Giorgio Faletti - I Kill

Frank was unable to see the final outcome of the fight because in the meantime he had reached the place where Pierrot was hanging from the tree, leaving Jean-Loup and Mosse behind him. He saw fear on the boy’s face but mostly the disquieting signs of fatigue. His hands were red from the effort and Frank realized that he couldn’t hold on much longer. He showed him that he was there and tried to reassure him, speaking calmly – though he certainly didn’t feel calm – to give him some confidence that everything would be all right.

‘Here I am, Pierrot. I’ve come to get you.’

The boy was so tired that he couldn’t make the effort to answer. Frank looked around. He was standing exactly where Jean-Loup had been removing his belt when Mosse shot at him the first time.

Why? For the second time, he wondered how Jean-Loup was planning to use the belt to save Pierrot. He raised his eyes and saw another trunk, about the same size as Pierrot’s, a couple of yards above him. The leaves had long ago fallen off and the branches rose up like overturned roots growing towards the sky. Suddenly, he realized what Jean-Loup had intended to do. He acted quickly. Removing his phone from his shirt pocket and unfastening the clip that held his holster to his belt, he placed them on the ground by Jean-Loup’s canvas bag.

As he slipped his gun into his pocket, he shivered for a second at the feel of the cold metal against his skin. He took his belt and checked on the strength of the leather and the buckle. Then he slipped the end through and fastened it at the last hole so that he would have as large a leather ring as possible.

He studied the hill beside and below him. With any luck, he could reach the tree that was almost parallel to the one where Pierrot was swaying. He moved with care. Stepping sideways and grabbing on to the bushes that he hoped had deep, solid roots, he reached the dried-out tree. At the touch of the rough bark, the image of the corpse they had found in the bomb shelter flashed through his mind, but then a menacing creak from the tree substituted an image of his own body hurtling down into the ravine. What was true for Pierrot was also true for him. If the tree was pulled down or if he lost his balance, he would not survive the fall. He tried not to picture it and hoped that the tree was sturdy enough to support both of them. He crouched down on the ground and leaned out, trying to make the belt hang down as far as possible.

‘Try to grab on to this.’

Hesitantly, the boy removed one hand from the tree but rapidly returned it to the trunk. ‘I can’t reach.’

Frank had already realized that the length of Pierrot’s arms and the circle of belt were not long enough. There was only one thing he could do. He turned around to grab the tree trunk with his legs and let himself hang upside down into the void like a trapeze artist, twisting around to support his chest and get a better view in order to direct Pierrot’s movements from above. Holding the belt ring with both hands, this time he managed to lower it to the boy.

‘That’s it. Now, let go of the tree and grab on to the belt, one hand at a time, smoothly as you can.’

He watched Pierrot’s hesitant, slow-motion movements. Despite the distance, he could hear the boy’s breath, hissing with anxiety and fatigue. The tree he was hanging on to, bent down by all the additional weight, gave a sinister creak, more chilling than before. Frank felt Pierrot’s weight entirely on his arms and legs wrapped around the trunk. He was sure that if Jean-Loup had been in his place, he would have pulled the boy up without much effort, at least to the point where he could let go of the belt and take hold of the tree where he was hanging like a bat. He hoped against hope that he would be able to do the same.

He started pulling upwards with his arms, feeling the violence of his effort together with the painfully massive flow of blood to his head. He saw Pierrot rise up inch by inch, trying to support himself with his feet. Frank’s arm muscles were burning terribly, as if his shirt had suddenly caught fire.

The gun stuck in his trouser pocket gave in to the force of gravity and fell. Barely missing Pierrot’s head, it plummeted down and was lost in the ravine. Just at that moment, a noise came from the trunk that sounded like a shot or a log crackling in the fireplace.

Frank continued pulling with all his might. In his effort to raise the weight that was growing heavier and heavier, the pain in his arms became unbearable. As each second passed, he felt as if acid had replaced the blood in his veins. His flesh seemed to be dissolving and his bones, no longer protected by his muscles, seemed about to separate from his shoulders and plunge down, along with Pierrot’s screaming body.

But Pierrot slowly continued to rise. Frank kept pulling him up, grasping the tree desperately with his legs, clenching his teeth, astounded by his own resistance. One second after another he felt an overwhelming urge to let go, to release his hands and stop the agony, the burning in his arms. And the very next second, new strength came from some other part of him, as if reserves of energy were stored in an obscure region of his body, a secret place that only anger and stubbornness could release.

Frank arched the upper part of his chest that was on the ground and managed to put the belt around his neck, transferring part of the weight to his back and shoulders. After testing the resistance for a second, Frank let go and stretched out his free hands to Pierrot. With the little breath he had left, he told him what to do.

‘Okay, just like what you did before. Let go of the belt, calmly, one hand at a time. Grab hold of my arms and climb up. I’ll hold you.’

Frank was not sure that he could keep his promise. Still, when Pierrot abandoned his grip and his weight was off Frank’s neck, he felt the relief like refrigeration running along his back, as if someone had poured cold water on his sweaty skin.

He felt the desperate grasp of Pierrot’s hands on his arms. Slowly, inch by inch, clutching with frenzy at Frank’s body and clothes, the boy continued to climb. Frank was astounded that he had so much strength left. The instinct of self-preservation was an extraordinary ally in certain situations, a kind of natural drug. He hoped that the strength would not leave him suddenly, now that he was safe.

As soon as he was within reach, Frank seized Pierrot by his belt and pushed up, helping him reach the trunk. He eyes were burning from the sweat pouring down his face. He closed and opened them again as he felt the cleansing tears well up and lose themselves in his eyebrows in that strange, upside-down weeping. He couldn’t see a thing. He could only feel the frantic movements of Pierrot’s body rubbing against his own, which was now nothing but a single, desperate cry of pain.

‘Did you make it?’

Pierrot didn’t answer, but Frank suddenly felt free. He bent his head until it was almost touching the warm, damp earth. He felt, rather than saw, the belt slip off his neck and tumble down to join his gun. Then he turned his head to avoid breathing in dirt along with the air that his lungs were desperately seeking. The pressure of the blood in his temples was unbearable. He heard a voice from above, from behind his shoulders, a voice that seemed to come from an unbridgeable distance, like a cry from a faraway hilltop. From the state of torpor that had enveloped his body and mind, Frank still recognized that voice.

‘Good, Pierrot. Now grab on to the bushes and come over here to me. Calmly. You’re okay now.’

Frank felt a wave of shock run through his suspended body and heard a new crackle of the wood as Pierrot’s weight abandoned the trunk. The dried-out tree probably felt the same relief he did, as if it were alive rather than long dead.