Clash of Civilizations Over an Elevator in Piazza Vittorio (5 page)

T
uesday February 24, 10:39
P.M.

This morning Iqbal asked me if I knew the difference between a tolerant person and a racist. I answered that a racist is in conflict with others because he doesn’t believe they’re on his level, while a tolerant person treats others with respect. At that point he came closer to me, and, in order not to be heard by anyone, as if he were about to reveal a secret, he whispered, “Racists don’t smile!”

I thought all day about racists who refuse to smile and I realized that Iqbal has made an important discovery. The racist’s problem is not with others but with himself. I would go further: he doesn’t smile at his fellow-man because he doesn’t know how to smile at himself. The Arab proverb that says “He who has nothing gives nothing” is very true.

Monday June 26, 10:05
P.M.

Tonight, near Piazza Venezia, I ran into Iqbal. He told me that he’s suffering from an ulcer, then he looked at me sadly and said, “Amir Allah Iqbal will kill me!” His tone of voice persuaded me to take him seriously. At first I thought Amir Allah Iqbal was a person who was threatening him and wanted to kill him, and I asked him to explain, so that I could understand. We sat down in a café.

“Did you make a report to the police?”

“I’ve made many reports, but they threw me out.”

Luckily my fears didn’t last long. Iqbal pulled out his residency permit and told me the story of the mix-up of name and surname. He lingered for a long time on the problem of the similarity of names and told me a story about a man in Bangladesh who was hanged by mistake because his name corresponded exactly to that of a dangerous criminal. He looked at me, holding back tears: “You know me, Signor Amedeo, my name is Iqbal Amir Allah and I have nothing to do with Amir Allah Iqbal! You’re the only Italian witness who can save me from future accusations.” His words struck me. I promised that I would help him, right away. Tomorrow morning I’ll call Bettarini, who was so helpful in resolving the problem of the pigeons of Piazza Santa Maria Maggiore and preventing a lot of trouble for Parviz.

Thursday January 30, 11:19
P.M.

This morning I went with Iqbal to the police station. Inspector Bettarini managed to take care of everything in a few minutes. Iqbal’s joy was uncontainable. After saying goodbye to the Inspector, he insisted on inviting me to have tea in a café nearby. He’s decided to name his next child Roberto, to make the job of the police easier when they have to distinguish his first and last name, and so protect his son from the same problem of the confusion of names. Iqbal is proud of the fact that his son will be the first child in the history of Bangladesh to have the name Roberto. Then he added, “I know that for you Italians our names are hard to pronounce, but this way I feel certain that all Italians will smile at my son!” I didn’t want to interrupt. I let him finish and then I asked him, “What will happen if your wife has a girl?”

He reflected for a few seconds and then said, “I’ll call her Roberta! Her name will be Roberta Iqbal. I swear that there is not a girl in Bangladesh who has the name Roberta.” I couldn’t resist the impulse to laugh. We laughed together, indifferent to the glances of the other customers. Doctors of the world unite! Invent a new remedy to cure racists of envy and hatred. Iqbal has diagnosed their illness: we need a pill like aspirin to help those wretched people smile.

Tuesday November 16, 11:39
P.M.

Tonight I went with Parviz to buy rice and spices from Iqbal. As we were talking, the subject came up of some anti-immigrant posters on the walls in Piazza Vittorio. Iqbal pointed to a box of apples in front of him: “When I see a rotten apple I immediately separate it from the rest of the apples, because if I left it there all the apples would be spoiled. Why can’t the police be strict with immigrants who are criminals? Why should the honest ones who sweat for a piece of bread suffer!”

Iqbal’s words opened my eyes. Labeling any immigrant a criminal, without distinction, is a déjà vu. Italian immigrants in the United States were accused of being in the Mafia, and suffered tremendously. Certainly, the Italians don’t seem to have learned anything from the lessons of history.

Friday October 30, 11:04
P.M.

Today Iqbal told me with pride that his firstborn, Mahmood, speaks Italian very well. He’s the one who goes with his mother on her daily rounds, to the doctor, for example, or wherever. I asked him if his wife speaks Italian, and he said that the Bangladeshis don’t send their wives to school because Islam prohibits them from mixing with the opposite sex. When I got home I discussed this with Stefania, and proposed that she should organize Italian classes for Bangladeshi women. Stefania agreed, provided I could persuade Iqbal and his friends.

Tuesday March 26, 11:49
P.M.

After much hesitation Iqbal accepted the idea of an Italian class for women; his wife will attend and Stefania will teach it. I asked Iqbal to get other Bangladeshi husbands to send their wives.

Friday February 9, 11:12
P.M.

Tonight I lingered for a long time over these words from Freud’s
Totem and Taboo:
“A human being’s name is a principal component in his person, perhaps a piece of his soul.”

I
went to a lawyer to bring suit against unknown persons. Whoever hurt little Valentino has to be punished. What Benedetta, the concierge, said about the Chinese made me suspicious. I asked the lawyer only one question: “Does the law punish people who eat dogs?” And he, taken aback, said, “I’ve never dealt with a question of that sort,” and asked for time to consult the penal code and get advice from colleagues. I didn’t sit there twiddling my thumbs. I got in touch with humanitarian groups like Amnesty International, and I have to say I was shocked. Their response was “We defend men, not animals.” I say this country is not civilized. A year ago I was in Switzerland and I saw with my own eyes how dogs are treated. There are hairdressers, clinics, and restaurants exclusively for dogs. In fact, I visited a little cemetery in Geneva where man’s best friends are buried. When will Italy become a civilized country like Switzerland?

Signor Amedeo is the only tolerant person in this building. He was never irritated by Valentino’s barking, in fact, he was affectionate and kind to him. Stefania, his wife, hates dogs and was always complaining about Valentino. I told her that barking is the only language he has to express his joy, his sadness, his rage, and other emotions. We mustn’t force him to be silent; we should be patient with him when he pees in the elevator, because he’s like a child. Do we spank children when they wet their beds? We all know that dogs pee and sniff urine to communicate with the outside world. Do we want to take away their natural and legitimate rights? One time, I got fed up with Stefania’s aggressiveness toward little Valentino and I yelled at her, “You’re a racist, a fanatic, and I will not allow you to insult Valentino!” After that she didn’t speak to me for years, whereas Signor Amedeo continued to greet me as if nothing had happened. I’m going to go to the Chinese embassy in Rome, I’ll ask them to intervene. That’s the only way I’ll ever hold poor kidnapped Valentino in my arms again.

The Italian state should be on my side. Am I not a good citizen? Don’t I pay my taxes regularly, before the deadline? Can’t I claim the rights guaranteed me by the constitution? Aren’t I a good Catholic who performs her religious duties properly? I’ve written three letters of reminder, to the Holy Father, the President of the Republic, and the Prime Minister. Each of them should carry out his proper responsibilities.

If Benedetta the Neapolitan’s suspicions about the involvement of the Chinese in Valentino’s kidnapping are true, then the least the Italian authorities could do to show solidarity would be to cut off diplomatic relations with China and throw the owners of Chinese restaurants in jail. No, that’s nothing, they should kick China out of the U.N. and place it under embargo. No, that wouldn’t satisfy me, either. Isn’t it legitimate for Italy, as a member of NATO, to declare war? Aren’t some of the taxes I pay deposited in NATO’s coffers? Aren’t there American military bases in Italian territory?

Suspicion also falls on Marina, Benedetta’s daughter-in-law, who every time she saw Valentino never stopped saying, “What a sweetie! What a sweetie!” Everyone knows that Marina is Sardinian, and Sardinia is famous for kidnappings. You remember the business with Fabrizio De André and the entrepreneur Giuseppe Soffiantini? Evidently the kidnappers modified their strategy, going from men to dogs, having got the idea how much people love dogs. I’m expecting a call asking for ransom. I won’t inform the police, so as not to put Valentino’s life in danger. I’m ready to spend all the money I have to get Valentino back. I’m lonely without Valentino, I can’t live without him.

My grand dream has been destroyed. I wanted Valentino to become a famous actor, like Inspector Rex, who tracks down criminals and arrests them. That young Dutch boy Johan asked me to be in a film he wants to make in Piazza Vittorio. I said I would accept on one condition: that Valentino should be in the film. At first he hesitated, then he said yes. I was preparing Valentino for the future, after the bashing I got from my only son. Before leaving home forever and joining those friends of his in the social-service cooperatives, Alberto said to me, “You’re a jailer in this house, and I want to live without bars. This house is a market, you are a merchant, and I am a client. I want to live far away from consumer society!” I still don’t understand: what do I have to do with prisons and markets? I begged him to stay, but he was indifferent to my tears. My first dream was for him to become a great movie actor like Marcello Mastroianni or Alberto Sordi, but I failed to get him into the Olympus of stars. I never give up, though; I won’t accept defeat or consider something a fait accompli. That’s why I decided to teach Valentino to perform difficult tricks. I went a long way with him and I was just about to reap the fruits of my hard work.

Amedeo an immigrant! How strange. Every so often we watched the demonstrations in Piazza Vittorio for the rights of immigrants: the right to work, to housing, to health care, the vote, and so on. I say that the rights of the native-born come first, and dogs are children of this country. I don’t trust immigrants. I read recently in the paper that an immigrant gardener raped an old woman who had given him everything: residency permit, job, place to live, and so on. Is that the reward? Have you ever heard of a dog who raped its owner? You know the Gypsy who goes to Amedeo’s house and sits with him in the Bar Dandini, and sells drugs in Piazza Santa Maria Maggiore while he’s pretending to feed the pigeons? One day that scoundrel said to me:

“In my country we always leave dogs outside the house.”

“What do you mean?”

“The job of a dog is to protect the house from thieves!”

“How can you say such a thing!”

I thought of reporting him for defamation and racism, then I changed my mind, out of respect for Amedeo. That stupid, criminal, racist Gypsy should be expelled from Italy immediately. The problem is that the Gypsies don’t have a precise country to be sent back to!

The truth is that we don’t need immigrants. I heard a politician say on TV that the Italian economy is at risk of collapsing if they stop coming. That is a lie spread by the Communists and the priests from Caritas. We can easily give up immigrants. All we have to do is teach our dogs properly—let’s stop using that horrible word “train.” Now, for example, there are highly educated dogs who accompany blind people when they go out to do the shopping, and who perform various other duties, just as there are dogs who help find and rescue people buried in the rubble of earthquakes. And let’s not forget the dogs who work in airports, train stations, and ports whose job is to sniff out drug smugglers. We don’t need immigrants. It’s absurd that we teach them Italian, give them jobs and places to live, and they pay us back by selling drugs in public parks and raping our daughters. It’s really too much!

Who killed poor Lorenzo Manfredini? I don’t know. Ask the police. I knew the victim well. He was a friend of my son’s in childhood and adolescence, they were always together, like brothers. Lorenzo came to live with his grandmother when his parents divorced, after a legal battle over the division of their assets and custody of Lorenzo. The grandmother wasn’t capable of controlling her grandson, so Lorenzo left school early and has always hung around delinquents. It’s very likely that he was killed by a rival gang. Like what happened in Chicago in the thirties or with the Magliana gang here in the seventies.

The government should take up the question of the cost of living right away. The solution is not to raise taxes and suffocate Italian citizens but to let dogs help: they ask nothing and perform infinite services free of charge. We have to teach them well: to arrest criminals, help old people, fix electrical appliances, prepare food, and so on. Ah, I forgot a very important thing: dogs can even work in factories without making trouble, because they don’t have a union and they never go on strike. Doesn’t the government want to get rid of unions? Isn’t it looking for obedient workers that it can fire without legal repercussions? I believe firmly that what Professor Antonio Marini maintains is true: our big problem is underdevelopment. Unfortunately, Italy is an uncivilized country. I say that the moment has arrived to abandon dangerous ideas, such as that dogs are only good for guard duty.

Look here! There’s an analogy between Amedeo’s disappearance and Valentino’s. I think Amedeo is the victim of a kidnapping. The police should arrest the gang of kidnappers that operates in Piazza Vittorio. Can’t you see by now that there’s a secret alliance between the Sardinians and the Chinese? That’s the conclusion I’ve come to after a long investigation. I don’t have enough proof, but a lot of things are suspicious, and the circumstantial evidence is very disturbing. If Valentino isn’t back safe and sound in the next few days, I’m not paying taxes anymore. In fact, I’m going to emigrate to Switzerland as soon as I can and I’m never coming back to Italy.