The Book of Fantasy by fantasy

Author:fantasy
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-670-82393-2
Publisher: Viking
Published: 1988-12-15T00:00:00+00:00

The Man Who Belonged to Me

Giovanni Papini, Italian short-story writer and essayist. Born in Florence in 1871; died in Florence in 1956. Translator of Berkeley, Bergson, Boutroux, James and Schopenhauer. Author of Il tragico quotidiano (1906), Vita de Nessuno (1912), Un Uomo Finito (1912), L’uomo Carducci (1918), L’Europa Occidentale contra la Mitteleuropa (1918), Sant’ Agostino (1931).

I

I can’t say exactly how long Amico Dite’s body and soul had been following mine, because I left off keeping a diary years ago. I am rather absent-minded, so probably I did not notice what day my second shadow (a solid and more or less living shadow) happened to make its entrance on the dim stage of my life.

One morning, as I was leaving home, I noticed I was being followed by a man of about forty, who wore a long blue overcoat; he seemed gay and lively (but not too much so) and followed me at a respectful distance so that I could not very well turn round and ask him what he was doing. I had nothing in particular to do, and I had only come out to get away from the sound of a wood fire crackling in the grate; so I amused myself watching this man although there was nothing remarkable about his appearance. I was sure he wasn’t a detective, because I’m so lacking in physical courage, and I so much dislike being talked about that I have always kept out of active politics, and laziness and clumsiness in any sort of manual work have saved me from earning my living through crime. I didn’t think this man in blue could be a thief after my purse. Everyone in the neighbourhood knew I was rather poor; and you could tell I wasn’t rich by looking at my clothes, which were untidy, not studiedly careless.

Although there was no reason why I should have been followed, I began going round and round the complicated streets in the middle of the town, to make sure I hadn’t made a mistake about it. The man still followed me, looking more and more pleased as he went on. I turned off into one of the principal streets, and began to walk more quickly; but there was still the same distance between me and the man in blue. I went into a post office to buy a three-halfpenny stamp; the unknown man came into the same shop and also bought a three-halfpenny stamp. Then I got into a tram; my smiling follower got in too, and when I got out, he got out just behind me. I bought a paper and he bought exactly the same paper. I sat down on a bench, and he sat down on another bench quite close to me; I took out a cigarette, and he took one out too and waited to light his until I had lit mine.

All this amused me and irritated me at the same time. ‘He may be a humorist with nothing to do,’ I thought, ‘so he wants to amuse himself at my expense.

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