Numbers in the Dark and Other Stories - Italo Calvino [5]
But it was water; and it was good.
My companion went down into the water with his shoes and stockings, leaving his spectacles on the bank. Then, not fully aware of the religious aspect of the ceremony, he started soaping himself.
Thus we embarked on that joyful treat washing is when it is rare and hard to come by. The pool, which we could scarcely both fit in, bubbled over with foam and roaring, as though we were elephants bathing.
On the riverbanks there were willows and shrubs and houses with waterwheels; and so unreal were they, in contrast to the concreteness of this water and these stones, that with the grey of evening filtering through they took on the air of a faded arras.
My companion was washing his feet, now, in strange manner: without taking off his shoes but soaping the stockings and shoes on his feet.
Then we dried ourselves and dressed. When I picked up a sock a tadpole jumped out.
Laid on the bank, my companion's glasses must have been thoroughly splashed. And — as he put them on — so gay must the muddle of that world have seemed to him, coloured as it was by the last gleams of the sunset, seen through a pair of wet lenses, that he started to laugh, and to laugh, without letting up and when I asked him why he said: ‘It's such a hell of a mess!’
And, neat and tidy now, a warm weariness in our bones to replace the dull tiredness of earlier on, we said farewell to our new river friend and set off along a little track that followed the bank, reasoning upon our own affairs and upon when we would return, and keeping our ears open, alert to the distant sounding of a bugle.
Conscience
Came a war and a guy called Luigi asked if he could go, as a volunteer.
Everyone was full of praise. Luigi went to the place where they were handing out the rifles, took one and said: ‘Now I'm going to go and kill a guy called Alberto.’
They asked him who Alberto was.
‘An enemy,’ he answered, ‘an enemy of mine.’
They explained to him that he was supposed to be killing enemies of a certain type, not whoever he felt like.
‘So?’ said Luigi. Tou think I'm dumb? This Alberto is precisely that type, one of them. When I heard you were going to war against that lot, I thought: I'll go too, that way I can kill Alberto. That's why I came. I know that Alberto: he's a crook. He betrayed me, for next to nothing he made me make a fool of myself with a woman. It's an old story. If you don't believe me, I'll tell you the whole thing.’
They said fine, it was okay.
‘Right then,’ said Luigi, ‘tell me where Alberto is and I'll go there and I'll fight.’
They said they didn't know.
‘Doesn't matter,’ Luigi said. ‘I'll find someone to tell me. Sooner or later I'll catch up with him.’
They said he couldn't do that, he had to go and fight where they sent him, and kill whoever happened to be there. They didn't know anything about this Alberto.
‘You see,’ Luigi insisted, I really will have to tell you the story. Because that guy is a real crook and you're doing the right thing going to fight against him.’
But the others didn't want to know.
Luigi couldn't see reason: ‘Sorry, it may be all the same to you if I kill one enemy or another, but I'd be upset if I killed someone who had nothing to do with Alberto.’
The others lost their patience. One of them gave him a good talking to and explained what war was all about and how you couldn't go and kill the particular enemy you wanted to.
Luigi shrugged. ‘If that's how it is,’ he said, ‘you can count me out’
‘You're in and you're staying in,’ they shouted.
‘Forward march, one-two, one-two!’ And they sent him off to war.
Luigi wasn't happy. He'd kill people, offhand, just to see if he might get Alberto, or one of his family. They gave him a medal for every enemy he killed, but he wasn't happy. ‘If I don't kill Alberto,’ he thought, ‘I'll have killed