No, doctor, it's not about that: I would say that we have overcome the risk of anorexia. I'm here for another problem, perhaps more serious.
Sure? Look, it's not easy to get out of anorexia.
Yes, I'm pretty sure: we can get him to eat and he's regaining his strength. We discovered that he really likes panforte.
Manganelli's panforte is special.
I know, I take him there often.
Does the cigar bother you? Smoking is not allowed here, but the rules are made to be broken.
Please, go ahead: we are in your office.
Do you know what this is?
Of course, doctor: a cigar.
Not at all, miss: it's a mezzanine Buttero. Do you feel how wonderful? Peppery and woody notes, typical of the best Italian Kentucky. No other tobacco releases them. What were we saying?
I was saying that it's his mental condition that worries me. I can't say anything to my parents, they would be very scared and would force me to break up with him: it would be the end for him and I would suffer to death. I absolutely need to talk to you about this, doctor.
I listen to you.
First of all there is the problem of photophobia: correct me if I'm wrong, I think that's what it's called.
Exact.
Emmanuel is afraid of the sunlight, he says it suffocates him. During the day he always has a racing heart, I can only get him out towards the evening.
He may be suffering from an ocular pathology: have you had him examined by a specialist?
Yes, but he has nothing in his eyes. As soon as he steps out into the sunlight he is seized by bouts of anxiety and panic.
I would rather think of agoraphobia. It has all the appearance of an obsessive-compulsive disorder: in psychoanalysis it is still defined as obsessive neurosis. Have you tried anxiolytics?
Yes, doctor, but he doesn't want to take them: he doesn't want to put chemical stuff in his body anymore. Now I'm trying valerian and other natural products and it's going a little better: he comes to school wearing dark glasses and I've managed to get him to go for a few walks outdoors. The Sienese countryside is so beautiful.
Without a doubt, the most beautiful in the world.
But it seems to make him uncomfortable, I don't know why.
Maybe it brings back some memories.
It's possible, doctor, but he never talks about his past. It's as if he doesn't remember it anymore.
It's a self-defense mechanism, in certain situations it's good that it activates. You don't have to worry about it too much.
That's not all, unfortunately. Last Sunday I thought he had definitely lost his mind.
Tell me.
We were in the car on a country road: I don't know if you are aware of that very long dirt road that passes through the Creetee.
The route of the Eroica?
Yes, exactly that. At a certain point I hear dogs barking and see cars and vans stopped on the side of the road. I look down and see some guys in warning vests chasing a fox. It must have been a nursing female, she was mangy and very battered. There were seven of them, with rifles and five dogs, behind a poor terrified animal.
So what?
I wanted to leave immediately, but he pulled the handbrake, jumped out of the car and started chasing them screaming like a madman.
He did well, I hate hunters: how do you shoot a defenseless animal? Don't they still have a residue of ethical sense? Even just school reminiscences, so to speak.
Or of the catechism.
No, not the catechism: the Catholic religion doesn't care about animals.
But there is Saint Francis, doctor.
Just one. Anyway, continue.
As I was saying, he started chasing them.
And what did he tell them?
Stop, leave it alone, things like that. But they shot and killed her. Then he started shouting unrepeatable insults.
Repeat them to me.
Doctor, but if they are unrepeatable...
I'm the one asking you: and if I ask you, it means I need to know.
As you want. Bastards, sons of bitches, filthy shits. They put their hands on him and he opened his shirt and shouted, shoot me if you dare, you damn bastards. I was crying and yelling at him to stop, but he looked like he couldn't wait to get into a fight.
Is he a violent guy?
Not at all, doctor. And then, as I told you, he's not in very good shape either.
Does he smoke? Does he drink? Does he do drugs?
No, I keep a close watch on him. He doesn't like smoking, either.
Good for him, smoking is bad for your health. How did it end?
In the end I ran down too: I was hoping they would leave him alone because there was a woman involved. I grabbed his arm, but he didn't stop screaming. When he turned I jumped back in fright : his eyes were bloodshot, he was foaming at the mouth like an epileptic, he seemed possessed. And then, at a certain point...
At a certain point?
He shouted something absurd at them, doctor.
Absurd how?
He called them "disciples of Satan".
Strange insult: it has something literary, out of tune, out of context.
Indeed. Long story short, I managed to drag him to the car and apologized to the hunters. I hate them too, but I was afraid they would shoot us in the back.
They would never have done it, like the cowards that they are. Killing a person is not like shooting a fox, my dear young lady: there are rather serious criminal consequences.
I took the wheel, because he wasn't fit to drive, and I got away as quickly as possible. After a few kilometers I stopped and tried to get him to come to his senses. It took me more than an hour: he was in shock, his jaw was locked, he was sweating cold, he was shaking all over and he didn't answer my questions. His eyes were wide open, as if he were witnessing a frightening scene unfolding in his head. He wasn't with me, doctor, I don't know where he was. It was as if he identified with that fox. 
Nietzsche effect, I would say. 
Is it a serious thing?
Dear Miss, if we were to base ourselves on Darwinian parameters, all heroes, martyrs and great religious thinkers would be considered evolutionary waste products. That boy is, let's say, as healthy as Prince Myshkin could be.
Who?
The Idiot.
It's terrible.
Who can say? Maybe he is healthier than us, but totally inadequate for the real world. To be able to afford such sensitivity you need to have great strength of mind, which he doesn't have; otherwise you are like snails without shells and the ending is obvious: you will be crushed.
Do I have to worry?
I want to be frank, Miss Benvenuti: yes, you have to worry.
Oh my God...
I don't mean to create any illusions: it will be very difficult for that boy to become a normal adult, assuming he manages to survive. And with this I say goodbye, it's almost lunch time and today my wife made me hare hunter style with juniper berries.
Please, doctor, don't send me away like this: I need you, I'm desperate. I know you don't accept new patients, but I beg you, make an exception for me. Not because you know my father, of course I'm not asking you for a personal favor...
Ah, dear Benvenuti! We played bridge together when we were young.
Yes, he told me.
We were part of the Blue Team, you know? Good times. Do you play bridge?
A little, as an amateur.
You can't play bridge "a little": either you play or you don't. I suggest the charitable canasta as an alternative, it seems to me that it could be right for you.
Thank you, Doctor.
How is your father?
My father is fine and greets you. Doctor, I...
I already know everything, Miss. Your dear mother talked to me about it a few days ago: she's worried too, what do you think? We had a chat in the center of Lizza. She told me that my colleague De Martino is already taking care of him.
He's a good psychologist, but I have so much faith in you. Please.
Do you care that much about that boy?
I feel like I could kill for him, doctor.
Be careful, think about it carefully: kill "for him" or "to have him"?
Both things.
No, Miss Benvenuti, it's not the same thing at all. Allow me a question: if this guy is so full of problems, why do you want to be with him at all costs?
Well, but because I...
You are in love with him, I know. But don't think this is normal: there is nothing normal about loving in that pathological way that everyone takes for granted. Therefore, of the two, maybe he is the more sane one, given that you persist in loving a boy who you yourself consider deranged.
Doctor, I really...
Forgive my frankness, Miss, but I felt I had to tell you. Be on your guard, both from yourself and from him. As for the boy, bring him to me in a week for a consultation: I'll phone my colleague and we'll make an agreement.
Thank you infinitely, Doctor. But in the meantime what can I do?
Nothing. Indeed, one thing yes: bring the boy this box of Ambasciator Italico Tuscans and ask him what he thinks.
It will be done, doctor, even if I don't think that...
And try to make him give up his endura.
Meaning what?
Take him to Manganelli more often.