the right whore! Enough! Wasn’t the Riviera a better deal?»
A rattle. A human rattle comes from the slip-road, maybe from the underpass.
«Shush, quiet!»
«What is it?»
«Shut up! There’s someone’s here!»
The rattle starts up again, calling for help. Titeass wants to go, but BeDe already has formed a plan of action.
«Titeass, you stay at the wheel and slide the car as slowly as you can towards the flyover. Then turn off the engine and wait, ready to drive off as soon as you see us. Daunts and I will go down there. If you hear us shouting, call for help on your mobile! Let’s go!»
Out of the car, we no longer hear anything. But the rattle was coming from the underpass, no doubt about it. BeDe and I go into the tunnel. We are struck by a paralyzing stench of shit as thick as the darkness. Piles of turds, vomit and needles everywhere. Blacky and I hold hands like two hens on a school trip.
«Daunts, I’m scared.»
I let go of his hand and pull forward BeDe by the shoulders. A masculine hold. Inside this dark, asphyxiating tunnel full of shit, where the whole city dumps whatever they are too ashamed to throw into the official rubbish bins, I, Daunts, the dauntless, the one who is never afraid, am scared shitless and I don’t have the guts to confess it.
«Ai, ai!»
The voice can be heard clearly now. It’s coming from the middle of the underpass.
«Look! It’s coming from that pile over there!»
I don’t want to go over to that pile, I don’t want to see who it is that’s been dumped into that pile. If we start running we’ll soon be at the other end. It’s doesn’t matter if it’s further away, as long as we get out and don’t turn back. Get out and stop. I run, I want to get out. BeDe is running beside me. The floor is slippery. Piss and shitty liquid make it impossible to breathe.
«Here it is! Look! It’s moving!»
«Ai! Ai! Help!»
The pile of refuse is moving. We kneel down next to the quicksand.
«Help!»
«What’s the matter? Are you sick? Have you been shot?»
The human larva is breathing noisily. I can’t bring myself to touch it.
«Help!»
BeDe picks up the larva by the armpits and I by the feet, more precisely by the knees. We’re going back to the car. The larva’s knees are cold and start to slip out of my hands. I hold on tight.
«Ai, Ai! I’m dying!»
At the exit from the underpass the wind coming off the great ring-road hits us. We’d almost got used to the shit. Titeass is waiting for us in the car and turns on the engine. But then he looks more carefully, gets out of the car and comes towards us.
«Give us a hand! Come on, Titeass! Open the door! We’re losing our grip!»
«You must be out of your minds! I don’t want that thing in this car! I’m not going to put it into the car!»
We ignore Titeass and we lean the larva on the back seat. BeDe sits in the back with the larva, I get in front.
«Come on, get moving! What are you waiting for?»
Titeass doesn’t move and says nothing. Panic. I open the window. Clean air. He gets going.
«Ai! Ai!»
But we’re still nervous.
«Where are we going? I want to know where we’re going! Tell me right away where we’re going!» BeDe has formed the plan. We head for the General Hospital. The larva is still breathing.
«But is it a man or a woman?»
«How do I know? It’s a heap of rags! Turn right!»
«Who are you? What’s your name?»
The larva doesn’t answer. Titeass drives in silence along the empty streets. We get onto the road to the hospital, which divides my neighbourhood from Stittix’s. We’re almost at the First Aid entrance.
«And what do we say to the nurses?»
«Nothing. We deliver it and that’s it.»
The larva starts to shout. Fear of the hospital is reanimating it.
«No! No hospitals!»
«Don’t get excited! They’ll take care of you here! There are doctors, nurses, medicines! You’re in bad shape! You need treatment!»
«Ah, no! No hospital, please!»
We’re arriving at the temporary parking space in front of the First Aid entrance. Titeass slows down. A stretcher-bearer is watching us from the reception, ready to intervene.
«No hospital, please!»
«Go Titeass! Don’t stop! Go! Move! We’re leaving!»
We move away slowly, Titeass pretends to be easing the car a bit further on. But we leave, driving fast. Get away! Get away! When we arrive at the McDillon car-park, Titeass stops.
«Ok guys, now I’ve had enough! I want to know what we’re doing, where the shit we’re going. Where can we leave it? I don’t give a damn if it’s a man or a woman, if it’s alive or dead. I’m sick and tired of your smart ideas! If you don’t tell me what we’re doing next, I’ll throw you all out right here and drive away by myself!»
«Calm down, we’re thinking!»
The larva starts moaning again. «Ai, Ai!»
«Jeez, what pricks!»
We decide to take him to my house. BeDe’s place is a bedroom and a kitchen, or more precisely a kitchen in the bedroom, and there are four of them living there, BeDe, his father, his mother and his little sister, who works part-time as a carer.
We take the larva to my place, the terraced house. In the attic I have a room under the slope of the roof with a shower and a view of the marsh, all to myself. I get out first and make sure the coast is clear, while Titeass comes closer with the headlights turned off. I go into the house, trying not make a noise. The TV is still on in the "taverna", so Dile is sleeping peacefully. My old lady is still up, though. «You’re back? Why so late?»
«It was a hard essay, ma!»
I give the signal with the torch and open the front door. BeDe and Titeass bring in the larva and cross the living room with the lights off. Climbing up the stairs the body turns to lead. In that shitty underpass it weighed ten kilos less.
«Here! In my bedroom! Leave it here!»
The larva goes on moaning while we deposit it on my bed.
«Guys’, you don’t think we’ve been acting like jerks?»
«You’re telling me? The cabriolet is still full of shit!»
«If Dile realizes he’ll throw me into the marsh!»
«Listen, I think we’ve picked up a viados! But if it’s going to create all these problems for you, let’s take him to my house. There’s plenty of room.»
«Thanks, Titeass, you’re a friend! But let’s not panic! It’ll be all right! Tomorrow we’ll decide what to do. He’s here temporarily, only for tonight! We’ll all do what we can! Daunts, you try to keep him calm for tonight. Now that I think of it, show me what medicines you have!»
BeDe wants to go to medical school.
«Here! This will be ok. It isn’t even expired.»
«But it’s the antihistamine that Dile takes for his allergies!»
«It’ll make him sleep like a rock. Now we’re leaving, but we’ll have a plan of action ready for tomorrow. Daunts, you’re grand! You should have seen how he threw himself into that tunnel. I wanted to turn around, but not him. He gave me a push and we started to run in all that shitty dark! Titeass, you should have seen him! Bye, you’re great, dauntless!»
«Bye!»
Titeass and BeDe leave. In the dark. The larva isn’t moaning any more, but he’s breathing fast, maybe he has a fever.
«Water!»
He wants water, I go into the bathroom and bring it over. My old lady calls me, she doesn’t miss a trick. I go out onto the landing and shut the door behind me. She’s standing in front of the door.
«You’ve brought a girl home, haven’t you? You know what to do?»
«What?»
«Have you taken your precautions?»
«What are you talking about, ma? What precautions?»
«Do you care for one another? I heard everything. You’ve brought a girl home. I understand, I’m your mother. I was young once myself. Try to behave yourself, at least. Do I know her? Do I know her family?»
While I’m thinking of what to say to her, the larva starts moaning again.
«Ai! Ai! »
«What did you do to her? Why is she in pain?»
My old lady is frightened. Without waiting for a reply she throws herself against the door, pushes it open with the weight of her body, bursts into the room and turns on the light. The larva has already thrown up everywhere and fallen on the floor, right on top of the fresh vomit.
«Oh, my God! What did you do to her? Did you rape her?»
«Mum, please, please lower your voice! Listen to me!»
«You raped her and then you beat her up? Tell me!»
«No, ma! It’s the opposite! Let me explain!»
«You beat her up first and then you raped her?»
My old lady bends over the larva and she isn’t sickened.
«She’s dirty! She’s covered with pooh! What happened? Help me! We’ll take her to get washed!»
Without giving me time to explain, we pick up the larva and carry him into the shower. I try to hold him up on his feet while my old lady regulates the water temperature.
«But she’s covered with black and blue marks! What did you do to her, son? Did you put out cigarettes on her, too? So you smoke? And when did you start smoking?»
When we arrive at the torn, dirty panties we discover that the larva has a faucet of flesh in the middle of an unconnected context.
«Wha… What’s this thing here?»
«Let go, ma, I’ll do it!»
«So it’s not a girl? It’s a boy? Oh, my God! Bruno! But why didn’t you tell me before, love? Why did you let me think…? You should have come out! Into the light of day!»
I let go of my grip to explain, but the larva drops onto the tiles of the shower like a bag of potatoes and stops groaning. I bring a towel, we dry him and put on my clean pyjamas carry and him back to bed.
We throw away the bedspread covered with shit and put him under the covers. At once the pillow gets dirty, because the larva’s nose is bleeding.
«Hurry! Go get some ice!»
In the kitchen Dile is snoring in front of the TV. I make sure not to make any noise. When I get back upstairs, my old lady is holding up the larva’s head and pressing a wet towel to his nose.
«That’s it, you’ll see it’ll stop! Breathe through your mouth, that’s it!»
The same words she used to say to me when I was small if I got hit in the head with a ball.
«Did you know she’s called Sissy?»
«Did he tell you his name? He talked to you?»
«But weren’t you the one that hit him?»
«No, it wasn’t me that hit him, ma! I don’t even know him. We picked him up off the street, me and BeDe and Titeass. We found her in an underpass and put her in the car. They’d beat her up and thrown her in with the rubbish, ma! She could even have died there.»
«Why didn’t you take him to hospital?»
«It’s the first thing we did, but as soon as we got close to the First Aid he started to shout. He didn’t want to go there. You know, if he was raped, he has to report it...»
«Oh, and suppose she’s an illegal immigrant, poor thing? Look! She’s fallen asleep. She’s not bleeding any more! Thank goodness!»
«Go now, ma! Go and get some sleep! I’ll take care of her!»
«Ok, I’ll go downstairs. Will you be able to stay awake all night? You have to go to school tomorrow, you have to hand in the essay! Call me if you want me to take over!»
«Sure, ma, thanks!»
«And put the dirty underwear in the basket!»
My old lady goes downstairs to sleep, and I stretch out on the armchair next to Sissy. I push her wet hair off her swollen face. My God, don’t let her die!

Helene Paraskeva, born in Athens, studied in Greece, Italy and Great Britain. She lives and works in Rome. Besides being a teacher (she teaches English language and literature at the 'Institute "G. Caetani" in Roma), in recent years she has organized and coordinated intercultural projects, collaborating with the University, NGOs and other institutions active in the field of intercultural mediation. In Italy she has published short stories in literary reviews and anthologies, as well as the books: Il Tragediometro e Altre Storie (short stories, Fara ed. 2003), Nell'uovo cosmico (a novel, Fara ed. 2006), Global Issues in English Literature (a secondary school anthology of Anglo-American literature with intercultural notes, CLITT 2003).