The Dawn Of Sin. Valentino Grassetti

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      "Is that recorder on? Is that really necessary?"

      "Don't worry about the recorder. Just pretend it's not there."

      "Then, as I said before, after my Luca's death I couldn't find peace. I missed him. I miss him so much. I spent whole days on his grave. I sat on a picnic stool, a folding one. I'd sit

      there and talk to him. I talked about everything. School, mostly. I'd scold him for his grades. He could have given so much more, but he didn't want to study. Oh, how important school was to me, but not to him. And then I talked about the sport, the championship he couldn't see anymore. I told him about his AC Milan and the girls he really didn't care about, and what Pedra, our labrador who is like one of the family, did. When I'd finish chatting with him I'd close my chair and go home. I'd look at his photos, I'd see his films from when he was little… But that wasn't enough. Then I… I…"

      (witness starts crying)

      "Luca was his son."

      (The witness nodded without responding. She has a seizure. I want to suspend for a minute. The witness decides to continue.)

      "Sorry. It’s ok now."

      "I know it's painful. I understand. And tell me, was that when you decided to go to the medium?"

      "Yes. I don't usually believe in such things, but I missed it so much. She was 20 years old, you know? Only 20 years old. I had to hear his voice, or rather, delude myself that I could hear him, see him, touch him. I know I would offend Holy Mother Church by acting like that. I know I have sinned."

      (takes a glass of water)

      "Don't worry about that. Let's get down to business."

      "So… I'm going to the building across the street. On the fourth floor, the second door of the three, the ones facing the corridor. I enter the apartment. He takes me to a room that looks like a little chapel. The room smelled of incense. Above an altar were three lighted candlesticks and a monstrance. And the statue of the saint. A big, heavy statue, the kind you only see in churches. I was very impressed. I thought, "Where could he have gotten it?"

      "Are you talking about the statue of the patron saint?"

      "Yes. Very similar to the one they carry in the procession in winter."

      "The procession on the 24th of November. I know it. Go on."

      "The medium, Madame Geneve, as she called herself, closed the heavy velvet curtains. The room plunged into darkness. I sat with my hands resting on a dark wooden table. She was on the other side of the table. She began to call out my son's name. I felt stupid and petty at that point. How could I put my pain in that woman's hands? I knew she'd been in jail for fraud, but she lived in my neighbourhood, she was a stone's throw from my house, and the death of a child doesn't make you lucid. Yes, I was confused…"

      (pause. Start sobbing)

      "Please, you don't have to justify yourself. I'm not here to judge you."

      "Y… yes, of course. I wanted to leave, when suddenly I heard blows in the window. You know that noise that glass makes when it's hit by big hailstones?"

      "Yes, I do. Only it wasn't hail, was it? Tell me, didn't you think of a trick?"

      "I don't know what I thought. It just happened out of the blue. And then, no. It wasn't a trick. I know because when Madame Geneve moved the curtains, she screamed. She was frightened. I say, if it was a trick, what was the point of screaming in fear?"

      (nodding)

      "The ticking became louder, you could hear the noise even over the rooftops. The medium was at the window to check what was going on. The fog had lifted outside. But we still saw the coal hit the building."

      "Coal? Coal falling from the sky?"

      "That's right. Pieces of burning coal. It was banging on the tiles, on the wall. "Big and hard enough to dent the gutters."

      "How did you react? Did you get scared?"

      "Look, it's funny to say, but I was calm. An unusual calm. In fact, I was almost happy. I had deluded myself that it was a signal from my son. I was certain of it. But the psychic was terrified. I found myself calming her because Luca was there. He was there with me. And it was because of her. But she said it had nothing to do with what was happening. All she had to do was read me the papers, or something, she said.

      Like all the other bums, she was shuffling holy with the layman. Then the window suddenly opened wide. Pieces of coal fell into the room and hit the medium. The poor thing fell to the floor and lost a slipper.

      I don't know why the slipper stuck me. But it was all a blur at that point. Everything else, except the slipper that stuck to the carpet, is vague. I remember the table hit by the burning coal, the carpet that started to catch fire. It almost seemed as if that rain was hitting us as if to get us out of that place.

      A sort of warning coming from the sky. I tried to escape but the door was closed and wouldn't open. I was hit by some kind of fire. I got scalded and bruised. The blows hurt. Well, I don't know if what I saw was real. I just know that I wasn't calm or happy anymore. At that moment, I felt a dark and evil presence. I was terrified. I screamed. I realized no, it couldn't be my son. The last thing I remember was the statue of the patron saint. It was made of marble, very heavy, at least that's what it looked like to me. Before I fainted, I saw the statue fall. Madame Geneve was on her knees, hit on her back by large pieces of coal, but unable to find her slipper.With all that was going on, she was thinking about that shoe. I understood that she was trying to escape from that malignant reality by diverting it to simple, banal thoughts. What would be the point of fixing on a stupid wool slipper? That's when the statue fell on her and hit her on the back of the head. The poor woman's eyes turned to stare at the ceiling, the white of the sclera glittering in the light of the

      fire. A bloodstain came out of her head, spreading across the carpet. Then darkness. They found me an hour later at the bus stop. I don't know how I got there. I hoped I'd imagined it all. I thought the stress of losing my son, the medication I was taking to withstand pain that can't be explained, was causing the hallucinations. I held on unnecessarily to that hope. The night the police arrived in the neighbourhood. Madame Geneve had been found dead. Everyone thinks it was a murder. But I know what happened. It was something bad that killed her. The same thing that killed my son."

      (witness begins crying again)

      "Why didn't you go straight to the police?"

      "Because I was afraid! I couldn't tell them СКАЧАТЬ