“One day somebody decided we had to make it clear to him that the farting had to stop, or maybe he just decided to have a bit of fun at Giovanni’s expense. So, during the break, we pushed him into the toilets and pulled down his trousers. He tried to defend himself – I can still remember how his skinny arm felt in my hands, like a thin rope stretched tight, while we held him still. Then one of us, maybe the person who thought up this stunt, wet him all over with the pump that was used to wash the toilet, saying maybe that way he’d stop stinking. He started crying desperately, almost choking. We let him go; what happened next I don’t remember so well. The thing that’s remained most imprinted in my memory was how humiliated the kid was and how ashamed I was. It all came back to me when I saw him in the supermarket.”

“How come you recognized him?”

“He hasn’t changed. I know that sounds absurd, but as soon as I saw him, I knew it was him.”

“What about him? Did he recognize you?”

“I don’t think so. I kept my eye on him while he was doing his shopping and for a moment I had the mad idea of introducing myself and apologizing for that stupid prank.”154

“But you didn’t.”

“Obviously. I never do such decent things when I have the opportunity.”

“He wouldn’t have understood. He probably doesn’t even remember the episode,” I commented unconvincingly.

He shrugged and refilled our glasses. A few minutes passed in silence. There was no hurry, no impatience.

“What is it you like most about this work?” I asked after a while.

“The weird characters I meet almost every night and sometimes talk to.”

“Weird like me.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, but you’re not weird. Or rather, yes, you are, but in moderation. You wouldn’t be in first or second place. There are some really strange people who come through here.”

“I feel a bit bad about that. Who’d be in first or second place?”

“My favourite is the gay policeman, Arturo, who’s often on night shift. He loves reading, he buys a couple of books a week, he’s been writing a novel for years and has practically adopted his niece, the daughter of a cousin of his. The girl, Alice, has Down’s syndrome, is very nice and has an incredible voice. Arturo once showed me a video of her singing ‘Memory’: it took my breath away. I have to introduce you to him some time.”

“I think I met him a couple of times. Didn’t he buy a book of poetry?”