Davide Longo - The Last Man Standing

Alberto stood up carefully. Once on his feet he looked down at the ash in the circle of stones. He had his hands between his legs as though he were naked.

“Some people in a house gave it to us.”

“What?” shouted the blond youth.

“They…”

The shot echoed through the valley and two huge birds rose from nearby bushes and passed close over their heads. The bullet must have hit a branch because something could be heard falling through the leaves and hitting the ground, but no one could see what it was. Bauschan started barking again. Alberto was crying and trembling.

“In a house!” he shouted.

“Where?”

“I don’t know! A long way off.”

“How far off?”

“Three days back,” Alberto shouted.

The thickset youth smiled at his companion.

“Do you believe him?”

The blond youth laughed. The thickset one lowered the gun and indicated to Alberto that he could sit down again.

“OK, OK,” he said. “Take it easy. Just joking.”

Alberto sat down with the same care as when he had got up and wiped away some snot hanging from his chin. Leonardo thought he could detect the shadow of a smile on his face even though it was contorted with terror.

“What now?” the blond youth said.

“Let’s move. Can the girl walk?”

“I think so, we just have to wake her up.”

“So go and wake her then.”

“And the others?”

“We’ll take the kid, to hell with the others.”

“Don’t we kill them?”

“I’ve only got one round left; I’m not going to waste it. You?”

“I’ve got two. We could kill them with the knife.”

The thickset youth passed a hand over his head. He had blue overalls over a short-sleeved shirt. His olive-colored arms bore little circular scars.

“I don’t feel much like it.”

“What if they follow us?”

“Their problem. Get the girl. You, nitwit, empty your knapsack.”

Sebastiano released Bauschan. The dog, once free, looked around uncertainly, then walked with his ears down to Leonardo and began licking his face. Sebastiano emptied the knapsack on the ground. A sweater, a pair of trousers, some children’s clothes, the exercise book with the brown cover, medicines, gloves, hats, powdered soup, two pans, a plastic bottle, two knives, a shoebox, a comb, some gauze. The thickset youth examined each item carefully, then he told Sebastiano to open the shoebox. Seeing the contents were only letters, he launched a kick at one of the stones around the bonfire. A cloud of ash danced in the air and was pierced by a ray of light before settling again.

“Haven’t you any money?”

Sebastiano went on staring at him in silence. His long, thin face seemed on the point of giving way to an emotion, but he stayed serious and distant.

“The girl had the money in her pants,” said the blond youth, who had disappeared to Leonardo’s right again. The thickset one looked at Alberto.

“Is there any more?” he asked.

Alberto shook his head.

“OK, put on your shoes.”

The blond youth came back, supporting Lucia with an arm around her back. She had lost her shoes and her sweater was torn. One foot was bloodstained.

“Make her put on her shoes,” the thickset one said.

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want to carry her over my shoulder. Where’s the money?”

The blond youth took it from his pocket and handed it to his companion, then made Lucia sit down and looked around for her shoes. While he was putting them on her feet, Leonardo shooed Bauschan away with a sudden movement of his head and looked at his daughter’s face. She seemed to have aged by many years, years in which she had neither slept nor eaten nor seen the sun, just wept in the dark, until in the end she had forgotten life itself and what the experience of living can be. She had a bruise on her chin and her trousers were stained with earth. A leaf had settled in her disheveled hair.

“Shall I untie that one?” the blond youth asked when he had finished with Lucia’s shoes.

“Of course not! Take the food and let’s go.”

They filled a knapsack with the food and coffee, then the thickset youth signaled to Alberto to come over and put it on his back. The blond youth helped Lucia to her feet and supported her under the arms; she accepted this without protest. Leonardo watched them walk off. After a dozen steps, the forest swallowed them. All that remained was the silence of branches moving in the wind.

Feeling himself about to faint, Leonardo bit his lips with his broken teeth. Sebastiano had begun collecting things from the ground and putting them back in the backpack.

“What on earth are you doing?” Leonardo said.

Sebastiano seemed not to hear.

“Set me free, Christ!” Leonardo yelled, and felt the words resound in his head like a ball of wet rags. Even his left eye was misting over.

Sebastiano folded the children’s covers and Leonardo’s and put everything in the backpack. When he had finished he put his cowhide around his shoulders, then went to Leonardo. He freed his neck, then his hands. Leonardo felt atrocious pain when he moved his arm. Bauschan licked his ear.

“Please give me some water,” he said.

Sebastiano took the bottle and helped him to drink. When Leonardo touched his face it was like stroking a leather bag full of stones. A huge tear crept out of his left eye. Sebastiano supported him while he got up.

Once on his feet, Leonardo took a few steps holding his right arm, but quickly realized he would not be able to go far like that. He told Sebastiano to take a sweater from the bag and explained how to immobilize his limb. As soon as the weight of his arm was no longer pulling at his shoulder he felt relief.

“You stay here,” he said. “I have to go.”

Sebastiano nodded, but when Leonardo walked off with difficulty in the direction in which the children had disappeared, he picked up the backpack and followed. They began walking down toward the road. Leonardo fell a couple of times, once on his dislocated arm but managed to struggle up again and go on. Bauschan walked a few paces in front. He seemed to be following a scent, but Leonardo was not sure. Nonetheless, he put his faith in the dog since there were no paths and he had no other clues, and after about ten minutes he noticed a leaf with blood on it. They continued downward with the forest thinning out and came to a thicket of bushes. The sky was not entirely clear, but the sun was beginning to warm them. Leonardo stopped to drink because his throat felt full of dust. Sebastiano helped him. Then, weeping, he started forward again. He had no idea what he would do if he caught them up, but he did know that if he did not find them now he would lose them forever.

Emerging from the thicket they came into a field that must once have been cultivated. On the right the slope was studded with olive trees, turned gray with winter. The ground between the trees had been disturbed by wild boar.

It was then that he saw them, about fifty meters lower down, walking along the path beside the river. The blond youth was in front followed by Alberto, then Lucia, and bringing up the rear the other youth carrying the rifle. Lucia was managing without help, but limping. As if he had called them, the two children turned toward him and gave him a brief glance that showed no surprise.

For a while Sebastiano and Leonardo followed the path, keeping at a distance of about fifty yards, then passed a bridge and found themselves on the road. They walked for an hour, perhaps much less, losing sight of the group around sharp curves and seeing them in front again on the straight sections. Leonardo knew perfectly well that they could have hidden around a bend and shot at him, but the danger was nothing compared to his need to not lose sight of Lucia’s white sweater and black hair.