In the Sea There Are Crocodiles - Fabio Geda [51]
But the lorry didn’t set off again. Instead, I felt something like an earthquake. I leaned out. A huge crane had hooked the container I was in. I got really scared. What’s going to happen? I thought. What if I end up in a metal crusher? I had to get out straightaway, I told myself, and jumped down.
Three men were working around the crane. I landed like a sack of potatoes (despite my mental rehearsals a bit earlier), because my legs were like wood and couldn’t cushion the fall. As I landed, I let out a scream. And it may have been because of the scream, or because of the fact that they weren’t expecting to see an Afghan fall out of the sky, but those three men were really scared, and even a guard dog that was there took fright and ran away. I’d fallen on concrete, but I couldn’t let myself be distracted by the pain. Immediately looking for a way out, I noticed that part of the perimeter wall dividing the yard from the street had collapsed. I ran in that direction, on all fours, like a little animal: I couldn’t stay on my feet. I thought the three men would follow me, instead of which one of them started shouting in English, Go, go, and pointing toward the main road. Nobody tried to stop me.
———
The first road sign I saw was a blue one.
On it was the word Venice.
I walked for a long time, along a road where there wasn’t much traffic. Suddenly, I saw two figures in the distance, coming quickly toward me. As they got closer, I realized they were riding bicycles. When they saw me, they slowed down and stopped, probably because of my filthy clothes, or my filthy hair, or my face. They asked me if I was all right, if I needed anything, which I really appreciated. We spoke in English, as best we could, and when the first one said he was French I said, Zidane. Then, when the second one said he was Brazilian, I said, Ronaldinho. That was all I knew about their countries, and I wanted them to know how much I liked them. They asked me where I was from. Afghanistan, I said. They said, Taliban, Taliban. That was all they knew about my country.
One of them—the Brazilian, I think—gave me twenty euros. They indicated the direction of the nearest town, which was Mestre. I waved goodbye to them and started walking again, and walked until I found a bus stop. There were two or three people waiting, among them a very young boy. I went up to him and said in English, Train station?
Now I don’t know who that boy was, maybe he was an angel, but he really helped me a lot. He told me to get on the bus with him. When we arrived in Venice, at Piazzale Roma, he bought me a roll because I must have looked as if I was hungry, then he took me to a church where he collected some new clothes for me and where I was able to wash, so that I didn’t disgust people.
I may be stating the obvious, but isn’t Venice beautiful? Everything on water. My God, I thought, I’m in paradise. Maybe all Italy is like this. In the meantime I kept saying to that boy, Rome, Rome, until he realized that I wanted to go to Rome. He went with me to the station and even bought me a ticket. Maybe he was related to the old Greek lady, I thought. In my opinion, kindness like that only gets handed on by example.
I had no idea how far it was from Venice to Rome or how long it would take me to get there. I didn’t want to miss my stop, because then I’d be lost, so not surprisingly I was worried.