Free I'm Not Scared by Niccolò Ammaniti Page A

thirsty?’ I held out the bottle. ‘Drink it, it’s good.’
    He sat up without taking off the blanket. He looked like a ragged little ghost. His thin legs stuck out like two spindly white twigs. One was chained up. He put out an arm and snatched the bottle from me and, like the cheese, it vanished under the blanket.
    The ghost acquired a long anteater’s nose. He was drinking.
    He drained it in twenty seconds. And when he had finished, he even gave a burp.
    â€˜What’s your name?’ I asked him.
    He curled up again without deigning to reply.
    â€˜What’s your father’s name?’
    I waited in vain.
    â€˜My father’s name’s Pino, what’s yours? Is your father called Pino too?’
    He seemed to be asleep.
    I stood looking at him, then I said: ‘Felice! Do you know him? I saw him. He was driving down in his car …’ I didn’t know what else to say. ‘Do you want me to go? If you want I’ll go.’ Nothing. ‘All right, I’ll go.’ I grabbed the rope. ‘Goodbye, then …’
    I heard a whisper, a breath, something came out of the blanket.
    I moved closer. ‘Did you speak?’
    He whispered again.
    â€˜I don’t understand. Speak louder.’
    â€˜The little bears…!’ he shouted.
    I jumped. ‘The little bears? What do you mean, the little bears?’
    He lowered his voice. ‘The little wash-bears …’
    â€˜The little wash-bears?’
    â€˜The little wash-bears. If you leave the kitchen window open the little wash-bears come in and steal the cakes or the biscuits, depending on what you’re eating that day,’ he said very seriously. ‘If you, for example, leave the rubbish in front of the house, the little wash-bears come in the night and eat it up.’
    He was like a broken radio that had suddenly started transmitting again.
    â€˜It’s very important to shut the bucket properly, otherwise they’ll spill everything out.’
    What was he talking about? I tried to interrupt him. ‘There aren’t any bears here. Nor wolves. There are some foxes.’ And then I asked him: ‘Did you by any chance have a slice of meat yesterday?’
    â€˜The little wash-bears bite because they’re scared of humans.’
    Who the hell were these little wash-bears? And what did they wash? Clothes? Besides, bears only talk in comics. I didn’t like this little wash-bear business …
    I persisted. ‘Could you please tell me if you had a slice of meat yesterday? It’s very important.’
    And he replied: ‘The little bears told me you’re not scared of the lord of the worms.’
    A little voice in my brain was saying I mustn’t listen to him, I must run away.
    I grasped the rope, but I couldn’t bring myself to leave, I kept staring at him spellbound.
    He persisted. ‘You’re not scared of the lord of the worms.’
    â€˜The lord of the worms? Who’s he?’
    â€˜The lord of the worms says: Hey, little sap! I’m going to send down the stuff now. Take it and give me back the bucket. Otherwise I’ll come down and squash you like a worm. Yeah, squash you like a worm, I will. Are you the guardian angel?’
    â€˜What?’
    â€˜Are you the guardian angel?’
    I stammered: ‘I … I, no … I’m not the angel …’
    â€˜You are the angel. You’ve got the same voice.’
    â€˜What angel?’
    â€˜The one that talks, that says things.’
    â€˜Isn’t it the little wash-bears that talk?’ I couldn’t make any sense of these ravings. ‘You told me so …’
    â€˜The little bears talk, but sometimes they tell lies. The angel always tells the truth. You’re the guardian angel.’ He raised his voice. ‘You can tell me.’
    I felt weak. The smell of shit stopped up my mouth, my nose, my brain. ‘I’m not an angel …