Impossible by Erri De Luca

Author:Erri De Luca
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Welbeck Publishing
Published: 2022-06-23T00:00:00+00:00

Another letter, Sweetheart, to add to those I haven’t sent. I’m still in solitary, so there’s no way I can have any visits. Not that I want any, nor letters. This is a men-only place, a row of single cells like a monastery, but without the prayers. The monks here rely on solicitors, and they see to the prayers.

Mine is an experimental case. It’s pushing a man to confess to a political crime, the last instalment of a forgotten era. They want to convince me that this is a way to conclude a history of judicial proceedings. The confession of a political vendetta would mark the end to a period that’s remained open to this day. Not one of those who betrayed his comrades has met with any vengeance. It’s still hanging in the balance.

And would a single act of vengeance balance things out? Would it outweigh the sentences served on the downside? No. But on the plus side, one act instead of none would be a specific symbol of greater weight. I’m surrounded by this line of reasoning, and, with my consent, they want me to give in to it.

And in a full confession there’d be the inner advantage of getting rid of a weight. But in his life this magistrate has certainly not come across a confession that led to a custodial sentence. Does he foresee some physical relief in discharging myself of a load off my insides, as if someone had constipation and a confession assisted a bowel movement?

He won’t prevail over me with the shortcut of a confession.

If he doesn’t acquit me, I’ll go to court under the accusation. The novelty this time will be that I’m older than the judges. It’s an advantage for me, I’d find them reduced in power and authority. When I was twenty, they had the power to take away a good part of my life out in the fresh air. Now all they can rake in are the crumbs.

Did you know that the accusation is that I pushed off a mountain path a comrade from long ago political struggles, one who then became an informer? At that time, we were friends. They used to say we were friends for life, but that expression wasn’t enough for him, he wanted to give me life, a life sentence in prison. They also said we were blood brothers, but we never went through the ritual of cutting our palms and mixing our two bloods. He asked me, but I didn’t want to. It would have excluded the other comrades.

In those turbulent years, friendship was an exchange of help knowing that it would be of immediate necessity with no time for explanations. We were united by a common will.

We were distanced at a stroke from our families, renouncing and turning our backs on a life of domesticity. We had a different way of belonging. Friendship substituted for family love, making the others a brother, father or a son.

We two were like that then. I’m writing this to explain things to you that have remained confused to me.

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