Giorgio Faletti: I'm God

He smiled, but without mirth.

‘I realize that saying such things, may raise a smile. But I beg you to believe me that in a mental hospital they are far from uncommon.’

He moved away from the desk and again began pacing the room.

‘As for this John Kortighan, I think he was completely under the spell of Father McKean. He didn’t so much idealize him as idolize him. When he realized who he was and what he was doing, all he could do was strike down his idol. When I spoke with him, he actually suggested I tell everyone that he was responsible for the attacks, so that Father McKean’s good name and the memory of all the important things he had done in his life should remain intact. As you can see, the human mind is-’

The telephone on the mayor’s desk rang.

Gollemberg lifted the receiver. ‘Hello?’

He listened for a moment, without changing expression.

‘Good morning, sir. Yes, it’s all over. I can confirm that the city is no longer at risk. There are other explosive devices, but we’ve located them and are rendering them harmless.’

There was a reply at the other end, which the mayor appeared to accept with pleasure.

‘Thank you, sir. I’ll make sure you get a detailed report of this whole crazy business as soon as possible. That’s as soon as we’ve understood it.’

He listened again.

‘Yes, I can confirm that. Vivien Light.’

He smiled, presumably at something the other person was saying.

‘Of course, sir.’

The mayor looked up: ‘It’s for you’ – to her surprise held out the receiver to her.

Vivien lifted the receiver to her ear as if it was an unfamiliar object she had never touched before. ‘Hello?’

The voice she heard at the other end was one of the best known in the world.

‘Hello, Miss Light. My name’s Stuart Bredford. They tell me I’m the President of the United States.’

Vivien resisted the impulse to stand to attention but couldn’t restrain her emotion. ‘It’s an honour to speak with you, sir.’

‘The honour’s all mine. Before anything else, allow me to express my condolences on the loss of your sister. When a loved one dies, it’s as if part of us disappears with them. The gap can never really be filled. I know the two of you were close.’

‘Yes, sir. Very close.’

Vivien wondered how he had found out about Greta’s death. Then she reminded himself that he was the President of the United States and that he could probably find out about anything or anyone in a few minutes.

‘All the more credit to you. Even though you were grieving, you still managed to see this investigation through to its conclusion and in the process saved hundreds of innocent people from certain death.’

‘I did my job, sir.’

‘And I thank you for that, personally and on behalf of all those people. Now I’m the one who has a job to do.’

A pause.

‘First of all, I guarantee you that, in spite of what’s happened, Joy won’t close. As of now, I’m making that a special commitment. You have the president’s word.’

Vivien remembered the bewildered faces of the kids as they climbed in the bus taking them away. Knowing they would still have a home filled her heart with peace.

‘That’s wonderful, sir. Those young people will be happy.’

‘And as far as you’re concerned, there’s something I’d like to ask you.’

‘Go ahead, sir.’

A small pause, perhaps for reflection.

‘Are you free on the Fourth of July?’

‘I beg your pardon, sir?’

‘It’s my intention to propose you for the Congressional Gold Medal. It will be conferred here in Washington on the Fourth of July. Do you think you could keep that date free?’

Vivien smiled as if the president could see her. ‘I’ll cancel all my other engagements right away.’

‘Good. You’re a great person, Vivien.’

‘You, too, sir.’

‘I’m going to be president for another four years. You, fortunately, will stay the way you are for the rest of your life. I’ll see you soon.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

The voice disappeared and Vivien stood for a few moments at the desk, not knowing what to say or do. She put the receiver down and looked around. She read curiosity on the faces of those present. And she had no desire to satisfy it. This was her moment she had no intention of sharing it with anybody.

A knock at the door came to the aid of her decision.

The mayor turned in that direction. ‘Come in.’

A man of about thirty appeared in the doorway. In his hand was a newspaper.

‘What is it, Trent?’

‘There’s something you ought to see, Mr Mayor.’

Gollemberg gestured, and Trent approached the desk. On it he placed a copy of the New York Times . The mayor looked at it briefly, then picked it up and turned it so that everyone in the room could see it.

‘What’s the meaning of this?’

Vivien, like all the others, stared open mouthed.

The front page was entirely taken up with a huge headline.

THE TRUE STORY OF A FALSE NAME

by Russell Wade

Beneath it were two photographs, quite sharp despite the limitations of newspaper reproduction. The first showed a young man holding a big black cat. In the second John Kortighan, his face turned slightly away from the camera, was sitting on a stool, clutching a gun, and staring with empty, absent eyes at a point somewhere to his right.

Everyone present turned to look at Russell, who as usual had chosen the chair furthest from the centre of the action. Feeling their eyes on him, he assumed an innocent expression.

‘We had an agreement, didn’t we?’

Vivien found herself smiling. It was true, of course. He was within his rights, and nobody at this point could accuse him of breaking his word. All the same, looking at that front page, she was puzzled by one thing. She decided to satisfy her curiosity.

‘Russell, there’s something I’d like to know.’

‘Go ahead.’

‘How did you manage to get that shot of John, if in all the time we were together I never saw you with a camera in your hand?’

Russell stood up and went to the desk. ‘There’s something I inherited from my brother. He taught me how and when to use it.’

He put a hand in his pocket and took it out, fist closed. Then he held out his arm. When he opened his fingers and allowed everyone to see what he had in his hand, Vivien could barely stop herself laughing. There on his palm was a miniature camera.

It was raining at my mother’s funeral and Vivien held my hand.

As I heard the rain beating down on the umbrella, I saw the coffin enter the grave in the small cemetery in Brooklyn where my grandparents are already buried, and felt sorry that I’d never really known Greta Light. But I think I’ll make up for that in time, thanks to the memory of all the words we said to each other and the games we played and the happy moments we shared. Even though I tried to ruin everything, I’ll be able to get through with the help of my aunt, who’s an incredible woman, and a strong woman, in spite of the tears she was crying – but then everyone cries at the thought of death.

The priest talked about dust and earth and resurrection.

When I saw him, and heard those words, I thought about Father McKean and everything he’d meant to me and others like me. It was terrible to find out what was behind those eyes and what he was capable of doing, terrible to discover how evil can even reach places you’d think it could never reach.

They explained to me that his conscious mind wasn’t responsible for his actions, but only that part of him that was in the grip of something wicked that he had no control over.