Rage by Sergio Bizzio Read Free Book Online

from
time to time), but it was obviously out of use. He took
advantage of his expedition to try the doors of the
rooms along the passage: most he found locked, others
gave onto more empty spaces, and one was employed
as a sort of loft or store in which all kinds of junk was
heaped, from old clothes to plastic bags to children's
toys.
    Getting himself up and going to take a leak was a whole
new adventure. He left the bedroom door open, just as
he'd found it, so that anyone who suddenly decided to
come upstairs wouldn't notice any difference, assuming
such a thingwere possible, and also in order to be able to listen out and have enough time to go and hide, should
it prove necessary. The principal problem arose when it
came to pulling the chain, an operation which required
a considerable amount of time; the cistern was ancient,
and the water tank located at a distance from the bowl
and inserted in the angle between the wall and the roof,
from which dangled a chain ending in a wooden handle
which he would lower an inch at a time, until the first
trickles of water began to flow downwards. These little
trickles, amounting to no more than a small leak, Maria
caught and used to wash his face, and did so with such
care than not even he could hear a sound.

    Incredibly, sometimes a drop of water would break
away from the main flow and plink on the edge of the
bowl, or else he himself might, while urinating, wet the
edge of the seat, which he would then need to cautiously
wipe clean (with a piece of paper, or with his shirt tail)
before leaving the bathroom.
    Up until Thursday night, when he decided to venture
into the kitchen, he had stayed entirely in his room,
except when making his occasional forays to the bathroom, or his one and only investigation of the attic
floor. He hadn't moved anything, nor left the slightest
trace of his presence there: every item was properly in
its place.
    His fever was so high that he spent the first few days
lying on the bed; he had put his work clothes on over
his street wear, covering himself with a pair of trousers
and even with his rucksack, but he was still shivering.
The cold weather of early spring combined with the
cold atmosphere in the house and the cold shivers of
his fever. Yet he never for an instant considered leaving
his hideout. On the contrary: he needed to stay there to
recover, and to do that he needed to find food.

    Thursday night he went downstairs to the kitchen. The
villa was arranged on four floors, and he wasn't certain
even as to how high up he was, but he reached the
kitchen far more quickly than he'd anticipated. He went
barefoot, having left his shoes in the rucksack under
the bed. Some parts of the house were in total darkness
and he could see nothing at all; other rooms admitted
moonlight from the garden through odd openings, or
else the light of the garden lamp, permanently left on,
penetrated some part of the building and allowed him
to see where he was going. Not that this left him feeling
any more secure. After all, what could he see? Nothing
but pictures, mirrors, carpets.
    The wall clock over the kitchen door showed three
o'clock in the morning. He opened the fridge: the light
hurt his eyes and made him blink. He quickly shut it
again. What would he possibly remove without Rosa
noticing something missing when she came down the
next morning? On the floor, beside the chair, he saw
a plastic bag which had split a moment beforehand,
and was still coming apart and unfolding like a flower.
He grabbed it and started opening it: it was a Disco
supermarket bag and made a frightening amount of
noise. Maria exploited the sound of a passing car to
rip it open. Then he filled the bag with some bread he
found on the sideboard, before opening the fridge door
again and helping himself to a little of everything inside
it, without paying overmuch attention to what he took.
    On turning to leave, he glanced at the clock