A story by Sudas
P. has a large univalve shell, a gastropod, that he carries on his back.
Its colours are brown, stagnant-water green, and ochre; a chip in it reveals deep layers of mother-of-pearl: light diffracts into rainbow colours.
P. moves almost with some difficulty because of that shell on his back.
Yesterday, in a bar, I felt the eyes of the other customers on me. It’s understandable, I say to myself, because they have never seen a hermit crab. Or maybe it’s envy: I know where to hide when I don’t want to be seen or see; when I want to avoid the lure of television with all its attractions: Netanyahu, Mossad, Trump, Sgarbi, Hamas, Benigni, Meloni, the Pope, the atomic bomb, drones, Musk, migrants, Botox, Armani’s funeral, Valentino’s, ‘in final analysis it can be inferred that…’, LGBT, hyaluronic acid, the traditional family, Russia, war, monkeys bred at home, the gorilla giving birth, Sanremo, Cannes, talk-show psychologists.
When I curl up in there, it’s just me and the sound of the sea!
Of course, on the bus it’s decidedly awkward, with all these people already furious about students’ backpacks – imagine what they make of a mature man’s shell.
That shell really comes into its own when a jealous girlfriend tracks you down to give you a thrashing – metaphorically speaking, or not only.
xx
A few days ago I was outside Porta Nuova, Turin’s main train station, and N., my pathologically jealous girlfriend, caught me French-kissing into a blonde’s ear. I tried to explain that she was only a friend. No use. My girlfriend started punching me. In a split second I was inside my mother-of-pearl refuge.
Picture the scene: a white woman – white in the sense that she’s deathly pale because she hates the sun – dressed in purple, with red hair, in the middle of the traffic, punching a gastropod.
How did it end?
Two civich (that’s how we call our municipal police officers in Piedmontese) intervened and restrained the girlfriend. They took her aside and offered her a bicerin on a bench. Bicerin is a delicious drink made with chocolate, coffee, and cream; it’s advisable not to stir the ingredients but to wait for them to blend together by themselves.
The two officers seemed persuasive enough and she, resigned, went back home.
I, too, returned to mine, reeling with a massive headache.
I’ll have to finally make up my mind and leave her, that madwoman.
After a good night’s sleep, and a good stretch, I went to shave, and… bloody hell, what a surprise!
Images by Sudas (Sandro Beltramo)
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