Steal You Away (9 page)

They’d ripped it off the wall and laid it on the railway track. When the Intercity had passed, the machine had shot up into the air like a missile and come to earth fifty metres away.

The upshot was that now they possessed enough condoms to screw every schoolgirl in the area three times over. But the money box still lay there, as closed and impenetrable as a Swiss bank vault.

They’d gone behind a tree and tried them on.

Ronca had put his penis in the condom and started masturbating quickly, jumping about and shouting: ‘Can I fuck the black girls with this thing on?’

The point of this remark was that Pierini claimed to have sex with the black girls on the Aurelia. He said he went to see the black whores with Riccardo (the waiter at the Old Wagon), Giacanelli and Flame. And that he’d done it on a sofa at the side of the road, and the girl had cried out in African.

And who knows, it might even be true.

‘The black girls wouldn’t even feel a lamp-post, they’ve had it so often. They’d die laughing if they saw that little thing,’ Pierini had said, peering at his penis.

Ronca had begged Pierini on his knees to show him his.

And Pierini had lit a cigarette, narrowed his eyes and pulled out his piece.

Ronca and Bacci had been amazed. Now they understood why the black girls went with their leader.

When it had been Bacci’s turn, he’d said he wasn’t too keen. ‘Poof! You’re a poof!’ shouted Ronca in ecstasy. And Pierini had added: ‘Either you show it to us or you can fuck off.’

And poor Bacci had been forced to pull it out.

‘It’s minuscule … Look at it …’ Ronca had jeered.

‘It’s because you’re fat,’ Pierini had explained to him. ‘If you lose weight, it’ll grow.’

‘I’ve already started a diet,’ said Bacci hopefully.

‘Some diet. You ate five thousand lire’s worth of pizza yesterday,’ Ronca had retorted.

The condom game had degenerated when Ronca had pissed into one and walked round triumphantly with that yellow balloon attached to his pecker. Pierini had punctured it with his cigarette end and Ronca had wet his trousers and almost burst into tears.

Anyway, later they had gone to look for anthills in the wood but had only got as far as catching some cockroaches as big as soap bars, soaking them in petrol and tossing them, like shot-down bombers crashing in flames, into the anthills.

Well, they’d shown willing, at any rate.

‘We could tell Miss Rovi … that we couldn’t find any anthills. Or that the photos didn’t come out,’ panted Bacci.

Although they were pedalling slowly and it was bitterly cold, Bacci was actually sweating.

‘She’ll never swallow that …’ Ronca objected. ‘Maybe we could copy something. Cut out the photographs from the book.’

‘No. We won’t go to school tomorrow,’ declared Pierini, after taking a drag from the cigarette that hung from his lips.

There was a moment’s silence.

Ronca and Bacci were considering the idea.

It certainly was the simplest and neatest solution.

Except that: ‘Nooo. I can’t. My father’s coming to fetch me from school tomorrow and if he doesn’t find me there … Besides, that other time, when we went down to the sea front, I got a thrashing,’ said Bacci timidly.

‘Nor can I,’ added Ronca, suddenly turning serious.

‘Both chickenshit, as usual …’ Pierini allowed a few seconds to pass so that they could assimilate this concept and then added: ‘Anyway, you don’t have to play truant. Tomorrow’s a holiday, nobody’s going to school. I’ve had an idea.’

It was an idea that had been going round and round in his head for some time, and now it was time to put it into practice. Pierini often had brilliant ideas. And they always involved smashing things up.

Here are a few of them: on New Year’s Eve he had put a bomb in the local postbox, another time he had broken open the back door of the Station Bar and stolen the cigarettes and sweets. He had also punctured the tyres of Miss Palmieri’s car.

‘What? What do you mean?’ Ronca didn’t understand. The next day was a perfectly normal Wednesday. There was no strike. No public holiday. Nothing.

Pierini took his time, finished the stub and threw it far away, keeping his friends on tenterhooks.

‘Well, listen carefully. We’re going to the school, then we’re going to take your chain and put it round the gate,’ and he pointed to the chain that hung below the saddle of Bacci’s bike. ‘So tomorrow morning, nobody will be able to get in and they’ll send us all home.’

‘Great! Brilliant!’ Ronca was full of admiration. How did Pierini get these brainwaves?

‘See? Nobody’s going …’

‘Well, yeah. Except that …’ Bacci didn’t seem entirely satisfied with the idea. He was very fond of that chain. He had a Graziella, small and rickety and short of a front mudguard, when he pedalled his knees came up into his mouth, and that chain his father had given him was the only good thing about the bike. ‘…I don’t want to waste it like that. It’s worth a lot of money. Anyway, my bike might get stolen.’

‘Don’t be stupid. Your bike’s a fucking thief repellent. Any thief who saw it would throw up. Well, I suppose the police might steal it and use it as a test for spotting thieves. They grab someone and
show him your Graziella, if he throws up it means he’s a thief,’ Ronca jeered.

Bacci brandished his fist. ‘Fuck off, Ronca! Why don’t you use your own chain?’

‘Listen, Andrea,’ Pierini intervened, ‘my chain and Stefano’s aren’t strong enough. Tomorrow morning the headmaster would call the locksmith, he’d cut through it in no time and we’d go into school straight away, but if he finds yours, there’s no way he’ll cut through it. Just imagine, us lounging happily in the bar while he doesn’t know what to do and the teachers cursing and swearing. They’ll have to call the fire brigade in from Orbano. And all thanks to your chain. Get it?’

‘And we won’t have to worry about looking for fucking ants,’ added Ronca.

Bacci was torn.

Certainly, the thought that your chain was stymieing a school and the Orbano fire brigade was a pleasant one. ‘All right. Let’s use it. Who cares. I’ll put the old chain on my bike again.’

‘Great! Let’s go.’ Pierini was pleased.

They had work to do.

But Ronca started laughing and repeating: ‘What fools! What fools you are! What idiots! It won’t work …’

‘What’s the matter now? What the hell are you laughing about, you halfwit?’ Pierini said. One of these days he was going to ram Ronca’s teeth down his throat.

‘You’ve forgotten something … ha, ha, ha.’

‘What?’

‘Something very nasty. Ha, ha, ha.’

‘What?’

‘Italo. He’ll see us when we put the chain on the gate … He has a perfect view of it from his house. He’ll get out his shotgun and start blazing away …’

‘What are you laughing about? It’s no fucking joke. That puts us in the shit. Don’t you see, if we don’t chain up the gate, we’re going to have to take the project in tomorrow. Only a moron like you would laugh about a thing like that.’ Pierini gave him a shove and Ronca nearly fell off his bike.

‘Sorry …’ he muttered, his eyes averted.

But Ronca was right.

It was a problem.

That arsehole of a caretaker could ruin the whole operation. He lived next to the gate. And ever since burglars had broken in he’d been guarding the school like a Neapolitan mastiff.

Pierini’s heart sank.

This made things dangerous, Italo might see them and tell the head, and besides he was crazy, mad as a hatter. It was rumoured that he kept a loaded shotgun by his bed.

How can we possibly do it? We’ll have to drop the idea …
no, we’re not doing that
.

They couldn’t abandon such a brilliant idea just because of that old fogey. Even if they had to burrow their way underground like grubs through a dunghill, they’d put the chain on that gate.

I can’t do it
, he mused.
I was suspended a month ago. Ronca
will have to. The problem is, he’s so stupid he’s bound to give
himself away
.

Why oh why had he teamed up with the thickest pair of wankers in the village?

But just at that moment a bicycle lamp appeared in the distance.

Calm
.

Keep calm
.

You must seem normal. Don’t let them see you’re scared. Or
that you’re in a hurry
, Pietro kept repeating to himself like an Ave Maria.

He advanced slowly.

Although he had made up his mind not to think about it, he kept asking himself why those three picked on him.

He was their favourite toy. The mouse that you learn to use your claws on.

What have I done wrong?

He never bothered them. He kept to himself. Didn’t talk to anyone. Let them get on with whatever they wanted to do.

You want to rule the roost, fine. You’re the toughest guys in the school, no problem.

So why didn’t they leave him alone?

And Gloria, who hated them even more than he did, had told him over and over again that he must keep out of their way, that sooner or later they would …

(
beat me to a pulp
)

… get him.

Keep calm
.

They were in front of him. A few metres away.

It was too late now to avoid them, hide, do anything.

He slowed down. Now the dark forms behind the bicycle lamps were beginning to take shape. He moved over to the side, to let them by. His heart was beating fast, his saliva had disappeared and his tongue felt dry and swollen, like a piece of foam rubber.

Keep calm
.

They were no longer talking. They had stopped in the middle of the road. They must have recognised him. And be getting ready.

He advanced again.

They were ten metres away, eight, five …

Keep calm
.

He took a deep breath and forced himself not to lower his gaze but to look them in the eye.

He was ready.

If they tried to surround him, he must take them by surprise and dash through them. And if they didn’t manage to grab him, they’d have to turn their bikes round, which would give him a bit of a start. It might be enough for him to reach home safe and sound.

But instead, what happened was something incredible.

Something surreal, more surreal than meeting a Martian riding on a cow singing ’
O sole mio
. Something Pietro would never have expected.

And which completely threw him.

‘Hi, Moroni. Is that you? Where are you off to?’ he heard Pierini ask.

This was incredible for several reasons.

Pietro was speechless.

Watch out. It’s a trap
.

He sat on his bike there, like a fool, in the middle of the road. Only a few metres separated him from the three of them.

‘Hi!’ Ronca and Bacci said in chorus.

‘Hi … i’ he heard himself replying.

This was possibly the first time Bacci had ever greeted him.

‘Where are you off to?’ Pierini repeated.

‘… home.’

‘Oh. Going home, are you?’

Pietro, foot on pedal, was ready to make a break for it. If this was a trap, sooner or later they’d go for him.

‘Have you done your science project?’

‘Yes …’

‘What on?’

‘Malaria.’

‘Ah. Interesting subject, malaria.’

Despite the darkness, Pietro could see Bacci and Ronca, behind Pierini, nodding. As if they had suddenly been transformed into a trio of microbiologists expert in tropical diseases.

‘Did you do it with Gloria?’

‘Yes.’

‘Ah, good. Clever girl, isn’t she?’ Pierini didn’t wait for a reply and continued. ‘We’ve done a project on ants. Not nearly as
interesting as malaria. Listen, do you really have to go home?’

Do I really have to go home? What sort of question is that?

What should he say in reply?

The truth.

‘Yes.’

‘Oh, what a shame! We were thinking of doing something … something cool. You could come with us, after all it concerns you too. Pity, we’d have enjoyed it more if you’d been there.’

‘Yeah, we’d have enjoyed it more,’ underlined Ronca.

‘Much more,’ repeated Bacci.

What a routine. Three ham actors performing a third-rate script. Pietro understood this at once. And if they were trying to arouse his curiosity, they were failing. He couldn’t care less about their cool idea.

‘I’m sorry, but I have to go home.’

‘Oh, I quite understand. It’s just that we can’t do it on our own, we need a fourth person and we thought that you … well, might help us …’

The darkness concealed Pierini’s face. Pietro could only hear his fluty voice and the wind rustling between the trees.

‘Oh, come on, it won’t take long …’

‘To do what?’ Pietro finally blurted out, but in such a low voice that nobody understood. He was forced to repeat: ‘To do what?’ Pierini surprised him again. With one bound he dismounted his bike and grabbed his handlebars.

Brilliant. Well done. Now you’ve landed yourself in the shit
.

But instead of hitting him, Pierini looked this way and that and put his arm round his neck. Something halfway between a wrestler’s armlock and a brotherly hug.

Bacci and Ronca closed in too. Before Pietro even had time to react he found himself surrounded and he realised that if they wanted to they could make mincemeat of him.

‘Listen. We’re going to chain up the school gate,’ Pierini whispered in his ear as if he were revealing the whereabouts of some hidden treasure.

Ronca nodded his head contentedly. ‘A brainwave, isn’t it?’

Bacci showed him the chain. ‘With this. They’ll never break it. It’s mine.’

‘But why?’ asked Pietro.

‘So there’ll be no school tomorrow, you see? The four of us will chain it up and we’ll all go happily off home. Everyone will wonder who it was. And it’ll have been us. And we’ll be heroes for a long time afterwards. Just think how furious the head and the deputy head and all the others will be.’