Multiplying Report 1

MULTIPLYING REPORT

The first day

The sensation that clay spread on the face can give is nothing short of sublime; it penetrates every pore of your skin, and little by little dries every millimetre of the epidermis. At first the sensation is one of absolute coolness, then little by little it becomes an almost annoying state; and you cannot wait to be able to wash it off your face. Seeking satisfaction in these shadows becomes almost a sadomasochistic relationship problem, because the wish to rise from this situation is as great as that of wanting to remain in it. But the skin is by now about to be stretched to the maximum of its tension; of course as a child being able to get plastered like this would have been great fun, especially in coming home astounding one's mother.

There was not much time to understand that the journey, in its logistical details, had by now been organised; the ferry had been booked, the bicycle had set off in good time; only the packing remained to be done — alas, deciding what one was prepared to leave behind — and lastly taking the train to La Spezia and setting off, leaving behind oneself every problem or memory. The white ship that carried us toward the "Corsican Finger" had by now set off. It was lovely to let oneself be kissed by the sun and caressed by the wind. If you closed your eyes you could imagine at your side a graceful maiden. This stretch of the journey was already known to me; for this reason I decided to begin it from here. I already knew that when we landed at Bastia I could go and sleep in that usual campsite by the sea. Then the next day I could begin my escape toward the other end of Corsica.

The scene I was living, seated at the table of the campsite pizzeria, on one hand captivated my curiosity, on the other caused me a certain fear. At the table opposite sat two lads of about thirty, and from their manner they seemed to be enjoying themselves quite a bit. Their ways amply reflected that kind of person whom I consider without feeling, that kind who sooner or later will ask you for something, right at the moment you least expect it; they will ask you for a cigarette, or else to advance them the price of their drink, which naturally the next day they will give you back in full, even though it is clear there will be no next meeting. Their lack of feeling lies precisely in not recognising this fact in themselves, precisely the better to rob the other of his feeling, and then be able to flee without running.

And they know they will not be able to stop at any station, because every stop would at once be burnt by their own inability to live; it is impossible to manage to meet their gaze, because if that happened you would read in their eyes all the desperation that accompanies them. The girl who was with them was about to join them at the table, but very explicitly they make her understand that her presence was not very welcome, while the evening before, in the sultry intimacy of the tent of one of the two, things were probably quite different.

But that was another evening; probably her presence would be prized more later; she, undaunted, pretended not to understand, so, passing by the bar, she returns a few minutes later with her drink, which she sets down on their table; promptly one of the two, disturbed by this misunderstanding of the previous message, takes the glass from her hand and pours its contents into the hydrangea pot. She at that point, bewildered by the thing, but I would say also used to these public scenes, looks around searching for a possible ally, and at first she is convinced she finds one in the barman, whose only complicity lies in pouring her another drink into the empty glass. Proud of this conquest of hers, she strolls in the outdoor area, seeking among the few guests — I believe I was the only one besides the two and the barman — the possible company for the evening.

She asks me in a probable German whether she can join my table; I answer rather detachedly, but affirmatively. After about five minutes of useless French we discover that it is useless to continue this sad relationship. Probably had what my eyes had seen not happened, I would have been much more willing to exchange a few words with her, even in that useless French.... But I believe that would never have happened. The emptiness of my tent filled almost by enchantment with murky ghosts; the pizza eaten three hours earlier did nothing but accentuate my thirst. In the tents around me one could make love without fear of being seen, but the fear of the next day was enormous, and here with me there was no one to be able to prove himself brave. There we were, she and I alone; the rest around us could only serve us.

From the shore of the sea I deluded myself that I could make out the lights of the Tuscan coast; instead only the few glimmers of the fishing boats; I kept walking and listening to the sea. The girl's cries kept breaking my silence, but in the end she would quieten down. Sleep brought me back to the tent.

The second day

The next day the alarm clock made me happy; the dawn in that place came from the Italian mainland, it brought me a smile familiar to me. I could think of those smiling and tiring Tuscan hills that had seen me several times involved, wrapping me in themselves. When I began my walk the sun had by then counted ten, and I greatly hoped it would be clement. In an hour of walking I was already counting my good twenty kilometres, which, for the load I was carrying with me, was a considerable distance, but little by little I noticed my average dropping. Little by little as I sweated my energies seemed almost to regenerate, not so much in power, but above all in the wish to keep sweating.

That stretch of road was a friend to me; on my right, without having to deviate too much, I see some children playing near a farmhouse; with my ever more confident French I ask them to offer me some water; they seem very happy with my request and bring me something to drink; I have not much to say to them, nor anything to tell. On another occasion I would have stayed longer with them and would surely have devised a way to seduce their attention. The landscape I was passing through stirred no emotion in me; everything was too flat. When the sun had by then set, I found myself in the shack of the campsite office counting the few francs I had at my disposal. A swim in the sea refreshed the tiredness of my body.

I looked, seated in front of my tent, in the hope of a furtive smile; almost opposite me the family of Roberto was camped; she was very beautiful, they too were on bicycles; their wine, even if not good, was important; we spent the whole evening planning a future meeting.

The third day

The next morning I greeted them; who knows whether we will see each other again. That stretch of coast, as far as I remembered, would have reserved me a slight climb. The morning was splendid; finally from the coast the rocks began to clamber up. In the small moments of descent the light breeze that caressed your face carried with it that marvellous scent of salt air. From there on my true journey began. What had happened until now I already knew; what from there on may happen will be well welcomed by me. (continues....)