Authors: Alessandro Baricco
On the sixth day Sheriff Wister wakes at dawn. He gets up. He sees, minuscule on the horizon, the white houses of the pueblo. He turns around. Bear is a hundred yards away. Standing. Still. Wister picks up his bags and the rifle. He starts off again. He walks for hours. Every so often he falls to the ground, pulls his hat down over his eyes, and waits. When he feels his strength returning, he stands up and sets off again. He never turns. He manages to reach the pueblo before sunset. They give him food and drink. He says: I am Sheriff Wister. They give him a bed to sleep in. They tell him in Spanish that there is a
chico,
outside the pueblo. He is camped a hundred yards or so from the first houses. They ask if it is a friend of his. No, says Sheriff Wister. He's crazy with the pain in his shoulder. He sleeps with his gun loaded, within reach of his hand.
On the seventh day Sheriff Wister gets them to give him a horse, and he heads for the mountains. He finds the wind again, and clouds of dust that blot out the trail. He stops only once, to let the horse rest. Then he sets off again. He arrives at the mountains. He goes up to Pinter Pass, crosses the mountains without turning around. Before reaching the plain, he makes a detour to an abandoned mine. He dismounts, makes a fire. He spends the night there, without sleeping. He thinks.
On the eighth day Sheriff Wister waits till the sun is high in the sky. Then he gets on his horse. He takes a few things from the saddlebags and ties them to the saddle. He leaves the rifle leaning against a wall of the mine. He descends slowly to the valley. Far away he sees the houses of Closingtown, and the trees bent by the wind. He proceeds slowly, in no hurry. He speaks out loud. Always the same sentence. When he comes to the river, he stops the horse. He gives him his head. He half-closes his eyes, and looks. Bear is a few hundred yards away. He is sitting on a horse. He is moving slowly, at a walk. Kid, says Wister. Kid. Then he turns his horse and without looking back again reaches Closingtown.
When he gets to the first houses, someone starts shouting that the sheriff is back. People rush out to the street. He continues slowly, without looking at anyone. In one hand he holds the reins, in the other a gun. No one dares approach, he's like a dead man on horseback, or a madman. Sheriff Wister crosses the town, like a phantom, then he skirts the jail and takes the trail for the Clark ranch. People follow, on foot. They hardly dare speak. Wister arrives at the ranch. He gets off his horse. He twirls the reins around a fencepost. He heads for the house, walking like a drunk. Someone goes over to help him. He points the gun at him. He says nothing, keeps walking, and comes to the house. Standing in front of it is Pitt's father. Eugene Clark. Face aged by the wind, hair gray. Sheriff Wister stops three paces from him. He's still holding the gun in his right hand. He looks at Eugene Clark. Then he says: I'm sorry, he kept crying, he wouldn't stop. He was always a good boy with me. He had never done that, before. He was a good boy. Eugene Clark takes a step towards him. Wister aims the gun at him. Eugene Clark stops. Sheriff Wister raises the barrel of his Colt .45. He says: I didn't bury him alive, I swear. He wasn't breathing anymore, his eyes were rolled up in his head, and he wasn't breathing any more. Then he sticks the gun under his chin, and shoots. Bloodstains on the face and clothes of Eugene Clark. People are running, shouting, the children want to see, the old people shake their heads, the wind ceaselessly whips up the dust, all around. It takes a while for them to become aware of Bear. He is on his horse, motionless, beside the fence. He has no eyes any more, they have disappeared into the Indian cheekbones. He breathes with his mouth open, between lips dry with dust and earth. The people are silent. He presses his heels lightly into the horse's flanks. He pulls the reins to the left and goes away. A boy runs after him. Bear, he calls, Bear. The sheriff shot himself, Bear. He doesn't turn around, he goes on, slowly, towards the river. Bear, hey, Bear, where are you going?
Bear doesn't turn around.
To sleep, he says softly.
Music.
19
“Hello, Gould?”
“Hi, Dad.”
“It's your father.”
“Hi.”
“Everything OK?”
“Yes.”
“What's this business about Couverney?”
“They've invited me to Couverney.”
“What do you mean?”
“They do research there. They want me to come and work with them.”
“It sounds like a big deal.”
“I think it is.”
“And then?”
“Then that's all, they invited me for three years, they'll give me a place to live at the university, and pay for two trips a year to come home, if I want.”
“Christmas and Easter.”
“Something like that.”
“It sounds like a big deal.”
“Yes.”
“Couverney's on the other side of the world.”
“It's far, yes.”
“They eat like dogs there, you know? I was there once, not at the university, but in that area, you couldn't find anything to eat that didn't taste of fish.”
“They say it's horrendously cold.”
“Probably.”
“Colder than here.”
“They'll give you some money, right?”
“What?”
“I'm saying, will they pay you well?”
“I think so.”
“That's important. What does Rector Bolder say?”
“He says it's a lot of money for a fifteen-year-old boy.”
“No, I mean in general, what does Rector Bolder say about the whole thing, in general?”
“He says it's a great opportunity. However, he would like me to stay here.”
“Old Bolder. He's a good man, you know?, you can trust him.”
“He says it's a great opportunity.”
“It must be like being invited to Wimbledon. If you're a tennis player, I mean.”
“More or less.”
“As if you were a tennis player, and one day they write to you and say, We'll pay you if you'll do us the honor to come and play here. Crazy, isn't it?”
“Yes.”
“I'm proud of you, son.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“It's crazy, really.”
“Kind of.”
“Your mother will be pleased.”
“What?”
“Your mother will be pleased, Gould.”
“You'll tell her?”
“Yes, I'll tell her.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Really?”
“She'll be pleased.”
“But don't tell her that I'm going, I don't know yet if I'm going to go, I mean, they just asked me.”
“I'll tell her that they asked you, that's all I'll say.”
“Yes.”
“And that it's a big deal.”
“Yes, explain to her that it's a big deal.”
“She'll be pleased.”
“Yes, it's a good idea, tell her.”
“I will tell her, Gould.”
“Thanks.”
“. . .”
“. . .”
“When do you think you'll decide?”
“I don't know.”
“Would you have to leave right away?”
“In September.”
“You have a little time.”
“Yes.”
“It's a great opportunity, maybe you shouldn't let it get away.”
“That's what they all say here.”
“But you decide yourself, understand?”
“Yes.”
“Listen to what everybody has to say and then you decide yourself.”
“Yes.”
“It's your life that's at stake, not theirs.”
“Right.”
“You're the one who's going into the line of fire, not them.”
“What line of fire?”
“It's an expression.”
“Oh.”
“The way people talk.”
“Oh.”
“I had a colonel, once, who had a delightful way of expressing himself. When something got complicated, he would always say the same thing. When the sun's in your eyes you get a tan, you don't shoot. He said that even if it was raining, it didn't have to do with the weather, it was a symbol, the sun, you see, was an expression, and it was valid even if it was snowing that day or foggy, when the sun's in your eyes you get a tan, you don't shoot. He said it just like that. Now he's in a wheelchair. He had a stroke while he was swimming. It would have been better not to fish him out of the pool, all in all.”
“Dad . . .”
“I'm here, Gould.”
“I have to go now.”
“Take care, son, and let me know.”
“OK.”
“Let me know if you decide anything.”
“You'll remember to tell Mother?”
“Of course I'll remember.”
“OK.”
“I'll certainly remember.”
“OK.”
“Bye then.”
“Bye, Dad.”
“Gould . . .”
“Yes?”
“What about Shatzy, what does Shatzy say about it?”
“She's fine.”
“No, I mean what does she think of Couverney?”
“Of that?”
“Yes, that.”
“She says it's a great opportunity.”
“That's all?”
“She says that if you're a deodorizer it's a great opportunity to be invited to spend three years in the men's room of a highway rest stop.”
“A highway rest stop?”
“Yes.”
“What the hell does she mean?”
“I don't know. I must be the deodorizer.”
“Ah.”
“I think it's a joke.”
“It's a joke?”
“I think so.”
“That girl is tough.”
“Yes.”
“Say hello to her for me.”
“All right.”
“Bye, son.”
“Bye.”
Click.
20
(
Gould visits Prof. Taltomar. He goes into the hospital. He walks up to
the sixth floor. He enters Room No. 8. Taltomar is in the bed. He's breathing through a mask hooked up to a machine. He is very thin. His hair has
been cut. Gould moves a chair over to the bed and sits down. He looks at
Taltomar. He waits.
) . . . mell of soup. And of peas. Maybe peas are good for sick people, for any sort of illness, Gould thought. Maybe the smell in itself is effective, studies have been done and show that . . . Yellow walls. Yellow trailer. But more washed out. Washed out, not washed. I wonder what the toilet is like.
Gould got up, and with one finger touched Prof. Taltomar's gray hand. Like touching the skin of a prehistoric animal. Old and smooth. The machine breathed with Taltomar, giving his breath a constant, peaceful rhythm. It didn't seem to be a struggle. It seemed to be
after
a struggle. Gould sat down again. He began breathing with the rhythm of the machine. The machine breathes with Taltomar, Gould breathes with the machine, Gould breathes with Taltomar. It's as though we're walking together, Professor.
Then he got up. He went into the corridor. There were people in bathrobes wandering aimlessly and nurses speaking in high voices. The floor was of black and white linoleum tiles. Gould started walking. He kept his eyes on the floor and tried to step only in the black squares, without touching the lines. He remembered a movie he had seen in which a fighter trained by running along the railroad tracks. It was winter, and he was running with his coat on. Also, his hands were tightly bandaged, as if he were about to put on his boxing gloves, and every so often he punched the air. A winter sun overhead, city in the background, all gray, very cold, the overcoat flying, the trains not moving, rather Butch who wants to run he could come he says that he was going to run maybe not on the train tracks on the street the route up to the park and back here on the train tracks with Butch it would be less boring but I like running alone it's always hard to know what you really like or what you want to like if I try to ask myself truly if I like running by myself or if maybe I'd rather run with Butch with Butch we could talk he always talks about women it's fun I could tell him about Jody I wouldn't like talking to him about Jody there would be no point Jody small tits oh fuck I think dickhead come on I mustn't think about it because you always have to run away Jody we'd be good together why is it that you always have to run away she is as if she had to run away every time she has to remind you that she's not there forever or completely fuck damn think about something else bastard behind the gas tank there's the shadow freezing cold that time when there was a train right there running between the train tracks Mondini is a genius he strengthens your ankles connects feet and eyes you run without looking at your feet but place your feet on the ties look for them out of the corner of your eye the corner of your eye is what reads the feet of your opponent OK Maestro punches come from the feet the feet are punches not yet born abort punches abort yourself bam bam right right left right Mondini great man beautiful shadow I make with my coat flying swaddled hands striking the air they're mad at me for running with my hands swaddled you shouldn't be fighting at all what bullshit it's always a fight you're always fighting that's what I like about boxing it's endlessly fighting when you run when you eat when you jump rope when you get dressed how I tie my shoes when I sing before the match I'd like to run with my gloves on my shadow is beautiful you are so beautiful Larry Larry Lawyer Larry Lawyer against Stanley Poreda bullshit bam bam uppercut bam Poreda shit name bam I'll cut off my hair, shave it to nothing, just a tiny bit longer on the top of my head touch me here Jody she laughs runs her hand over my head I want the robe to say “Lawyer” on it get it take away “Gorman” and write “Larry Lawyer” get it so that you get it bam Mondini will say it's all bullshit Mondini bam bam doesn't want to understand those things Mondini fuck you Larry fuck goddam cold how much is still in shadow it's almost an hour still an hour and a half bam look at that he had it in for my gold watch you don't go running with a watch on especially if you have a gold one but look at that but mind your own business mind I even like the breath coming out of my mouth in this fucking cold you're strong Larry Lawyer ask me why I box you with that microphone what kind is it Dan De Palma my mother listens to him in secret on the radio in secret from my father who doesn't want to know about it my mother listens to him and it's not true that she cries bam it's not true bam Dan De Palma ask me once and for all why I box I do it because everything about boxing is great you're great you can become great Larry Lawyer my cashmere coat flying along the railroad tracks in this winter bam bam right left right and fast get your feet on the ties again I could close my eyes and I'd find them under my feet you've never seen another like this Mondini you've never seen it you and your Poreda shit name bam bam bitch listen here Dan De Palma you want to know why I box you want to know I want you to say it's because I'm in a hurry that's why bam I didn't want to wait boxing is a whole life in a few minutes engrave this in your mind I could have waited you don't know my father if you knew him you'd understand what it means a lifetime to arrive at the right moment you're hanging in the balance between success and disaster that is the right moment you and your talent and that's all no need to wait you know how it's going to end and it ends in an evening it's all over if you've tried something like that you'll keep on wanting it like living a hundred lifetimes nothing will make me stop nothing imagine someone like Poreda fiftyseven bouts fourteen defeats all sold all for KOs who made you return you thief they put it in your head to rob Lawyer you're a poor bastard who do you think will pay for a ticket to see you and your broken arms he hurt you I'll hurt you worse I will Poreda bam that time in Saratoga maybe and once against Walcot but only at the beginning I always came out always and anyway it wasn't really fear they're always telling you that you shouldn't think about it who thinks about it I don't think about it make me see fear I haven't seen it Poreda's taking care of that says Mondini we'll see I want fear Maestro bam bam bam I'm not afraid to be afraid bam left right left two steps back then again low bam keep it short don't dance yes I'm dancing I like to dance they can't figure out a thing if I dance read it in their eyes they can't figure out a fucking thing any more my shoes are beautiful with the red fringe and that guy over there who couldn't stop shitting before a fight he was so afraid I want to be afraid old Tom always in the gym played like a bag too many punches in the head he's a good old man Tom you can die or get like Tom I'd rather die I don't care about dying but not like Tom I want to die in a hurry if they can give me a beating I won't let the job stop halfway I'll keep getting up until I die did you hear me Dan De Palma I like all this it's fast you don't have to wait years I'm in a hurry do you understand me I'm in a hurry don't ask me why it's strange but if I think of dying up there I'm happy I must be mad like thinking of throwing yourself off a height strange but fuck I think bam it was better if Butch came we talked if Butch came running stop it dickhead think of Poreda shit name bam bam if he wants to play dirty so what we'll play dirty if that's what you want or slip him one in front brilliant back and forth back and forth I never hit him but I'm smashing his brain with fakes think how would it be to win a bout with a single punch all the rest ideas that take the breath out of that poor bastard until he's stunned and you come on give the knockout punch bam but not with Poreda with Poreda it will all be dirty not the beginning maybe but afterwards it will be a mess a shit match fight and forget it I wish it were tomorrow I wish it were now calm down Lawyer calm down run Lawyer now run.
Gould stopped. In Room No. 3, a woman was crying, she was crying loudly and every so often she cried out that she wanted to leave, she was angry with everyone because they wouldn't let her leave. Her husband was outside the door. He was talking to another man, who was rather fat, and old. He was saying that he no longer knew what to do, she had thrown herself down the stairs on Christmas night, it had happened very suddenly, since her return from the clinic she had seemed well, quite normal, then on Christmas night she went and threw herself down the stairs, I don't know what to do anymore, I can't take her back to the psychiatric clinic, her leg is broken in two places and three ribs are cracked, but I can't go on, I've been here for eighteen days, I can't go on. He was leaning against the wall, and he spoke without tears and without moving his hands, very calmly. From the room came the voice of the woman crying. When she cried you seemed to hear a child crying. A very small woman. Gould began walking again. When he reached Room No. 8 he went in and sat down again on the chair next to Prof. Taltomar's bed. The machine continued to breathe. Taltomar was in the same position as before, his head, slightly turned, on the pillow, his arms outside the covers, his hands shriveled. Gould stayed for quite a while, watching the stationary film of an old man who was departing. Then, without getting up from the chair, he leaned over the bed and said
“Fifteenth minute of the second half. Nothing-nothing. The referee whistles and calls the two captains. He tells them that he is very tired, that he doesn't know what's come over him, but he's so tired, and wants to go home. I'd like to go home, he says. He shakes their hands, then turns and, walking slowly, crosses the field, toward the locker rooms. The crowd watches in silence. The players stand still. The ball is sitting in the middle of the penalty area, but no one is looking at it. The referee sticks the whistle in his pocket, murmurs something that no one can hear, and disappears into the tunnel.”
Taltomar's hands didn't move. His eyelids trembled slightly, the machine breathed. Gould sat motionless, waiting. He looked at Taltomar's lips. Without the cigarette butt they looked uninhabited. You could hear from the corridor the woman who was crying with the voice of a child. Time was passing, time, passed.
When Gould got up, he put the chair back in its place. He picked up his jacket and held it over his arm because it was stiflingly hot there. He glanced at the breathing machine. Then he stopped at the foot of the bed, just for a moment.
“Thanks, Professor,” he said.
Thanks, he thought.
Then he left. He went down the six flights of stairs, crossed the big entrance hall where a man was selling newspapers and sick people in pajamas were calling home. The door was glass and opened by itself when you got close to it. Outside the sun was shining. Poomerang and Diesel were waiting for him, leaning against a garbage can. They went off together, along the tree-lined avenue that led downtown. They all three danced Diesel's crooked steps, but skillfully, and gracefully, like professionals.
After a while, when they had reached the intersection with Seventh, Poomerang rubbed one hand over his shaved head and didn't say:
“The two captains consult, then the teams start playing again. And they don't stop until the end of eternity.”
Gould had an old piece of chewing gum stuck to the bottom of his jacket pocket. He found it, unstuck it from the material, and then put it in his mouth. It was cold and quite hard, like a friend from elementary school whom you haven't seen for years and run into on the street one day.