He seems a sick angel, his head leaning on the blond halo against the back of the velvet chair. He seems, that is, I seem. I am that sick angel, his reflection in the large English mirror in the antechamber. He looks at himself. I look at myself. He is trying to study philosophy, but the arrhythmic ticking of the pendulum clock exasperates him: it seems to be about to die, his rattle is unbearable. His thoughts wander outside the window whipped by the wind in this horrible May. And in the living room there is Antonia sitting on the sofa with his brother and some friends. And there is Frédéric sitting in front of her. He abandons the Aristotelian syllogism, closes the book and crosses the living room with the air of someone who is there by chance, making himself strong in the fact that after all he is in his house and no one can find fault with it. He reaches the room with the fireplace, which crackles merrily, just stoked by Teresa; despite late spring, it's cold, the excessive heat of April has been replaced by a freezing May: the climate seems to have gone crazy. He holds out his hands towards the warmth of the fire and sits down in the armchair. I turn off, he turns on the television by lowering the volume: he has deliberately left the door open to follow what is happening in the living room out of the corner of his eye. They broadcast the umpteenth rerun of Trading Places, moreover out of season: the scene of the club, not even doing it on purpose. To give the impression of being busy with something, he picks up a magazine, a sort of catalog of beautiful women and handsome men with no content. While he pretends to observe a blonde who exhibits silicon breasts through black transparencies in support of some idiotic enthymeme, on the other hand she chats with his brother's friends, all from the Val Salice, Crocetta or precollina area, except Sergio who, not by chance, follows slavishly Michael's attitude, which on closer inspection is that of all the males in the room. The girls, strictly branded, smoke and chat about women's topics. He thinks you disgust me, and he thinks it so strongly that she feels it: she turns to him with a smile and greets him as if she's only seeing him now. The others also nod at him, soon reabsorbed by the general disinterest. This is the usual attitude of adults towards him: no one wants him badly, no one loves him, they treat him with indulgence and superiority, like a strange but harmless animal. Meanwhile, they start up the usual political discourse. - How can you explain his success in Sicily? He's colluded with the mafia, it's obvious: there's only to be hoped that the magistrates will frame him. - Alex, I know that you are the son of a judge, but believe me, you are the only one who believes that Tangentopoli was a spontaneous phenomenon. The Italian judiciary no longer guarantees legal certainty. No offense, huh. - These are speculations, Maurizio: nothing has been proven. Michael calmly intervenes: - There are good reasons to believe that things are as Maurizio says: it was a controlled phenomenon. - Sorry, based on what do you say that? - It's a bit long to explain. It all starts after the Second World War, from the defeated states close to the countries of the socialist area, such as Italy. - Oh well, if you start from prehistory... - I'll be quick. These countries, under the leadership of the USA, have opted for statist and pseudo-Keynesian policies, the so-called Welfare State. There has been a huge expansion in public spending, with a corresponding increase in the so-called public debt. - Our plague. - That's what they want us to believe. In reality, public debt is physiological in a healthy state, otherwise how France could have ever built the Suez Canal, for instance? With citizens' savings? In economics the notion of the obvious has been lost, or rather they wanted to make us forget it. At the university they practically abolished Keynes, they make us study a macroscopic sequence of nonsense. - Go on. - The USA tolerated the situation, even if public spending did not concern armaments as they did, but social spending, pensions, health care, etc. In those years it was good in Italy, but we were sitting on a time bomb without knowing it. - Micky, we all know what happened with the first republic: corruption, waste, misappropriation of public money and so on and so forth. - If that's the reason, Alex, I can also add the management systems of large companies that were not very competitive and were used to living off state funding. Corruption, waste, etc.: all true, but it doesn't matter. - How does it not matter? - It's not important. The important thing is that in those years politics in Italy was in the hands of big businessmen and politicians who maneuvered social spending. With the fall of the USSR these policies also fell: from the point of view of the USA they no longer made sense, strategically we were no longer so important. - So what? - So a fake revolution had to happen that would sweep away that corrupt but statist political class. I'll make it short: in essence, an excuse had to be found to prevent public spending. Tangentopoli was this, nothing but this. That ruling class had no desire to forcefully dislodge, so the left-wing political sectors willing to support the American project took action: the joyful war machine, do you remember it? And then Mani Pulite, a left-wing judiciary, coincidentally in the same year of Maastricht. - Don't you think you're exaggerating? - I'm not exaggerating at all. People were celebrating, throwing coins at politicians, not realizing that they were celebrating their declaration of death. People can be very stupid: this is why politicians have an easy game. - And the USA? - I told you, they are responsible: the change of course was piloted by them. They are the homeland of liberalism. Hence also the single currency project, which in fact means zero monetary sovereignty and therefore guaranteed debt and Maastricht and all the rest, in short, everything that has been passed off to us as the myth of a united Europe. - Your reasoning leaks from all sides, Michael: the Knight is not from the left, but it was he who emerged from Tangentopoli. - The Knight was forced to take the field because he had lost his socialist referents, enmeshed in the bribery underworld. He has temporarily derailed the plans of the left and of his international sponsors, but it's only a matter of time: just look at the judicial fury that has been unleashed against him. Frédéric intervenes unexpectedly: - They will make it, and it will be the end of us. Michael confirms: - They will kill us with taxes and cuts under the guise of public debt. And then who knows what else they'll come up with. This, guys, just to make you understand where the real mafia is. - And then I'm sorry - Maurizio intervenes - who cares if he's a mafioso. He is the only representative character of this country dump. - Absolutely agree, Maurizio. - confirms Guido - It's enough that it serves our interests. Michael shakes his head: - I, on the other hand, don't expect anything good, Guido. Politics is a serious matter, it's not like putting together a football team or selling hams on TV. How long can he keep fooling people? And with what effects? A generation of dolts will be very easy for international mafias to govern. - Step cousins learned from us, Michael: who invented the football team, press and TV control in Italy? Only that he is better, it must be recognized. His brother is very stylish today: wearing a powder blue cashmere crew-neck sweater over a white shirt and cream corduroy pants. Despite his tendency to understatement, he is an interesting boy, even if not handsome in the classical sense; his pronounced and somewhat irregular features make him look like a young Gregory Peck. In any case, women always like the rich. A busty brunette smiles at him. Antonia doesn't even notice it. The political debate degenerates: - In his place I would have already left for the Bahamas. - We should light a candle every day to thank that he doesn't. - All the leftists want is to shovel tons of non-EU shit at us. - Yeah, the famous Kalergi plan. - Look at the crap of San Salvario, not to mention the gypsies at Falchera. - Anyway, guys, think about the intelligent choice of allies: the Northern League is all with him. - Oh well, it's not like it takes who knows what intelligence to be xenophobic. - Fuck the xenophoby: what is it, if I don't feel like getting stabbed on my way home am I xenophobic? Am I xenophobic if I don't want to pay protection money to illegal valets? And if they scratch my car, who do I go to to protest, the policemen who pretend not to see and fine me for no parking? Fuck sold, like all law enforcement agencies. - Three-quarters of the world wants us dead. - I believe it, they die of hunger. - A' la guerre comme à la guerre . What should we tell them? Please, come and kill us and we'll remove the disturbance? - By the way, do you know the latest on the Senegalese who wants to join the Lions club? He tells it: it's not funny at all. Everyone laughs, except Michael , absorbed in his thoughts, Frédéric, indecipherable as always, and Antonia, who, leaning back against the backrest, swings her right leg, crossed over so as to reveal her garter belt. Commicta lupa . Frédéric stares at the wall in front of him with a pale smile. Antonia is somehow invading his distracted senses. - Anyway, he's a genius. He has succeeded where more powerful people have failed, and all thanks to publicity. He knows Orwell by heart and applies it to the letter: everyone in this country is idiot, they don't even realize it. - If I were him, I'd close everything and leave for the Bahamas, I told you. - More than fair. Suddenly Antonia intervenes in the speech: - And why doesn't he? - I won't even answer you, it's so obvious. - What is obvious? - There are too many people who depend on him, he can't close overnight. Look at the shopping mall he just set up in Grugliasco. Alex disagrees and launches into a polemic in defense of small traders. The speech becomes too indifferent, nobody cares anymore. A series of rings is heard. Teresa appears in the doorway and announces that Signorino Michael is wanted on the phone. The young gentleman gets up to answer making a gesture to his friends as if to say I'll be right back. The brunette follows him with her eyes and he winks at her before disappearing into the next room. - By the way, Giancarlo spent a month on a cruise with his son, did you know that? Max's calendar bitch was there too. Giorgio begins to tell racy anecdotes: the girls become attentive, Frédéric gets up and starts looking out the window at the rain, with his hands in his pockets. The voice of Azzurra, the intellectual of the female group, is heard: - Guys, do we really need to talk about such topics? - Please, Azzurra, don't start again. We are not talking here more than politics. That sucks! - Why, are the stories of horns more interesting, Mariaelena? Marco launches an appeal: - Horn? Raise your hand if you're sure you don't have them. Everyone laughs and no one raises their hand. There is a frantic exchange of glances between boys and girls. Frédéric turns, leans his back against the wall and gives her a brief glance; then moves his eyes towards the fireplace room: - And you, Emmanuel? He looks around: there is no other Emmanuel. - Your girlfriend cheats on you? Several pairs of eyes rest on him. He turns off the TV. - No. - How can you be so sure? - Because I don't have a girlfriend. He gets up, leaves the room and sits down in front of me again. He trembles with rage. This time he closes the door, but the voices coming from the living room can be clearly heard. His brother is still on the phone, he can't hear. Frederic's voice: - The little brother is becoming a handsome boy, don't you think? Alex's voice: - Yes, but there's something about it that doesn't convince me. Maurizio intervenes: - Let's hear the girls. What do you think, Azzurra? - I find him insignificant. - And you, Mariaelena? - Kids are not my thing. If I have to, I prefer fifties. - Stellina? - Well, to be honest, I find him hot. He has a mouth... - Are you a lesbian, Stellina? Everyone laughs. - And you, Antonia? What about your brother-in-law? A moment of hesitation. - He's a peculiar boy. - Peculiar in what sense? - Very sensitive. - Even too much I'd say: he ran away. - It's normal, he's only sixteen. Frédéric embarrassed him in front of everyone and I would really like to know why he did it. I hear her light a cigarette. Maurizio chuckles: - At sixteen I was smarter. He looks like he still plays with dolls. - Why the dolls? - He was reading a women's magazine. A chorus of laughter. Antonia imposes herself: - That's enough, okay? - Come on Antonia, isn't it that you take your part as a sister-in-law a little too seriously? - Let's talk about something else, please. The discussion ends here, but he will never know, because he got up and shut himself up in his room. Towards evening I see him go out and go to the kitchen; he asks Teresa for a hot chocolate: she immediately prepares it for him. On his way back to the bedroom, he crosses Antonia in the wardrobe doorway, with her overcoat on her arm. - What are you doing here? You should be studying. He looks at her without saying anything. She pushes him into the wardrobe, caresses his cheek and kisses him on the forehead: - See you tomorrow at the river. Half an hour later, while his mother is looking for him for dinner, it's not easy for him to explain what he's doing sitting on the floor inside the wardrobe, rolled up in her wild mink coat.