Ferocity by Nicola Lagioia

Author:Nicola Lagioia
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Europa
Published: 2017-09-07T04:00:00+00:00

After the incident with the child buried under the rubble, Michele starts taking long walks in the fallow fields that lie not far from the villa. He gets home from school, eats quickly, and hurries outside. He takes the dirt lane. He jumps over the drystone wall and ventures out into the fields.

He walks among the daisies. Then the red of the poppies. He lowers himself down among the leaves, makes his way over the ground using his elbows to push himself forward. Line dot, line dot, line dot line. In the beginning were the ants.

He follows the broken line. The tiny creatures travel over rocks, dead leaves. Each individual insect rhythmically taps its antennae against those of its fellow creature, passing each other information then scooting away in opposite directions. Further on, the line becomes a large clustering black fist. They’re swarming over a swallow’s corpse. That which in heaven now here on earth. Michele leaps to his feet. He starts running, trips. Another day. He lifts his head among the mallows, sees the moon striped with silver. Shift in focus. The moon loses distinctness, the silver thread is here under his nose. A spiderweb. The transparent veil tosses in the wind. At the outskirts of the orbicular structure he notices the silk cocoons. He looks around. He carefully places a finger on the ground. He waits until an ant climbs onto his fingernail. He lifts the finger, raises it to the height of the spiderweb. With his forefinger, from below, he flicks sharply at the base of his middle finger. After describing a small parabola in the void, the ant lands on the spiderweb. The threads undulate. That’s when the spider comes out. It descends and very quickly climbs up from one end to the other. It lunges at its prey. It’s all a convulsive agitation of bodies. The predator tries to immobilize the ant before the ant has a chance to wound it with a swipe of its mandible. And yet there is no passion in this battle. As if the breath of a single god were channeled into two different shells, transforming itself into opposing thrusts. Before Michele has a chance to recover from his fright, the ant is all wrapped up.

At nightfall, Michele returns home. He comes up the drive, passes the rose bushes. He doesn’t have time to take more steps. He feels a dark red imprint on his head. She’s watching him. Maybe her eyes are following him from the second-story window. Or else she’s hidden among the trees. Silence and a few clouds in the sky. Soon this summer will be over.

Another time. Michele ventures out among the spikes of the Bermuda grass. Out of the smell of gasoline and mosquito coils, the impalpable scent of fruit popsicles that lingered in the air until just a few days ago, has already started to fade. It’s colder than it was yesterday. Beyond the last trees there’s the line of traffic. Glowing lights. Michele brushes off his trousers.

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