Scents of my Memories, Pasquale Ferro

Scents of my Memories

The diary

It is not easy for me to open the door to all my memories, especially since they are so

painful. It seems that nowadays people have lost their sense of historical memory and in

their talk I do not capture any allusions to persons or events that have negatively affected

this world, so much so in fact, that should someone come along who really wanted to

make a difference, they would find themselves alone with no help from anyone. No help

to understand how much filth is out there, far away from the living rooms of the middle-

class inhabited by persons who, by day and night, drop their posh accents and snobbish

ways and attack defenseless young children, dazzled by the luxury that is denied them.

No help to understand, if indeed there is still a desire to understand, how selfish the

human soul is, ever ready to annihilate the innocence of childhood, the most beautiful

years of the poor children of the street, ever ready to mark them violently for the rest of

their lives. These are the same men who, in the evening, before bed, remind their own

children to stay away from strangers because the world is evil. Reminding them not to

hang around rascals because they are ill-bred and violent: qualities that they probably

seek out themselves when they drive around in their expensive car looking for prey:

exploiting children that are often easily bribed with a much-wanted sweet (left-over from

some restaurant) rather than the plate of beans waiting for them back home. This has

been Pasquale’s life. It is strange for me to conceptualize it in this way, but he is

nevertheless a man to be admired. He has always fought alone against the world;

sometimes making his dreams come true, sometimes setting himself free of the misery

and the violence, but always managing to follow his path. This journey is for all those

who have no misgivings about what they have done, who have never wanted for

anything, who have never had to sweat and who have spat on the gifts that life has

bestowed them, without gratitude. This journey is for all those who do not have the

courage to accept themselves as they are and who waste their lives making those closest

to them suffer the most. This journey is also for those who keep their consciences clear

by making charitable donations to television programmers but who would never shake the

hand of a tramp, or even worst, who would never ask themselves what effect taking a

young child into a dark comer and using their bodies for pleasure, could have on them.

They will be the first to condemn this book as ‘trash’, and to dismiss it as ugly and

gratuitous. But, and if only for a split second, it will move their dirty conscience, then it

will have been worthwhile to have brought to light all this pain. All the suffering will not

have been in vain. And so once more, Pasquale’s life will not have been futile, neither for

him, nor for us.

 

 

Miriam

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Preface

 

this text is none other than the diary of a victim of child abuse. I speak the truth that my

body has experienced. I have tried not to be cruel to those who have abused my body

either violently or for pleasure: yet it is all true.

I have left out many incidences, not because I was not brave enough but simply because I

do not see myself as a “pover’ omme”, poor man as we say in Naples, but rather as an

accomplice in my own suffering for having let certain things happen, without stopping

them, without talking about them.

Certainly, I was at a very young age and my conscience was not yet formed and I did not

always know that certain things should not have been done to me.

I have tried to use mild words though at certain moments in my writing, seized by a

certain painful memory, I have recorded my true emotions on paper, the squalor and the

violence.

I have written this piece straight off with no corrections or revisions. I do not have the

skills of a creative writer but I have written a simple and accessible story. As a

consequence of my writing for the theatre I realize that my methods may differ from that

of a classic novel, and yet I must have my say!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He used to penetrate my flesh. He would enter the depths of my darkness and make me

touch his cock with my little baby hands until strong spurts of come would shoot out like

lightning  bolts out of the opening of his penis, so full of throbbing nerves. Someone

would be knocking loudly at the door and he would fretfully lift his trousers up, clean up

the floor; it would be his sister at the door and she smelt strongly of lavender.

 

 

I was only four yews old, he was twenty-five.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I go on a lot of walks. I love to walk and think of everything and everyone, and all too

often I am not sure what direction I have been moving in, whether I have gone past this

place or that, Once in a while. I stop and ask myself “Addo’stongo?. . .where am I?”  I do

not find this peculiar, in fact I enjoy it. It is wonderful sometimes to detach oneself from

this earth and fly. It has always been my dream; to fly. Yesterday, in my flight across

the streets, I smelt a strong smell of soap, varnish, creolin, all mixed up and yet distinct.

After asking myself “where am I?” I stopped and looked around me. I was on the ‘Ponte

di Casanova’, the place where I was born. My eyes, my mind and my memories had all

brought me back to a ground floor flat, half shut by a small door with two shutters. I

tried to glance inside but could see nothing, just…just the peeling ceiling. I could tell

however that the room was no more that three meters square. I could not help but ask

myself, faced with those dark three meters “how did we manage? . . .How did we

manage?” Indeed, how did eight children, my father and my mother manage? My

thoughts were running at a thousand miles an hour and I could not make sense of them

fast enough as I went through my memories of when I was four till now that I am forty

three. I swung from the happy times to the violent ones. All mixed up. I had opened a

box and the wind had scattered the contents away. Everything escapes you, years, names,

and places. I decided then to connect the odors to the memories. In this way I hoped to

remember everything and everyone.

 

For me, every human being should be allowed all experiences. when I think back to the

stories behind these odors, I believe that I, as a child, have never been allowed to live

my childhood experiences. The only time of the year when I felt like a child was the

days of the “Befana.”* Usually, there was no time to play, no matter how badly I wanted

to. Afterwards, in puberty, I would get together with men who were older than I, more

mature so that I could pretend I was a child again. Soon enough though, I would discover

that they too were on the lookout for a father figure and so I would find myself, once

again, making decisions, pretending to be a man and a father to my lovers, I, who as a

young boy had never played with toy guns and could not, cannot even now, live up to my

age. And so I would become hot-tempered, cruel, nasty, just like a father. I would

humiliate my lovers and reproach them as a father would. The angrier I got, the more

they loved me. The roles I took on became more complicated, like some perverse game.

I would change my moods suddenly and become infantile, capricious, and they would

cuddle me to rid me of my sulkiness, only so that l could return to them ready to caress

them and order them about again. l would like to tell my story in stages. I will try to tell

it in order, I will try to describe to you the odors that attach themselves to my

memories.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*The “Befana” is a traditional Italian celebration at Christmastime. The Befana, or kind witch, brings children toys on the Twelfth Night.

THE STENCH OF VIOLENCE

 

The room in which I was born was about three meters square. In these three meters there

was a double bed, two chests of drawers on either side and a desk. We had two

entrances, one led out into a courtyard and the other into the street. The kitchen and the

bathroom were in the basement. All ten of us slept in that double bed. The drawers on

the chest were left open during the night; and if any of us fell off the bed we would end

up there. When my mother and father made love they would urge us to make the

‘montone.’ The ‘montone’ consisted of us throwing ourselves onto each other forming a

kind of human mountain made up of feet, hands and bodies. Under this mountain my

mother and father brought other children into the world that only made our little

mountain taller and taller. To be honest, I do not remember my parents’ features very

well. Yet the line of men that initiated me, that taught me all I know, yes, their faces I

remember well! Like that gentleman for example, a gentleman who let me into his house

because he liked me and liked to have me around, and certainly because he pitied me a

little. He had a beautiful flat, on the ground floor. He used to treat me like a son; he

would look after me, buy me clothes against his wife’s wishes, who was not happy with

this little ‘adoption’. However, after a while, even she gave in and began to like me. Near

this couple’s house lived a mother and her three children; a daughter and two sons. One

of these, Sandro ( a fictional name), would often ask me to spend some time with him.

He would take me in his arms and after making me sit on his thighs, he would cuddle me

and show me a drawing he had made just for me. Then, he would take my little hands

and put them on the fly of his trousers. I would wait for Sandro at the foot of the stairs

every day. He would come back from work and I would be there, ears alert, waiting to

hear his whistle informing me of his arrival. As soon as he would see me he would smile,

smi1e and then quickly take me to his room where he would make me pull down my

trousers…he would penetrate my flesh and enter the depths of my darkness and make

me touch his cock with my little baby hands until strong spurts of come would shoot out

like lightening bolts out of the opening of his penis, so full of throbbing nerves. Someone

would be knocking loudly at the door and he would fretfully lift his trousers up, clean up

the floor; it would be his sister at the door and she smelt strongly of lavender. I was only

four years old, he was twenty-five.

 

I do not know why I kept silent. Even when we were found out by the doorwoman and

she and my ‘adoptive’ parent harassed me with questions I would not tell. I denied

everything and I got away with it because she had not seen everything . That day, Sandro

was trying to penetrate me but because I was quite small it was proving to be a little

difficult. Sweaty and excited as he was to have me, he was quite surprised to hear a

knock at the door. Like the previous times, Sandro quickly put everthing in order but

the doorwoman (I cannot remember the particular details) noticed that something was not

quite right. She wanted to know what had been going on. I told her that nothing had

been going on, that there was nothing to find out. And if had spoken, I wonder what I

would have told her. I would have had to tell her that even her twenty-year-old nephew

would make me masturbate him every time that he came to visit her. I would have had

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

to tell her that he and his brother once took me to the cinema to see a “Totò”* film and

while we watched he took my hand and put it on his cock. On our way out, the brother

noticed Sandro’s wet trousers. He asked him what had happened. His response was a

smile and the brother laughed. I just stared into space. I met Sandro again when I was

fourteen. I had gone to say goodbye to the lady that had helped me so much in those

days . We were seated opposite each other and I stared into his eyes, a challenging stare

yet full of desire, but he avoided my look. He left the room quickly, as usual, and left

behind him the whiff of diesel. He was working as a mechanic and in the meantime, had

got married and had three children. As soon as he ran out I wondered if he did to his

chi1dren what he had done to me.

 

I never saw him again though I remember the whiff of diesel.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*Totò is a well-known Italian actor.

THE STENCH OF DEPORTATION

 

My unhappiness ensured that odors would infuse my memories, like the stench of poor

People’s food: beans. Eaten every once in a while they can be tasty, But every day!

With a kilo of pasta and a kilo of beans, the ten us would sit down to a meal. I cannot

always remember what we used to eat. I probably do not want to remember.

 

We used to gaze at pastries in the sweet shop window. Once, I stole One. But the pastry

cook caught me and propped me up on tabletop. He pulled down my shorts and

threatened to cut off my little penis with a knife. I managed to run away but I later found

him in our house, he and my mother hollering at each other because he insisted on getting

paid.

 

My mother. Recently I saw a photo of her and my father. I felt an infinite tenderness

towards her. She was thin, so thin she looked like a broomstick with lots of hair. Beside

her was my father who looked even thinner thm she did, so thin he resembled a sick

sparrow. The very last thing that I remember about my father was a talk we had had in

the kitchen of the council house. We had sat across from each other and he had looked at

me and ran his fingers through his hair and said “My boy! I know what you are.. .I know

that you are…” My father tried to say “homosexual”, but so as not to hurt me, in his

own little way, but he could not bring him self to say that word. “I can understand it and

accept it. The only thing that I ask of you is that you do not ever come home dressed as a

woman. You know how it is, you have lots of sisters and people cm be ignorant gossips

at times. No one would ever marry a girl whose brother was, you know…leaning in that direction”.

 

I was dumbstruck. Yes, I, who had always had the last say, could not even manage a

come back. I regret it to this day. Twenty years have gone by yet every time I remember

those words my eyes brim over with tears, I wish I had reassured him and told him that I

was happy with who l was, with what I had made of my life. I could have told him that

my boyfriend loved me mad that I meant the world to him, if I asked for the moon he

Would be sure to bring it to me. Yes, I could have reassured him, I should have reassured

him since his words were filled with such care and concern for me, not for my sister or

what the neighbors thought, but for me. For my life, a life of solitude that he imagined

was inevitable. My father had always been the head of the family surrounded by

children, in-laws, grandchildren, and imagined me an old man on my own with no one to

look are me, I wanted to reassure him that I would never remain alone; that I had my

life, my body, my imagination and that I adored them all. I, a young man in his twenties,

beautiful and secure in what I was and what I was not, secure in self-knowledge. And yet

I told him nothing.

 

Let us return to the moment of depodation. We were told that we had to move from our

ground floor flat. The city council had assigned us a house in a council tenancy in the

suburbs. I cannot imagine where they found the money but my parents managed to rent a

little carriage in which they could move their few possessions and us children. My

mother washed us from head to toe for the grand occasion and made us wear matching

coats and shots, The journey from Ponte di Casanova over to our new home was filled

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

with our laughter and screams of glee. Finally, we were there. The house was much

larger than our previous one. To us, it seemed as large as a palace. It was so large that

our possessions quickly disappeared into the vast space. All we had brought with us were

our matching shorts and coats and dust, a lot of dust. That first night we slept on the

floor amongst the smell of the dust.

 

And the smell of emptiness.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THE ODOUR OF MISERY

 

When I use the words “misery” and “hunger” please do not think that I us them out of a

sense of self-pity. These words and these odors, this life, has taught me to look are

and defend myself. They have taught me not to allow myself to be overcome by the

opinions of others. Every time I have met someone who has tried to humiliate or

undermine me with their false sense of culture, using it as a weapon to annihilate me, I

have always replied with the eternal spark of my Neapolitan sharpness. It was the most

effective way to disarm people of their imaginary weapons and it always worked. I can

still remember the figure of my father with his side parting and his bus-conductor’s hat

and us children waving at him from the balcony, smiling and happy. Yes, he was a bus

conductor. Meanwhile, we had stopped playing “montagnetta” but little brothers and

sisters continued to be born and our problems loomed larger as our family grew. We

managed to furnish our house with some old furniture and some second-hand mattresses

and whatever else was of no more use to our relatives. Our house consisted of a room for

“making children” in, another little bedroom, a kitchen, two bathrooms and a living room

of sorts; a poor palace for poor kings. My school years are the ones that I have tired

hardest to forget. It was the time when I was forced to meet other children, My pen used

to seem very heavy in my hand and it took great effort to write; then there was that time

when I went to school in tights because we could not afford trousers. How the children

laughed and made fun of me. Children, in their innocence, can be very cruel. Once my

primary school years were over however, I asked my parents if I could continue with my

education. My father realized that I was serious and took me to a monastery that ran a

school. I remember we had left at dawn and once we had reached that place we came

across a beautiful church. While we where waiting to be seen a young man, a guest of

the monastery, with a shaved head and searching eyes, while looking all around him

continually, implored my father to take me away from that place because he had heard

that horrible things took place there. At that moment the monk cane back and took my

father aside. I could not hear what words they exchanged but they parted company

coldly.

 

On the train home my father explained to me that the monk had demoded too much

money from him; two hundred thousand lire every month, more than his monthly salary,

amongst other absurd expenses. I rested my head on my wooden suitcase md while I

pretended to fall asleep, I heard my parents talking about what a shit the monk had been

whilst cursing the church and all it stood for.

 

 

Meanwhile, I thought about all the things that I could have achieved had I been allowed

to continue with my education. That was the first time that I smelt the stink of defeat.

The first.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THE ODOUR OF KNOWLEDGE

 

l would like to tell you of the thirty years of my life. Thirty years of experience. It seems

a little difficult because I find myself constantly in the process of learning and

understanding. If I let my imagination run wild I could describe my experiences in poetic

harmony, but knowledge is not gathered at school desks. All that I have learnt and

understood has been through public toilets, alleyways, dark and squalid side streets, yes!

These have replaced my school desks, my books and my homework. No one had ever

taken me to the beach or to some romantic place, but anyway, let’s take things in order.

 

After I found out that I would not be going to school I immediately took up some work.

My first job was at a little restaurant, sewing tables. It was my first real contact with the

they made me feel embarrassed and intimidated, but, at the same time, they upset me and

adult world. The looks and comments that I received I will remember forever because

took me back to the incidents that I had lived through in those f1rst ten years of my

childhood. Returning to those looks today in my memories, I ask myself, “Why did those

men look at me in that way? As though I were a girl. I was just a child , I was a child!” I

remember those men well, ignorant, petty men, their breath reeking of wine, belching at

the table and then dissolving into laughter. All this used to repulse me, but at the same I

remained fascinated. In the evenings after work I would walk towards the bus stop where

I would wait for the bus home. Right next to the bus stop was a public urinal made of

steel. Around the urinal there always seemed to be a lot of commotion, movements that I

recognize today but that meant nothing to me then. One evening, it was raining heavily

and I could see no movements coming from the urinal. Curious, I went to see what it was

like. It was very humid and reeked of urine. I stayed there for a while staring at the

walls. Unexpectedly, a man walked in, looked at me, and after giving me a smile, came

closer to use the urinal. I did the same and found myself close to him. He continued to

smile at me and began to touch himself in ways that seemed strange to me, until his thing

began to get thicker and thicker. I watched as though in a trance and could not seem to

move my eyes away. Suddenly, he finished masturbating and put away his thing, zipped

up his trouser fly and left, leaving me with my eyes open wide, so dazed that I had not

even noticed that someone else had already walked in. I left the urinal and went back to

the bus Stop, unable to see or distinguish all the buses that went by. All I could see in my

minds eye was that knowing smile and that man’s enounous cock. The rain had by now

soaked through to my skin and my bones. I went back home and was sick with fever for

a week and was forced to give up work. When I finally retuned to the restaurmt I

realized that I was no longer intrigued by those men and could not wait till closing time.

I could think of nothing else but that urinal at the bus stop. As soon as work was finished

I would run to the stop, my eyes fixed on that urinal. But he never came. A week went

by and I waited for him in vain. One evening, while I was remembering that strange

incident, I did not notice a car that had pulled up nearby. The sound of the hom finally

woke me up from my thoughts md as I came nearer to the car I realized that it was him.

Him! “Are you waiting for the bus?” he asked, with a knowing look, a look that reminded

me of when I had stolen a pastry at the age of four from that bastard of a shopkeeper. “I

can give you a lift to wherever you need to go”. I got into the car without saying a word.

He started asking me a load of questions. I just answered with a yes or a no without

taking my eyes off my shoes. Unexpectedly I felt his hands on my trousers and after

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

having unbuttoned them he took out my little cock and starting touching me, all the while

asking me if I was enjoying it. I said yes but in fact it just made me really want to piss,

which I did. He continued to touch me as I pissed on his hand. Those smiles and rides in

the car and him touching me went on for many months after that. However, I decided to

change jobs. In that time however I had learnt to tease these men, I had learnt how to

make them feel guilty over their desires and pleasures. The more they wanted to use me,

just a litt1e child, the more guilty they felt, and the more guilty they felt, the more

pleasure they got out of it. And I? I had become a little monster. I remember this taxi

that I once rode in. I asked the taxi driver to call me Antonio, or Angelo ( I cannot

remember any more) and to meet me by this building that had two entrances. The next

day, I hid and watched to see if he would come. He did come and he did wait. After a

while he stopped looking for me and I got angry. The next time I met him I hurled

abusive words at him and accused him of being fickle and he apologized over and over

again yet for the entire evening I sulked and did not speak a word. When he got out of

the car to by, me some sweets, thinking I would like this, I ran away.

 

I never saw him again. Maybe he was afraid of me, of the problems I could have caused

him. He must have understood that I was a little terror and could probably cause him

some trouble. I had become dangerous. How did they get a child into their cars? They

all used the same method. On the first evening they would do a lot of talking. Lots and

lots of questions, and always the same ones. I would always give the same replies.

Sometimes I wondered whether they all knew each other because the questions would

seem so similar from one day to the next. None of them ever asked me to keep their

secret, as though they instinctively knew that they could trust me.

 

They knew that that they could count on my keeping quiet. They were sure of my

complicity. I have known so many of them. I remember one guy, well dressed and well

mannered but who used the same method as the others. Once we arrived at the

designated place (these places were usually dark and well hidden like a graveyard, the

airport or a country road) he asked me “Do you want it or do you want to give it to me?”

I could not understand what he meant. With the others there had never been a choice.

We would always fool around using our hands and I would pretend to try and pleasure

them while they earnestly tried to pleasure me. He said nothing more but took off my

trousers and underwear, lifted my legs and tried to penetrate me. “You’re hurting me!” I

screamed. But he kept pushing, squeezing my legs with his thick hands. While he

pushed he sweated and panted. Suddenly, he let go of me and got out of the car. It was

only then that I noticed that although his cock was still thick it was now flaccid. He

wasn’t like the other men that gave me rides. He stood outside the care and, smiling,

started to stroke his soft penis. After that he took me back home. I was wet between my

legs and felt very upset. I could not understand what had happened.

 

I sat at the dinner table, silent and thoughtful. As usual, no one had noticed me or my

silence. Fourteen of us around the table and a hundred problems to resolve: how could

they ever notice the thoughts of a young child who invented games that would dive men

wild with pleasure? I have often asked myself whether they were the monsters instead of

me, I have never been able to give myself an honest answer.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I have just remembered our family dining room table. It was a very large round table.

Whoever got home first would take a seat and, after asking someone else to move over,

would sit down for dinner. There was a constant sound of chairs scraping, dinner plates

and utensils followed by other plates and utensils. It was easy enough, after sitting on

every chair around the table, to find yourself at the point where you had started off. One

of the last men to give me a ride in his car was this very young man. He would not talk

to me until he had found a place to stop so I would reject every place that he proposed we

stopped. I made him drive around for quite a while till he suddenly stopped by a meadow

near some council houses. There was a couple of minutes of silence. I placed my head

near the window, looking out towards nothing. Unexpectedly he gabbed me by the nape

of the neck and Put my head between his legs. His cock was in my mouth and I thought I

would suffocate, and while crying I tired to release myself. But his strong hand held my

head firmly and it was all over in a few minutes, He then quickly made me get out of his

car. On my way back home I could smell his hot raw flesh* That evening I found myself

going round the dining table smelling the smell of raw flesh…hot raw flesh.

 

I don’t remember why I left my job at the restaurant but I took another one as a waiter at

a bar. My job consisted of providing the nearby offices and shops with coffee. I always

managed to fall in love with someone. The owner, the barman, one of the customers. I

went for three years without my sexual encounters though. I had soon begun to realize

that something was wrong with me. once, the girl at the till where I was working put her

tongue in my mouth. I liked that a lot but was very conscious of being more attracted to

men. Everything upset me in those days, thoughts that were too much and too painful for

a young boy. Thoughts like “who am I? Why?” would run through my mind and I

continued to ask myself these questions for a long time. I think I was going through what

is called an identity crisis.

 

Too many confusions and uncertainties brought me to the brink of suicide. To this day I

am not sure whether I tied to commit suicide in order to make myself noticed, to make

people take note of my desperation. Maybe I did it because I was trying to find the

answers to the huge questions that I had asked, questions that were too difficult for a

child who has known poverty and violence. My attempt at suicide was a cry for help, a

need to communicate my troubles. I could not talk about them for fear that I would not

be understood, for fear that it would cause further problems and further questions,

interrogation. I would then have been watched over, spied on as though I were four

years old. And so, I made that sad decision. I still remember it, it was a Sunday

morning. I woke up, and after taking a bath, I took a handful of pills that my mother kept

in a shoebox. I took the bus and went to my grandmother’s. I was so dazed that I do not

know how I made it to the house. The last thing I remember were the hundreds of

questions that my parents asked me, then nothing. I woke up in the emergency room. I

found out that I had been there for days. All I remember of that time was my father

looking at me through a glass Pane. No one was to come to see me during my

hospitalization. I was very angry at myself. As soon as I was back home, the question

returned once again. I was in the middle of these questions that were being f1red at me

but no one paid my special attention to me. I wanted to scream out that I had done this

because I needed someone’s help. But I said nothing to anyone.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I went back to work, and, not knowing what to do, continued to torment myself. Finally,

I wrote to a newspaper. It was one of those newspapers with an advice column.

Motivated by an intense need to share my problems with someone, I wrote this letter:

“Dear Sir, I m a very young man and I have this problem: when I see a man looking at

me in a certain way, or when I see a man naked in certain magazines I get excited. Yet I

am upset by this. I would like to know, plainly, whether or not I am gay and whether

there is a cure. Please do not use complicated words in your reply.” A month later the

response was published in the paper. It was not diff1cult to decipher what had been

written. I re-read that message a thousand times over. The message read, simply,

“You are a homosexual and there is no cure; end of story”. I was astonished, dazed. Is it

possible that these idiots gave advice to people, is it possible that they wrote thousands of

words of advice, advice to women who had argued with their husbands because they did

not want their wives to wear miniskirts and were now wondering whether to get a

divorce? Did these people give advice to men who had gone off their wives sexually?

Did this “magnificent” journalist roll up his sleeves and spread his knowledge, his empty

replies emanating from his learned mind. He should not have written such a cruel and

empty response to a young boy. “You are a homosexual and there is no cure: end of

story. “Thirty years ago it occurred to me that that newspaper was really stupid, and I still

think so. Twenty years after that reply, I found myself reading it again; under a

photograph of myself that had recently been printed. I was at a gay camp- site and in this

specific photo my arms were around a transvestite. I read the article and was even more

convinced that that newspaper should have been burnt down, sent to the pyre together

with the rest of its writing.

 

A young boy who reads a response so clinical and forceful, would feel at that specific

moment that he were dying. I however had a strange reac6on. Firstly, I was ecstatic that

someone had replied to my letter. Ecstatic that someone had replied to a young boy in

some unknown town. After that, I got over my anger and delusions and thought to

I “Right, what are you going to do? This is the way things stand. Are you going to

move on ahead in yow life or not?” At the time I was working at a construction site, a

great monotonous site. I took the newspaper, rolled it up and tucked it under my arm.

“Ah, yes,” I said to myself “I still have a lot to do!” I left the construction site feeling a

strange type of happiness among the smell of the concrete and dust that has remained

with me for many years. End of story. Fourteen years old. I was already teenager. I

had come for the f1rst time in the toilet of a butcher’s were I had worked. I wm a *y

who wanted, like everyone else, to dress well, travel and meet people. I wanted

everything that I had not had as a child and seeing how things came to everyone else so

easily saddened me, I started familiarizing myself with culture and Knowledge, Someone

offered me a job at Marina di Massa together with some older guys to sell coconuts by

the beach. I learnt vulgar new words and gestures that were sometimes embarrassing in

their obviousness. But even this was put to some good Use.

 

The work consisted of waking up early in the morning, having a measly breakfast and

then off to the beach to sell coconuts under large umbrellas. At around -o in the

afternoon we had a lunch break and then back to work again. At sunset, the stalls were

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

packed up and we had the evenings to ourselves. We would all go out together and more

often than not would go for walks, or hang about the town. Every evening a Volkswagen

car would dive by is. My friends would get close to the car and joke around with the

diver who was a blond, blue-eyed man in his thirties. He would fool around with the

boys but frequently stared at me. And so I started a strange little game. I would pretend

to be shy and snobbish every time he looked over at me. The others would laugh at him

and call him a ‘faggot.’ This game lasted quite a while until one day, when I placing out

the figs and the coconuts I noticed a huge shadow looming over me. I lifted my head up

and jumped. Although the sun was in my eyes I could see his face. I do not know how

he had found out what pad of the beach I worked on but I was very happy that he had.

“Hi there, little boy” he said, smiling. I did not say anything to this. “Do you want to

come with me?! I’ll take you to a little factory were you can see lots of pets. What do you

say? Will you come?” I still did not say anything. sure, I wanted to go but did not want

to cut shod our flirtation. Had I given in there and then I would have had to give up our

little game, and yet, had I said no he may never have sought me out again. What was I

supposed to do? Luckily he made up his mind for me in a smart and effective way- “I’ll

buy all the coconuts here, and here is an extra ten-thousand for you”. Without a word I

followed him. In the car I dreamt of all the things I could buy with the money. We

reached the factory and once we were completely naked I discovered what is was like to

have someone make love to you. With his tongue he touched all the parts of my body, he

licked my legs, my armpits, till he got to the place between my legs. I lay still as he used

his mouth to suck my essence and I continued to lie still as he drank my adolescent

sperm. I lay still as he opened new avenues of pleasure for a young boy with so much to

learn. I lay still even as he paid me. We saw each other for three months and in that time

I learned much and made a lot of money. The man with the blue eyes had taught me how

to find pleasure through Caresses and kisses. It was like being at school and being taught

a skill, an art, but this time that of love. I spent the money on clothes, going to discos and

having fun…all that I had ever wanted was coming true. I felt happy and I felt like I had

finally stared to live. However, a sad event brought me back to reality. I had done my

shift one morning and was waiting for them to come and get me for my lunch break. I

got hungrier and hungrier and soon a man that I knew came by and I asked him if he

knew where everybody was.

 

 

He said he did not and asked me if I wanted to have lunch with him. He was meeting

some men that were coming in off a commercial boat and he was lunching with them. I

followed him and found myself seated amongst Strangers. Opposite me sat a vulgar and

fat man, tanned and covered with tattoos. He stared at me and asked me hundreds of

questions. I did not fear him but at the same time I could not get rid of him as I did not

know exactly what he wanted. I cannot remember why or how I ended up alone with

him. “Would you like to come and see my ship?” He asked me in his deep voice.

Curious, I followed him onto the ship. He showed me round the ship from top to bottom

and then opened the door to one of the cabins. It was very dirty. He asked me if I

wanted to relax a little. Actually, he didn’t ask me at all, he ordered me to lie across the

bed and before I knew what was going on he was on top of me and forcibly tried to kiss

me on the mouth. His weight was suffocating me and I could smell his foul breath on my

face. I watched his mouth, ugly and stinking as he touched my cock with his filthy

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hands. I could feel his large dirty hands, roughly using my body, grabbing me by the

Neck and suffocating me while he grunted and sweated. I felt no pain, no fear, I just

wanted it all to be over; I could no longer bear his foul breath and looking up at his

hideous mouth. Suddenly he fell on top of me howling something unintelligible; he was

like a wounded animal. For a few moments nothing happened. Then he said “Go away,

you little shit”, I could not get out from under his immense weight and he would not

move. I managed to get from underneath him, get to the door of that filthy cabin and

leave the ship. I ran to the beach and threw myself into the Sea. His disgusting odor had

seeped into my skin and I could not rid myself of it, just as I could not rid myself of the

image of his horrendous body. I can still smell his stink today when I take a shower, is it

the stink of evil? Of pure evil? An animal smell? I do not know.

 

Even now, it is destined to make up part of the sordid smells of my silences.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

That fucker from the ship did not keep the incident to him self but told all his friends what

had happened. As a result, one evening as I was walking and thinking my dreadful

thoughts, I met all three of them. His friends glared at me from a distance and while he

moved away they came closer and closer. “Hello there?” they said. I said nothing in

return. I was terrified. “Well, well, we know everything!” And in a menacing tone they

made sure I understood that they expected me to make myself available to them as I had

done with their friend. I went off with them. I was so afraid that I went off with them.

They took me to the beach. One of the two put his cock in my mouth while the other

watched and masturbated. I tried to smell the scent of the sea, to dream of someone who

caressed me, to dream of a hand that held mine tenderly. But, I could not fly away and

escape. The grunts of those filthy men intruded rudely into my dreams.

 

I wonder what happened to all my dreams? They had been wiped out by all the evil,

squalid and violent sensual acts played out on my adolescent body. Maybe everyone

thought that my cry for affection was in fact a cry for sex? I was a child that they slowly

killed, devouring my soul with their foul mouths spewing spit. I shut my eyes and hoped

that when I reopened them those men would be gone, but there they were and while they

touched themselves they kept a close watch over me. I shut my eyes again. Finally,

when I reopened them, I found to my relief that I was alone on the beach; they had gone.

I pulled my trousers up and found that they were full of come. I went back home, not

worried about this since no one would notice either myself or my dreams.

 

I no longer wanted to sell coconuts on the beach, I was terrified. And yet I could not tell

anyone why. And so I was forced by my brother-in-law to roam the beach amongst the

so called gentlemen with their wives and children, men who became pigs by night. my,

I asked myself, did things always happen to me? Today I am aware that what happened

to me had also happened to many other children. Yes, many other children had had to

suffer what I too had suffered. But no one had the courage to speak, to denounce the

awful things that were done to us, us children who became victims of men who ultimately

went unpunished. We hid everything as though a young child that had been raped could

possibly be the one to blame. How many children like myself, I wonder, have found

themselves abused by men with no misgivings? Abused by men who destroyed their

dreams and hopes and who made f1lthy what was meant to be the most beautiful and

carefree times of our lives? I wonder how many of them are now repeating the ills that

that they have suffered? I have not. I still look for love, even more than I did then. I

look for a tender love and affection that no rape ever offered me. I search for the

happiness in meeting someone whom I can touch and seek out at night and be sure that he

is there. To find one’s man in the night and know that he is there, that he has not left you

sullied with come after having fulfilled his perverted desires. I seek the man that will

touch my eyes that are lost in a dream, I seek pleasure and to lose my self in the game of

love and not in the game of violence. I seek to smell the warm scent of skin.

 

After the summer was over I returned to Naples. I started looking for a new job which

turned out to be quite hard. I was unemployed and penniless. However there was worse

to come. My brother-in-law told my father about the man in the Volkswagen and

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

consequently my father forced me to go with him to the doctor. I did not want to be seen

by anyone, that was not the kind of help I sought. But I could not resist much or it would

have aroused suspicion. I found myself being scrutinized by this doctor who kept turning

me around and repeating, “this young man seems perfectly normal to me!” I started hard

into nothing. “Pull your trousers down!” the doctor said. I felt sorry for him, he had no

idea how many other men had asked me to do the sane, but with different intentions.

The sad thing is that l did not know how many others would ask me to do so again. The

doctor had a look at my genitals and kept repeating the phrase “Normal, he’s normal”.

He then ordered me to turn around. It is pointless to tell you what he then said. I pulled

up my trousers nervously and lea the room. My father and brother-in-law were to have a

private chat with the doctor. They were in there for quite a while and when they finally

came out my father came and stood close to me and looked at me with a tenderness that I

had never seen before. Even my brother-in-law was attentive. I could tell a mile off what

was going on though, I could tell that they were just pretending. On the way back home

all I could think of was that word: “Normal! Normal!” What is normal? What does

“normal” mean. Who decides what is normal and what is not normal? I had to get over

this recent humiliation. Once again I closed myself off from everyone and everything,

everything except my pain.

 

Again, I went out and looked for work. l took a job as a waiter and again found myself

taking rides in stranger’s car. Once they came close a pm of me would try and distance

myself and deny them, yet mother pm of me, stronger and weaker at the same time,

made me open the car door and get inside next to those men who were so similar, so

identical. I finally summoned up the courage to face the consequences of what I was

doing to myse1f. Deep down inside all I wanted was a “normal” life and I could not let

myself be taken in by these men who used me for their pleasure and then left me. I

started going out to clubs, meeting girls and hanging out with people of my own age.

We would go out at the weekends and get together and make plans for outings; this was

the teenager’s life that I wanted. On a particular Sunday, Raffaele “the Nose” ( it is futile

to try and explain why we nicknamed him thus) invited me out to a disco that I had not

been to before. I accepted. On the way to the disco, Raffeale told me that the owner of

the club was a “faggot”; I smiled a fake smile. We finally arrived at the place. In those

days there were no DJ’s, we did not dance to records. Instead, we danced to guitar

playing, bass and live drums. It was the time of pure rock, Led Zeppelin and Deep

Purple. The guys that made up the band looked like Robed Plant clones, wit long, wavy

hair and they all had their pelvises on show. They wore platform shoes and huge bell-

bottoms. I was fascinated by the way those guys moved. It was all new to me and I was

captivated. Behind the till, piling up the tickets was the owner, the L4faggot>’ as Raffaele

had called him. He spotted me immediately, the way one spots a quail only then to shoot

it. I was apparently a disposable quail ready to be trapped, and in fact it was very easy for

him to convince me that we should meet up soon. On Monday I went over to his house.

We made love. And, more significantly, I fell in love. It was a big mistake. I fell in love

with a bastard who slept with a different boy every night. I was only a pm of his great

collection. I was mad about him, so much so that I found it hard to hide sometimes. My

father finally got to hear about it. One evening, in the disco smoke I suddenly found

myself face to face with my father. He had tears in his eyes and he begged me to leave

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

this place and that man. I did not pity him cd would not listcn to him. l said no, bluntly,

He slapped me. l saw him disappear into the hazc outiofwhich he had appeared, l had to

staY at my sandfather’s until l was allowed to come back home. However, I continued to

see that man in secret. In the evenings I would take advantage ofmy father’s absence and

steal his timetable 5om his coat pocket* There was no way 1 was going to isk another

unexpectcd encounter. One evening, the L4poacher” asked me if I would go out with one

of his friends. I looked at him in disbelief, how could hc ask this ofme? How could he

ask me to do something like this knowing that I loved him as much as 1 did? l wuted so

badly to insul_t ??ihim, to lct out all my disgust; instead Ijust accepted it. l did it so thait he

would know that it meant nothing to me, so that he would not think l loved him, I went

out with his b.end, Amando. It was a b6efmeeting, be h=dly touched me, as thoub he

feared polluting this little body ofmine* Little did he know how mmy =en had used me.

He left vexed and annoyed md I promiscd myself not to see him agaln* But 1 found

myself constmtly thinking ofAmmdo, ofthe respect he had shown my body md soul*

And so one day I went offto flnd him. l found &.m sTomded by boys laughing md

messing about. Seeing him so involved with these people 1 felt my head stOP md so I

hunched up my shoulders md tHed to leave the SCene. Armando had secn me though and

after leaving the crowd he came after me md took a hold ofmy shou}ders* 4kWould you

like to take a walk?” he asked me in his gentle od polite way. l smiled in acceptanCe. l

had said yes to so many vulgar and rude men, how could I say no to th*s >’nd rc?uest?

We talked a lot. For once l fomd that 1 could tell someonc my stoW and the paln md

suffehng that came with it. Ze too opened up and told me his stoW, a stoW made up of

lies and deceit* He was maMed. We talked all evening and all through the ni0t* We

talked for flve long, intense and beauti&l years. Five diff1cult yeus fllled with the fcar of

being cau@t, f1)led with threats. Five yeus of pain md toment yet al?o of peaceNl

acceptanCe of what we Were* Five yeMs of growing up md of expedenclng an intense

huge love. He rented a house in town and asked me to come and live with him but I

rehsed. He was ma&ed and had a son, I was =der-age md my father would have made

a fuss, lt broke my head to say no but I had to. l did not want to bre* up his family, 1

did not wmt his wife, son and relatives to disoWn him md insult h.m* He did not deserve

that, no, not him. When a lovc is so SlnCere, even if the passion is spent, the love

transfoms into a brotberly one, into a shoulder that you cm cry on when you have no

where else to go. That is what Amando is to me today. He is a mm that I ?ill never

stOP loving or respecting because he made me see what true love was by respectlng me as

a person and as a lover* One Saturday evening, while I was out with Raffaele &<the Nos?”

and a couple ofother fhends I went into a gay disco, It was a flrst for me* l was ecstatlc

to f1ud that all the men danced am in – md kissed each other without the fear of.bii?g

judged pointed out or mocked. I felt #ee to move Mound md to Sook md be lo?ked at 1n

a straightfo~aTd way. I was a fresh facc md Resh prey and everyone took not1ce ofme.

I howeveT7noticed a shon man with a moustache who looked ven shy* Ee came and

stood by me and we left together secretly.

 

 

 

 

We made love in his cu and then went back into the disco and said our goodbyes

quickly. He needed to get his bouowed car back to his brother but promised me that we

would see each other SOOn* We met again and again for four Ye&rS. L had to tell

Amando . It broke my hem to tell him that 1 was in love with Lucio md that our

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

relationship had come to m end. A_nando did not want to accept this ncw love ofmine

and tHed to change my mind, With time however, he gave up md becve my 8eatest i

m.end. My relationship with Lucio was much calmer, there was no frenzy or rem0rSe*

We could only see each other on the weckends because he lived out oftown and could

not afford a Car. This did not hamper our affair thou* and it was a beauti=l One. He

showed me where all the gay s;ots were and essentially introduced me to g?y ?ife*I was

f1nally at peace md fulfllled* l was flnally living my life* One evening Luclo lnvited me

to his home. His puentS were away on a tdp md a2er two years ofbeing with him l was

cuHous to see hii home, his rooxm, his bed. As soon asi;,h e opened the hont door I saw a

beauti*l house. I rejlised that Lucio was in fact dch, vcry 6ch. I felt mgy and

deceived. I felt betrayed by this man who had always led me to believe that he had

nothing, no money for gas, no money for a smdwich, no money for the bar, no money?

4&Why did you lie to me? my?`’ I asked him, humiliated by this farce. 4LI thought you

might take advmtage of me. I thou*t that maybc you would tum out to be onc ofthose

street kids ready to play at being kept men” he replied. I had nothing to say. My eyes

werc tiTed, tiTed with the vision ofthe ~o xong yeus that I had spent with this man who

had lied to me md who had poked hn at me and the love that I had for him. I nmed my

back to him and le9* 1 shut th, e door with a Ioud bang, so loud as ifto id myseYfofhim

as well. I was tired of and con*sed by these false md cowMdly men. I decided to

change my life around md stad offagain L<clem.” l met m.ta, a sweet and beauti=l girl.

For a while I tied to act as though l were the sincere and committed LLboyfiend”, But I

was different, and the tmth is I wanted different things. Evemhing that my body had

been throu@ had leA me with many wounds but I had also expeienced mu?h pleasure.

And so duing the day I would go out with her but at night l would be out ln search of

what hlfllled me. I flnally told W*ta everjhing. <L1 do love you:” she said, throu# her

tears, L4but I do not wmt a gay husbmd.” Maybe l wanted her to accept me, maybe I

wanted her to stay with me. h fact, how mmy men did 1 know that }ed a double life?

Men who did evemhing in secret from evenone, even their wives* I, who had been

honest enough to tel} her everYhing, was now being leA by her. l let her go. I suppose I

could never have held on to her. However7 she still makes up a p# ofthe scents ofmy

memOneS.

 

I staded work as an elevator maintenance man* Thisjob allowed me access to places that

l would not otherwise have had, such as insme asylums, pdsons md clinics. These

places really demonstrated to me what it meant to be alone, and mMginalised. I could see

in these people’s eyes the fear of incMceration, the desperatio? that lies behind some

disease, poor pcop[e Yeft in some cell or snck in some bed walting for the waunth of

some human touch, a smi}e, some hope. I would leave these places wishing that I could

help those people* I had to do something to give back to those men and women their

voices and.dipity. What I saw and continue to see has affected my life deeply. I knew

~o guys wbo We[e into fllm. Their interests centred around loneliness and

marginalisation; l staded to work with them on their projects* Together we made some

shod fllms on our ei0t-millimetre camera that converged into a play* Iwasthe

protagonist of a sad and violent story. We became very good fdends (and still are today)

and together we staded researching the off-limits of our city, telling the untold stoIY of

those unfodunate people that populated our suburbs and our souls. We wou1d attend

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

conferences and take pad in mMches. I begm to feel a political awakening of sods, a

lea-wing PO litical conscience begm to t@e a hold ofme as I felt that it represented those

ofus who were dephved and wretched, the trWPS, those who led miserable lives* This

was the LleA’ that bad lunlped us together with post-working age people and with those

stmggling against class discdmination and civil hghts* This was the lea wing pady, the

left ofthe seventies wheIe if you so much as wore 6pped jems, m eaMng and had long

hair you were undoubtedly a rebel. I personally had a lot to rebel against, pimaily this

f*e system that we lived in, just like those false men that would go out with thcir

beauti=l families on a Sunday fior a dde on the mexy-go-rom:d and a Sunday iceecream

but who took advmtage oflittle boys like me in their free time; I wmted to rebel against

this syStem that had acquainted me with hunger, this system that had not allowed me to

go on with my studies, this violence*

 

I did elevator maintenmce work in the huge comcil buildings where families who had

been hmniliated by their misen lived, where c&`ldren who were sad played among the

mbbish heaps with tears in their eyes caused by hunger md stomach crwps; then I

would leave those ghettos and soon flnd myself in the dcher subuIbs, in mmsions and

villas so luxudous that they even had an elevator in the toilet. Elegmt ladies lived in

these houses as well as chjldren who gew tired of their toys, bou*t o*y the previous

day, and who *ssed over their food cooked by the maid. I was too yomg md could not

understand W hy this was SO. Why? Are children not all the sane, should they not a]l

have the sve oppodunities? AlthouO l maybe a gown up now I have still not found

the mSWer. These were the To opposing aspectS ofour society md ofmy city.

 

Naples. My Naples. I feel that my Naples is so different to the one descdbed by

j oumalists, authors , literary persons who are forever ready to collect images, postcud

moments ofa solitMy pine tree or the magniflcent gulf* What comes to mind is apacked

bus where a fat lady sits fwning herselfwith a lMge fan sajng to me L4Giuvin6, fa caldo

aSSa1, b overo?” 4Lisn’t it hot? Really hot?” or mother lady smck in traff1c, iMtated,

yelling out LI tol; my son that he shouldn’t h;ve sent me out to the post offlce* `

wouldn’t listen… At the f1rst gay pide march that was cver organised in Naples, a

cudous lady said GLExcuse me, these Me all gay men, so alh*t? But what about the girls7

 

But he

what -e they doing in the march?’$ And, ready as always, they will sta^ to tell you their

stoies, their secrets md their suffehngs, whether you want to heM it or not, and if your

own thou*ts are miles away and you don’t really feel like talking to myone, especially

to strangerS, you end up lending someone else your ear myway; this is a quality that only

Neapolitans have* It is so pleasing that Neapolitans have the same respect for doctors and

lawyers as they do for butchers, builders and waiters. Let alone the odours of the city

that change eveq second according to the season, the churches, desecrated and unknown

by toudsts md Neapolitans alike. The dialect chmges every second depending on where

you are, like Gbuarese’, <lucimo’ , Gforcellano’, LSaniti’. If you take a good look at a

young Neapolitan boy when he smiles at you, he’ll look at you and you may feel what it

is that I cannot express in whting. This is my city, a city that, from the moment ofyour

bidh, though you cannot help but love or hate, you can never ignore. She is like the most

beautiful prostitute that knows her work with all its demands and defects, she is like the

most lavish of whores that exists on this eadh. She is the most intdguing, the most

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

transvestite ofall, capable ofenchmting you with her rough but f6endly bcauty. She is

thc Lmadola’3, excellent, treacherous, evil, esoteically splendid,

 

My Naples*

 

The seventies were great years md helped me a lot because gay peoplc, whether because

it was fashionable or due to some political reason, staded to Lcome out’ and so I staded

to come to temS with myselfbecause I no longer felt alone in the crowdji, &nd I cm assure

you, there were and there are mmy ofus* Ifthe sea were to ovcrnow it could not hide all

the gaypeople ofthe eadh. I wil} now get back to telling my tale.

 

I was conflned for quite a bit a*er a car accident and had to st0P working md invoSving

myself in the theatre.

in little out of the way venues as well as to attend some conferences on 4jltematlVe

So 1 decided to go to Rome for a while to see some perfommce .m

themes. ,

wait till moming for the next train and so 1 decided I would make the most of it md walk

onenightlmissedthetrainthatwastogetmebackhome. I would havc had to

bcauty of Rome’s monuments md mmsions until a man in a car pul1ed OVer.

around the streets of that magical city. I found myseYf cngossed and ,tbdlled by the

4 How

much? ,

G4DMling” he said, unvexed Gcl should probably tell you that you happen to be in the street

he asked me. l looked at him astonished pd m@ly told him to go to heYl.

where those who selL themselves walk.”

strange movements going On.

explanation, to tn and mderstmd, when I noticed that he wasn’t at all*bad. He had large

1 came closer to the man’s car to ask him for an

L looked around me md indeed sensed some

hopped into his car; we made love ncu a gaveyud* Then, M=o (not hii real name)

cyes md a lHge, prominent but lovely md noble nOSe. Without sa7ng another word I

took me back to thc train station md gave me b`s phone nwber. The fol1ow1ng Sanrday

I came to his house*

hi@ly cultivated mc and set out to quench my thirst for knowledge without ev?r m@ing

We continued to see each other for mmy months. Maho was a

me fee1 stupid for not always using the dght temS or for using the wrong con1unctlOnS*

He ncver made me feel the ignoramuS that I was but, politely, would let me know that l

had to lew in order to defend myselfagainst people who used their knowledge, or their

sense of culture, as a weapon*

weapons*

Oscar Wilde, 4ll Monello’ and Pier Paolo pasolini*

I staded to read ud picked up anYhing Rom <Mickey Mouse’ comic books to

If I wmted to flght them I had to leam to use the sme

I absorbed the pleasure ofknowlcdge,

the tastc ofwords; l lost myself in the poetrY of different poetS. My relationship with

Maio was mainly intellectual; we had little sex but this did.not mater much* It was

pleasmt for us to be together md when I wovld invite hiw oD“t to a p#y or a get together

he would want me to be with him all the time so that we could poke &n at pcople, I with

my street talk and he with his sloppy but simultaneously noble and austere looks, People

would look at us with a putout expression that made the? tum nastY. Tb.s was a game

that lasted for a long while, until I met up with Luclo agaln.

 

It was an evening in August, in a gay disco ?t R`ccione, We talked all niOt. Lucio told

me all his fears, his awe at meeting me agaln* He told me that he was still in love with

 

3 4MaTiola’ is the feudnine foun ofthe woTd 4Tascal.’

me. l was still in love with him too. How could I not love the man? A mu so sweet that

he sometimes reminded me ofa young girl with her flrst tmi e love.

 

We got back together again. We would meet on Thwsday’s, Saturday’s and Sunday’s and

would inevitably end up making love in the Car. The mthless police patrol that would

catch us naked in the car forced us to rent a reasonably piced room where we could meet

in peace and without fear. I soon found a little house in Smiti md since the pdce was

reasonable, we de`cided to buy it. He put in the cash, l put in the promissoqy note. We

lived bePeen these walls for ~o intense md wonderful years until, one evening I was

invited to dinner at some =.ends’ house. I fomd myself opposite a man who was

that fomed when he smiled. I felt embaxassed md not in the least bit attracted to him*

devo=ng me with his eyes* They looked like m Odental’s eyes with that strange slit

At the end of the dinner my host asked me if I could give this mm a lia home. I

with the entire thing and staded to act quite mdey. Alfonso (I wonder ifthat was his

speciflcally said no but he kept insisting in a rather pretentious manner* 1 felt @strated

name?) asked me ifI would like to get together at some other time, ln order to get id of

him, l said yes. We did see each other a week later and ended up in bed, tboi, uo it

tumcd out to be quite a painful expe6ence. Alfonso was a beauti&l man but I did not

bookshop where he was going to pick up some books – to thank me, he bou*t me a silly

feel mYhing for him. The day aAer ow meeting he asked me to accompany him to a

book, a kind oflover’s mmual. He also bou=t me a swm made ofprecious stones md a

he loved opera, the cinema and besides, the way that he set out to impress me was quite

crystal puppy. I was nattered by alY this attention. Alfonso was a mm ofmoy inteTests,

distinct. He asked me to leavc Lucio md I did, to make him happy. I have reyetted this

decision mmy times, it was a gave mist*e. I have paid for that mistake with much

moods at will and would suddenly tv cmel md selflsh. He would cdticise the way l

suffe6ng and m&ny teus, so many tears spilt over that mm. Alfonso would switch

dressed, humiliate me for the way I talked and leave me feeling insecwe about

becve the sweet md gentle mm that I knew* This did not last long however and he

When I fnally summed up the cowage to leave him he quickly chmged attinde md

eve0hing, to the point where 1 even became emba_assed when I undressed before him*

would soon tum even more malicious than eVer. He did not love me, I was just a preay

tbing to own and to poke fun at* I needed a =`end’s help to get out ofthis. I desperately

looked for Lucio but some people told me that I would flnd him in the toilets at &e

sewice station where he was cottaging dressed up as a WOmm. I felt quite desperate md

very much alone: Alfonso had taen me away Rom all my b.ends. My only moments of

peace where when he would go away to his home town of Calabda. I stayed i touch

with Renato whom we called ‘the dreamer.’ One evening, while Alfonso wu away,

Renato intr_oduced me to a young man with troubled eyes and a thick black beMd; a vem

young and sweet b7oy who staded to woo me, I told him abou`t myself md about all the

pain I was going th?ough at the hands of this mm, the humiliation that I WM forcM to

endure and the outrage that I felt towards him* Marco listened to me viQ a lo{ of

patience and helped me make sense ofmHy things* He listened to evew liule &ing 2at I

had to say.

Alfonsd ‘ But I did not have the courage to face him and so I wTote h.m a leXer* 1 Mo it

Gradually he helped me to flnd myself and to flnd the stenDnh to leaye

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

is shabby to end a relationship on a scrap ofpapcr, l know this, but he did not desepe

anYhing mOre*

When Alfonso got the letter hc tied very hard to get in touch with me. He lookcd for me

mc I began to get scared md also staded to wony about him because he suffered Wom

at home, at the offlce, and at all my fdends’. When l found out that he was looking for

Marco to stand by mc as l did; we were at the central train station when i picked up the

epileptic flts* I really did not know what to expect* l decided to call him but asked

phone md diallcd his number.

sobbing. He begged me not to leave him, told me that thiei love that he felt for me was

I could barely mde out what he was sayng through his

immense and that he would change his ways*

would come back to Naples to see me as soon as he could. Marco walked away without j

He begged me to wait for him, he said he

word and le2 me standing at t1 he phone box*

felt guilty, but Alfonso had once more mmaged to convince me to come back, to make

I watched him Seave with tearS in his eyes.

we question leaving him. 1 knew deep down that it was all lies, I knew that evemhing

that he had said through his tears was all lies*

life. I cve back to Naples but our getting back together again tumed ?ut to be a disaster.

l knew, but I could not shut M`m out ofmy

He broke all his iromiscs.

useless, inept, =d a2er treating me cmelly he le2 md retumed to CaLabda*

He staded to use me as his plaYhing agaln, making me feel

l stayed

had stuck thc last piece in I summoned up all the courage that I had leA, packed a small

alone for a fcw days so that I could put the pieces of my soul back together, and when I

bag and headed for the train station.

him and his cmelty. l got to his house at about six in the moming. He cve to the door,

l got on that train detemined to Ree myself Rom

still sleepy. I yelled at him and told him offfor all the te=ble thini gs that he had ?one to

me, for all his wickedness, l asked him what kind of love did he feel for me S1nCe he

showed me only hatred and violence.

by way of a response* I 8abbed the bag that l had brought with me md took out the

He Yooked at me siently but gave me a crue1 smile

swan and the cmstal puppy that he had given me. I threw his useless gias to the Roor md

stunped on them till they broke.

l had leA for him I spat into his palm. I then shut his hand md leA him there with his

Finally, I took his thick hand md with all the scom that

wide Odental eyes st*ng at his didy hmd,

 

I cm honestly say that throughout my Life I have met men and women who have given

me a piece of their world and with whom I have enjoyed serene and co?tent moments,

These Me people who have helped me mature and towards whom l rema1n attached md

had destroyed my dizity, suffocated my love and killed my desire for life.

affectionate forever; even a*er the passion had dissolved into a b`endship* But that mm

Th’ s incident

was to mark my life for a long time yet*

 

–

 

i

 

 

 

My relationship with Marco lasted flve years: f1ve of the most wonder8l md

unforgettable i years. He was not the love ofmy life; Alfonso had leR a deep scar and I

was constantly reminded ofhis cmelty, it was like a shadow wherever I ?ent. Yet, we

managed to build a relationship based on tendemess, complicity and more tendemess.

‘

He was a vew sweet mm and he even managed to soaen up my p=ents. One day my

father told me that he liked him and that he liked thc way that he took care ofme, All my

=.ends adored him, all those &’ends that I had lost touch with du6ng my time with

Alfonso. MMco loved to travel and we went to p*s, London and Amsterdam. We

would stay at gay camping sites imd made lots of&.ends, amOn` ;g whom were peppe and

Antonio, ~o fabulous guys from Bologna whom l remember fondly. I found the

stren=h as well as the desire to get back into the theatre. Marco did not share this 8eat

love ofmine, but even though it bored him he stuck by me. It was dudng the staging ofa

perfonnance that I met Mniam, an actress full of strong ideals, a woman who believed,

and still believes in the power of the theatre to innuence those that it represented as well

as those who enjoyed it. She was a womm who sWggled for respect for the theatre

against people’s self1sh nature. All this had lea her with what seemed a rather hard

character, inRexible and not open to compromise. Her hardened nature made other

people reluctmt to be with her and jacccpt her md yet, for alI of this, she was capable of

huge bursts of affection* She is an admirable women for whom I feel a yeat affection

and also because, . ,..One awhl day I found out that my father had only a few days leh to

live. This bit ofnews &ovc me mad md l did not know what to do, I found it so unfair

that a young man who Ioved life with all its contraies md evils, was going to leave this

eadh without enjojng his four young son’s lives to the hllest, sons who still needed his

love and guidmce. It was left to me to tell my mother and I did not know how to tell this

woman, who was hopeIessly in love with her mm, that soon she would no longer be able

to hold him, kiss him md await his retum home in the evenings. ,I took her by the –

and aAer sitting her down I knelt down by her legs, stroking her – all the while* With

my eyes to the *oor I told ber evemhing at OnCe* <LLiar” she mswered and moved away

from me. I swore to her that it was the tmth, the sad but ovemhelming tNth* She placed

her hands on her face, 46 What mn I going to do now?” she said, with tears in her eyes.

Our eyes met, Lcl’ll be here for you, by your side. I will not abwdon you Mum,” We

stayed in silence for a while and stared out into space. I went to My6v and asked her

forhelp. I wanted to give my father one last gia: a dau=ter in law* She accepted. We

` went into my father’s room and cane close to the bed. GGDad” I said, G4th*s is my

girl&.end. We have dccided to get maMed* I can soon make you a uandfather again.”

My father looked at me long md hard* <<Go now” he replied, LLI’m tired.”

 

As we leR the room I burst into tears. I had so wanted to make my father happy, I had

wanted to reassure him> but he knew everrhing about me and never rep*mmded me on

that SCOre._ He knew of my life and respected it even thouM I sometimes felt that he

thought I had 1ed myse]fdeep into something that would cause me nothing but pain. He

died on March nineteenth, Father’s day* He depaded leaving behind mum, his family and

four unwed SOnS. He left befoTe I cou]d tell him all the things I had wanted to.

 

Marco stood by me all

the sense of desperation,

 

the while. The wannth and love that he had for me helped ease

We made up the apaiment at m.one Smiti that I had bought

 

 

 

 

 

 

back from Lucio md we moved in together. We were a thorou@ly modem couple, each

with his own work md responsibilities. Whoever _got home flrst would cook wh`le *e

other would clean up the dishes md tidy up the kitchen. Evenone in ow nei*bovhoM

respected us md never asked us what we, >o yowg men under the same roof, were

doing md just renamed us ‘the boys*’

The flm that I was working for oaen sent me offto other cities for work md l would

o0en flnd myselfhaving a little nid. In Genova I met Massimo, a strange mm who was

incredibly euphoic one minute and incredibly sad the next, so sad that sometimes he

would quit tialking altogether. It was as thouO he had a split personality. I tied to help

him but it was not easy to break down thc wall that he had erected to defend himselfand

his impenetrable thoughts. One evening, by the Genova pod as we wcre walking and

having a laugh, Massimo suddenly stopped and tumed vew pale. He asked me3 in a

shaky voice, whether 1 would come homc with him. I asked him what was going on md

got a punch in the face for a reply, a punch that was monstrous in sienCh. Ijumped on

him md beat him till l had him on the 8omd livid and in teMs, Massimo was cning but

his cMng was interspersed with gibbeish that I could not m&e out. 44Uncle” hc kept

repeating while crouched on the noor 44don’t hm me uncle?” When l jaw that geat big

yowg boy crouched on the noor I suddenly felt teMbly ashmed ofmy reaction, md yet

I cannot ivore someone who ties to mOe his point throu0 violence. I knelt down next

to Massimo and stmed to sToke his head. My repetitive movement slowly helped him

get himself together. We sat down on the side of a wall. ccl w sony,” I said to him,

without asking him my questions. Unexpectedly, the wall, his wall, begm to cmmble as

he staded to tell me h.s ston. LGI was ten ye=s old md I lived in Pr6 street, the rou@est

nei@bourhood in Genova, a nwow street choked up with violence. My pcents did not

want me to be alone at home while they were out at work md so they asked my mcle to

baby-sit. He would aMve in the moming at around ten md would leave when my pMentS

retumed. He was vew violent md beat me for no apparent reason, yet when faced with .

`

*`

my pzents, who o*en cvc home to f1nd me in tears, he was the most affectionate md

attentive mm, And so ofcourse no onc believed me. Once he made up a st0W out of

spite. He told my pMentS that I had been throwing sweets md t0yS out ofthe window, he

even went out md pretended to be picking up a newly broken toy CM. I couSd not

understand what he was doing, it was untrue, he had not brou@t me my sweets or my

toy CarS* Whywas he plajng this cruel game? One day, mymother asked him to 6ve

me abath* He wmted to t8e my clothes offhimself, with his thick hands. He placed mc

in the bath md aAer soaping his hmds he asked me toitum aromd. I suddenly felt a

shaw md piercing pain. I fell over in the bath dazed. When I gOt 4P again my boCom

i

felt like it was buming with pain, That pig had put his flngers inside me in a rou@ @d

vi?lent way. Heplaced his face closeup against mine, al] thewb.le lau*` g in avulgM

way. I put my hands over my evs so that I wouldn’t hear him but his lau@ter was

deafening* i GGAnyhow, no one will believe you’7 he stmed to yell, G4because you’re a ljng

little wom?” I leaned back against the bathtub md watched myuncle as he lau=ed. I

flnally realised what game he was up to. All those lies, the broken toyS, the sweets

chucked over the balcony, all this so that people would believe the cover up story of a

devilish and debauched boy who was being nasty to his nice, gentle md loving uncle. I

realised that I was caught in a wap that l would not bc able to get out of. l flnally

understood that no one wouldbelieve oreven listen to a nau@tyboywho lied. To make

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

things even worse, he made me wdte into my dian that I hated him and that I would do

mjhing in my power to get him thrown out ofthe house, never to remm. I unde~ent

all kinds ofcmelties and violence 5om that pig. .At the pod, I saw someone beat1ng a

small child, that is why l reacted in that way. Forg1ve me*:’

We stayed there,

heavy tension and sadness that had emerged. GLD? ?ou still sec him?`’

adult, you never told your parentS anyhing?’S

sitting on the wall, for quite a while, 1n silence. 4GHow come, as m

I asked him suddenly just to bre* that

Massimo staded to

look a little agitated pd 1 could see the tension nslng in his face. I took his hmd in mine

and tded to conv7ijiiince him to b*ng out all that he had locked up for years md that was

making him sad. Hc would have to stm to *ee himselfhom all that fllth, he would have

to stOP feeling guilty. That’s the thing with those who suffer: violence makes you fce( as

though it is somehow your fault while you ue acNally the poor defenceless victim.

When a women is raped, they tn to *ee the guilty padY of responsibility by sayng

things like ‘he must have been tempted by a miniskid’, a look or ? smiLe. What do you

say about a child?

mustered up his courage again and continued to tell me his storY. 44 From the,age often

How is he to blame when all he has is his lnnocence? Massimo

till the age of sixteen I was forced to 8lfll all of my uncle’s peTveded fmtasles. Then,

my mother decided to give up her work and come back home* I was flnally freei of that

pig. I was so happy that I decidednot to tell mymothcr mYhing. It was over, all OVer.

Except for when l had to meet him at family getmtogetherS. Necdlcss to say, the shit stil

looks at me with a cruel desire,

know how to avoid him.” <<I’ll come with you,” I said, intehuptlng him.

wniversary md he has been invited. This is what has disnr?ed me so much* I don’t

On Smday lt is my puents’ ~enty-f1ah wedding

LLDon’t be ahaid,

I will bc by your side,” He stMed to sh*e. He was shocked md dumbfounded. LGDon’t

wony about it,” I said, twing to calm him down. LGYou’ll see, ifhe tHes to act up I’ll beat

him up as hc beat you up:” He }ooked at me md nodded while he put on a forccd smile.

 

It was thc foXlowing Sunday that I was due back in Naples but l told*MarCO that,the f1nn

had given mc some more work md so l was able to keep my promlse to Masslmo. He

cme to pick me up dbt on time md we made our way to the restaurmt. We fowd the

entire family waiting for us on the threshold md amongst his family md fdends I wu

hmd ti@tly and whispered to him clearly L4You shit: I’ll make you pay:”

able to make out a rather fat pd sweatY man* When we were intoduced I $hook =.s

He took b.s

hand away md tumed vew pale.

tded to sit next to Massimo.

wish:” 44Not until the day you die, md I hope that comes soon, will you get mmhere

l got cSose to N.m again md said in a challenglng tone 44You

We got to the supper table and the unc!e desperately

near Massimo: ,,

Finally, we took our seats.

me hundreds of questions9 the usual; what was my name, which city did I come *om,

Massimo’s pMents wanted to know all about me md uked

what work did l do* 1 told them that I was an actor and that my perfommceS centred

aIound social problems like child abuse and paedophilia. 1 managed to catch evewonc’s

&ttention and so my perfomoceS cve alive as I told them about vaious ch`ld abuse

tales, making continuous hints at the pig who, sitting there embanassed, quickly chmged

his expression and looked ven uncomfodable on his chair almost M thou* be was

blushing. Occasionally he would look at Massimo maliciously, as ifto tell him offfo;

having told me everYhing, for having f1nally conflded his pain=l secret to someone.

 

 

 

could see the cmel expression on the uncle’s face md Massimo’s te*fled look. I

int_dedi into this exchange of looks by asking the uncle suggestive questions, who, in the

meantime had become ewaged md stared venomously at his nephew. We went on like

this all ni@t. This gme wore out thc uncle but also took its toll on Massimo who, a2er

the dinner was over, let the bomb drop. In the restaurant paIking lot the uncle cve up

close to him and asked him to meet up on the next day. Massimo suddenly tumed in to a

rabid dog md staded yelling at him to his face, telling him how much he hated him and

how disgusted he was and how much he despised him* He let eveThing that 4e ha? kept

bloodcurdling scene md aRer the flrst moments of dismay, they hurled themselves at

inside for all those years. Thexifunily that was there fos und themselves wltnesslng a

Massimo who had meanwhile thrown himself onto his uncle, trjng to hit him. They

to vent the Mstrations that he bad repressed all those years and which had flnally come

sepMatcd the two aRer much difflculty. I would have prefe=ed it had they left Massimo

to li@t* I would have prefemed it had he bcaten up that 5cking pig who has

paradoxically flnally become a victim ofviolence* That’s what I would have wmted but

I felt a neat pity for Massimo and managed instead to calm him down and take :im

away. We walked offuntil we aMved at a bar where we he staded to tell ofthe atroc1tles

that he had undergone* I wouldi have wanted to tell him ofmy expedences as well but I

let him have his say instead, He had flnally taken offhis gag and was like a strean in full

talked aud as he talked he distanced himself, as though all that he were recomting had

force, unstoppable. His eyes, usually so dim, now seemed to shine with a new light* He

nothing to do with him any mOre. He got mgy at himself for not having found the

poison, this mger that he had caMed inside of himseIf for so long and that had le2 its

courage to come face to face with this pig beforehand md to confront him with all ofthis

SCar, As he spoke he f1nally felt himself Wee from the ni@Dares that invaded his sleep

and that now, could nevcr destroy him.

The next day, we met again. Massimo’s face was blmk md he had a vague look about

him again. We went into a coffee shop and I asked him what had happened* He was so

upset that I could not get a syllable out ofhim. 4LWhat’s wrong?” I f1nally aske?* My

question met a wall of silencc. 44What happened?’3 l kept asking without let1ng up.

Finally, Massimo broke the silence. LGHe’s my father? My real father?” ‘ he yelled in one

restaurant, had waited up for him to ask him what had been the reason for his sudden

go. And then he burst into tears* His mother, aRer coming back home 5om the

outburst and he had told her evemhing. He told her about the ways in which the mcle

had made them believe that he was the liar, he `told her about the diary and about *e

games that he>was forced to play so as to seem to everyone an evil boy and a liM, but he

did not tell her about the rapes that he had undergone. His mother looked at b’m itently

and with a #mace ofpain in her eyes told him that the man was in fact his real father* It

was a mistake made at a young age. Massimo asked her ifthe man knew that he wu N.s

father.

padiculM moment was so intense that I held onto my stomach and felt as if I WM golng

In my lifetime I had seen and expedenced mmy things but the disgust tbat I felt at t?is

She said plainly, <4Yes?”

to throw up my soul* I never asked him whether it was the motheI’s brotber or hjs

adoptive father’s bTother. I never had the cbance* The flnn quickly sent me back to

Naples* Massimo called me ]ots oftimes and once he conflded in me and told me that

we was in love with me but that he had never had the gutS to tell me because he did not

 

 

 

 

 

 

wmt to interfere in my relationship with Marco. I admired his consideratc name but felt

nothing for h,im except ceat affection as a &.end, We stayed in touch for a w=*le but

soon sought each other out less and less.

 

Ifsomeone had told me this stoW I would never have believed them. Howcver, ?aei th.s,

l was to come across mmy similM stoHes. Memwhile I had become very actlve ln the

LArcigay Naples’, Naples’s gay movement* l was oaen assioed to give advice to people

and chat on the phone,

suffered at the hands oftheir uncles, fat hers and those c10sest to7ithem. So many ofthem

a kind of help}ine. I talked to so many young boys that had

called in to vent their 9strations as Massimo had done. They wanted to talk about the

fllth that they had caMed around with them like a deep shve, as though they were to

blme and cre not victims* Sometimes I convinced them to come md see me md we

would chat md get to know each other. I remember this one man ( whom I still see

today) who was desperately seeking some Pdnce Ch-ing. I gave him a hmd in :1nding

places where he could f1nd md make fiends* O2en he would f1nd a companlon but

without fail he would drop them after a week and come crjng back to me, asking me for

my help.

enough. I was forced to conBont him* GLLook here gorgeous:” l said, a!most sounding

I t6ed to help him for a long while but there cve a day when I had had

*

ag0eSSlVe, LLPdnce Ch-ing DOES NOT EXIST? He’ll either be a pnnce or he’ll be

chming, you cm’t have it both ways. Pdncc Ch-ing is a shitty m^h made up by

you look nothing like a Snow White or a Sleeping Beavty. Try to be a little lessi choosy?”

Sleeping Beauty md Snow White. You ue so hain md with that black becd of yours

 

l sometimes had to deal with silly women who knew nothing of child abuse and treated it

superflcially; this angered me vew much. I would get so mad thinking ofMassimo md

had suffered. Boys like Alessio who would have violent mood SWlngS.

others like him who had not been able to teu themselves away ?om the evils that they

I have never seen

him smile, as though someone had stolen it. l soon leamt the tmth hom a b.end ofmine.

When he was twentY years old, Alessio had been todmed md raped by a few men. They

leR him alone and naked all beaten up. TeMf1ed he had dived into the sea and staycd

there all niet* When he got back home he had told his pMents that his >.ends injest had

thrown him into the sea; he did not have the strength to tell them the harsh t_th md so

this secret md all the hatred that cve with it remained with him and had trmsfomed

1 him into a strange boy according to people. Those men, that damn night had not only

x takcn away his clothes but his sense of tmst in peop}e, his sense of hvmour and h.s

hope&l attitude towards life.

yet so vital: his soul. Today Alessio is ma=ed but whoever had seen his wedding photo

They had taken away 90m him sometM.ng so absQact md

ha5 said that you cannot flnd the trace of a smile or even wYhing that resembles a smile

in oy sense ofthe word.

 

–

 

Most ofthe phone calls that l got where from young men who could not come to tems

with the very idea of homosexuality. Many could not quite understand why they felt

desire and excitement when confrontcd with the picture of a naked ma?. I have never

had the bad taste to say L4You’re gay and that’s that?” because even t1me that I found

myself in this situation I could not help but remember that newspaper that had replied to

my request for help with those sad and unfeeling woTds* Even though these men were

 

 

 

 

adolescents, adults, not children like me, I still could iot give them such traumatisig

responses as the one that I got* I tied to play down the idea that it was a problem and to

m*e them calmly assess the siNation* Sometimes I felt completely involved in some of

the stodes that I heard but with the knowledge that I had been through it all md that it

had probably been more pain&l for me, I did not appear resent*l. My woIk at the

theatre and my involvement with another man did not leave me much time for my

volunteer work. I gave up my duties on the helpline but will always retain the intense

expeience that I had at LLArcigay*”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Together with the f6ends with whom I had staded off my theatre work I tbrew myself

into the theatre again md fuelled by what we had done before5 we set up new plays. I wu

even booked by theatre companies that were then involved in avant-garde theaWe. &e

day my fdend Myiv called me, G4l’ve witten a monologue for you. I hope you like it.Y’

Itwas abeautiful but melancholy text. The suwising thingwas that w6tten into this text

was a scene taken *om my violent childhood* I took on the pa** My flrst perfonnance

was in Rome in a =.nge theatrc. We were unknown and had no sponsorship* But, we

managed, to our feat satisfaction, to impress the press and the public alike who would

come back to ow dres7sing rooms after every show to compliment US. It was an amMing

expehence that was duly repeated in Naples where we had the same response.

Meanwhile, I had staded to wdte my own plays, my interest always focused on social

problems7 md l brou@t to the stage va60us plays based on issues such as povedy,

violence and marginalisation* It was easy for me to act out and wdte about marbnalised

people. These werc stoHes that I had lived with, eaten with, vomited out, they were all a

pad of me md a pm of my soul, pad of every inch of my skin that seemed to emerge

every time I sat down to wdte together with a pen and the darkness. The dMkness made

me feel as thou@ I were in confession or on a psychoanalyst’s couch. It was quite ti6ng

and pain8l for me to constmtly relive those moments. I was always alone on the stage in

Ront of an unknown audience that stared at me and malysed me and watched my pain*

The ghosts of my past would dse up Yom behind the scenery, from the tables, the

Stage. . **and =om the audience that applaudcd. When the cutain would f1nally come

down I would mn to my dressing room md t*e offmy make up. b fact, I have never

revelled in the pleasure that one is supposed to feel at all the applause* I wmted to get

away from the character that I played, Rom those stodes that tore me apad. You must be

wondedng why I played those padS in the flrst place, why l chose those plays, It was not

a sense ofmasochism but a sense of duty towards those who had caressed and bmtalised

the child that I never got to be* I felt a duty towards social chticis*i_> md in my own small

way I have always tded to move the audience emotionally. Believe me, it will bc ven

hard for them to forget this small man, who 5om a tiny, three metres squue stage would

recount his loss, his seuch for a way back into life, a profession that was so diff1cult. I

always did this work alone but it was the only way to reconstmct md to face the mm that

I was md that 1 had become* I used language as though it were a shaw knife, always

ready to defend myself on stage as in life, md at the same time, shut myself off in

silence, Once my sanity begm to show signs ofwe*ness I would t*e re*ge in what

seemed an absurd 6tual oi going to X-rated movies and public toilets md having *mtic

sex amOngSt the foul s=ells of putref1ed come md stinking uHne, only to come back

home feeling f1lthy insidi e md out md as lonely as ever, ont to destroy myself. I did *.s

.,,

to myselfbecause I knew *at sooner or later my being would react to this con*sed state,

it would have to rebel. It was like reaching the bdnk ofsuicide md then coming back.

Each time _that li was rebom I felt stronger, I felt more able to fl@t against the men that

had entered my life uncalled for from when I was a child and who had leA their newotic

and mad spenn in my ljttle body ofyesterday md in my adult thou@ts oftoday,

 

I continued my relationship with Marco* b the summer of that yeu we went to Sici1y

and I met a man in his fodies with blue eyes. I fell in love with him md embuked on an

affair with him, this beautiful man from Milan. Ours was m affair made up of trains,

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

planes md mmy miles on hi*ways throu# fog md he?vY rain and the nodhem winds*

It was an afjxfair made up of long phone calls and expenslve bills. I leR Marco to be with

Stelvio.

sac6flces to keep up the factory md my relationship with Stelvio as we would meet up

Memwhile, 1 also left my work and sta*ed up a clothes factory. It took mmy

almost even weekend. l would oRen travel with a b*end ofmine, Renato, called 4the

Renato dccided to move up to Milan md l found myself alonc on these lo?g and diff1cult

dreamer’, who was going out with a man Yom the No^h. Aaer a few months however

j oumeys . One evening I told Stelvio that I had been thinkin? about movl?g up to where

he WaS.

suggestion. . .instead, he made up a sedes ofunlikely eXCUSeS.

I expected a positiv1e response, some Sl:m of happlness at my

I felt like I had received a

slap in the face, the umpteenth one ofmy life. He was, and is, a good man, sweet, and

generous, but unfodunately his insecudties, fears, the distance, or better yet, his desire

that l remain on the margins ofhis life, caused a strain on our relationship, a strain that

had already been there because ofthe physical distance be~een US*

 

Meanwhile Marco had moved away Hom my house md 1 found myself alone once again.

Stelvio’s rejection made my loneliness even more poimmt. I had leA Marco for him, I

had travelled many mi}es for him eVerY weekend just so that I could spend the day with

him…. l needed to make cedain sedous decisions with my life md I did.

 

–

 

l left Stelvio, sold the factory and together with mo &’ends sta#ed up a different business

altogether.

another challenge, one that I was facing at the threshold of fody and so a liale isky

We set up gay sauna for men only, the flrst ofits kind in the South. lt was

because,

Mstead, I stood by the builders as they erected every ?.al), canjng md dumplng alY the

had it not come through it would have le* me with no other altematlVeS.

mate6al needed, si2ing through bureaucratic necesslt1eS, one long queue followed by

mother. ARer months ofhMdships I was f1nally able to open up G4Blu angels”, the flr?t

because angels had always been there around me, ever since I was a ?hild. l had always

gay sauna in Southem Italy. Bluc mgels. I did not choose the name by chance, I chose lt

would tv to the angels in my sad md conhsed moments, in my moments of solitude.

counted on them being there; a2er my expeHences as a young boy ln strmger’s cars, I

It

was a 8eat achievement to see the project Rouish, this project that I had dreamt of,

sweated for =d desired. It was ajob that l liked and which eamed me a living ud that

kinds of men came to the sauna and they WeTe alY beautiful but not with m ephemeral

offered me the chaDce to meet the psyches ofthe va*ous men that came to the SaUna. All

extedor beauty* Instead, their beauty was ofthe sweet kind, with their emban?ssed looks

me happy, as happy as the tmst that they laid at my feet when they con?lded to me all

and faces that looked like those of shy md awe-stdcken children. Their tmst 1n me made

their tonnents, their lives, and how they sought their sensuality. I oftenjolned them and

t=ed to givie them some advice.

too much play, soldiers spent from too much flghting, beasts tired ofhuntlng. Bvery o?e

asleep on the pink sofa in the large sitting area, they seem like little boys t? me tired aRer

They inspire a cedain tendemess in me when they fall

ofthem is diffeIent in thcjr similaity and similar in their differences; this is the diveIslty

ofbeing.

 

 

 

But, ?nfodunately 1 have also met foul, self-se?ing and cmel men,

with this idea.

this many think ofme as someone special, someone with courage for having come w

expenence has le_ a me well equipped to defend myselfagainst their wrongdoing md for

Luck*ly m?~

i

have done has given me a reason for being and today I am a happy man for having

I do not feel like a hero, nor do I feel courageous, but the,result ofwhat I

decided to do this and for having ca*ed it through,

 

Today I live through my work; it is a new love stow and 1 have the wonde@l

oppodunity, through the sto6es that il hear;Rom the men that frequent the sauna, to lem

and expe6ence new worlds md pleasures. All too oRen though their sto*es take me back

to the teMble expehences that I have suffered, to the slaps I have received because I did

not satisfy so md so’s reqUest, men who had no morals and to whom I gave in out of feM

for my life.

with onlyrabid dogs 8owling at me for compmy. I soon leamt that the tick was to walk

How many times had I been dumped in the dark and unknown countryside

tmng to tell me that I was only huaing myselfwhen I got into those stIangers’

as ?lowly as I could. But maybe their baIking was a kind ofreproach, maybe they were

cars and

aPadments ,

men that awaited me, not too different from the men that I already knew, and the dogs*

into a deep sleep that would help me foriget, and in my dreams I would again meet those

When 1 would flnally get home I would tbrow myselfonto the bed and fall

you luck md deep down,

u books about the sioif1cance of drems and in folklore, dreaming about dogs bings

lucky man. not withstanding ever^hing that has happened, I feel Iike a

had intense love affaiTs and ultimately I have done ever7hing that I always wanted,

I have Iived a life *]l ofviolence yet also *ll ofwonder*l mOments, I have

always taking responsibility for my actions,

with nobody’s help* When hunger overcame me I would swallow my saliva md when I

falling down md picking myself up igain

was thirsty for knowledge I would sac*flce my mind to strangers, who in retum wmted

I am content because I did not waste my time;

evemhing and I, who wanted to know everYhing, was forced to satisfy them* However,

and hated and today I love myself very much.

I have lived my life, I have been ]oved

judged, they fear being thought of as mad and who end up hiding behind conventional

to ny, to cry out their dreams for the world to heu and who don’t because they fear being

superflcial stoies I feel a 8eat rage because I flnd myselfwith people who would wmt

When I hear people telling Petty,

tali. And when I feel like coming out with it all, like a iver in *ll force, my burden,

tmx` ng to glve my madness some fonn, I tease and provoke others till the false moTal

eve~hing that they ever hid inside, all their disappoinWents and =strations and> theiT

stitches that ho)d together their lips tear open and everYhing that they ever wanted to say,

–

repTessed dreams, comes poudng out. .

 

Madnessindeed? How many times have I come across madness in the cars that I have

beenin.

them).

ofa bluish grey colour and a]though I cannot remember who gave them to me I still loved

tbe middle ofa f1eld, When we got there he asked me to take my tIousers off(they VeIe

A decent man that I met at the bus station, when I was ten years old, took me to

This decent man made me get U^P on his chest and stmed to Wemble in

what he asked because I was afTaid ofbeing left her in the middle ofthe countwside.

64Get out ofthe cary’ he said, with a icy look, 44I want to take a good look at you*

excitement, When he told me to put my clothes back on l noticed that my back `’u yet*

y, I did

He

 

scrutinised me for a long time md then took out a LGbomboniera’A md offered me a su?eet.

I politely re=sed, but without t*ing my notice of me he continued to swgglc with ae

wrapping. The more he tied the m*er he gOt, 4LYou Me a shit, that’s what you Me, a

wedding* ARcr six yeu all that I have lea ofyou are these sweets:”

shit:” he stmed screaming. G4You gOt ma=ed, And you wmted me to come to your

He kept ?ng to

opcn up the wrapping till his hands stmed to bleed. l don’t know ifit was the tulle or his

nails or even his watch that made him bleed but he had cut himselfbadly and = soon as

he saw blood he seemed to loose all control and hurled all his anger onto me* GLLook at

what you’ve don e? All I wanted to do was offer you some sweets?” And with ithat he

threw the sweets to the yound. GLlt is useless to give you m$hing because you’ll leave

me too. . .like that asshole did:” His face was on flre md thou@t up mtil that point he

had not been violent he suddenly staded to insult me md beat me* He let out his rage by

managed to get up md staaed to run from his apologetic cdes, his t?us md his Paln*

giving me a kick in the back where he had speni his sickly come only moments be:ore. l

He

begged me to come back, to forgive him* For a moment I felt an 1mmenSe pity for this

mm but my feq was strOnger,

Duhng my niat I could feel people’s stares following me but not knowlng what had

I kept mnning md mnning till I found m? way home.

happened to me.

been stadng. I was covered in blood md looked a pitiN} state.

When I flnally got home md shut the door I realised why people had

Even my mum,

sunounded by her little tibe ofchildren, noticed.

 

I will always remember my mother’s advice. One was never to t*e an$hing Rom

strangerS.

something she said to me the day I cme back Rom my visit to that hated doctor*

The other that i* f1xed in my mind md that innuenccd my sexual life is

She

took me aside, looked deep into my eyes and said 4<My boy, y?u must not have sex ?jit?

men because 4Ls’ammescano ‘e sangue:” or G4Your blood will m1X with theirs.” Heri:advice

was not bigoted but rathery she wmted to leL mc know that l could get infected with some

disease, l mi0t get snhilis or even worst, lt could infect my mind md I would become a

‘faggot.’

Thanks to my mother’s advice I have always avoided becoming ill.

These words, LGs’vmescmo ‘e smgue:” were a threat that l cm never forget.

 

To retum to my storY, I remember that that mc was we&ng lots md lots of dngs,

bracelets and a necklace, all ofgold md he had a strong body odour so foul that for mmy

years to come it was p* ofthc smells that I associated with my adolescence.

 

4 A bonboniera are bon~bons mapped in `lle that are given out at weddings.

–

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In order to remember my absurd odours l h` ave come back to the placcs wheTe my gao}en

brouat me, to the flelds; there l have found m enomous building, near the 9aveyMd

aTe the tollgates for the highway md next to the old train station is a factow that produces

enamel, I cannot help but ask myselfseveral questions. 44I wonder where thcy t*e the

boys now? Those men, are they old now? Are they dead?” I would like to see them

them, simply ask them why? Who knows where the guy in the uhnal is, or the man ln the

again so that I could talk to them, bing out their memo6es md without wanting to ?lane

Volkswagen, the basket fllled with coconuts, the blood ofthe mm who stmggled with the

wrapping, my noral pdnted coat, the old commercial ship, that disgusting md foul

nothing* I bave only encountered the silence, the memon ofmy father.

smelling mm* Some ofthis still has to bc there. I have searched and dug but found

I no longer hide

my tme selfand share my life with my brothers and sisters. My mother is always woMed

about my health and that l don’t end up on my OWn. I mde myself up anew every day,

day by day and in this way bing meaning into my life.

 

I have come to the end of the joumcy into my diary, I have retumed to the ?onte di

Casanova.

suddenly a whiff ofbleach seizes my nose md reachcs my head, my stomach,*..md l

I have stopped to think about all that I hive wdtten without my Paln. But

remember. The toilets here are in the basement. One day I had seen one ofthe tenants of

the building pissing there. l looked at him cuiously and as he smiled he moved in closer

to me*

towMds him. I found myselfwith my head bemeen his legs as his thick and diHy hmds

And thou# I don’t remember why (or maybe l don’t wmt to remember) I went

pushed me towMds his cock as I cjed and howled. l do not wmt to remember his hmds

me into an old bath tub *ll ofwater md bleach md my hands beat against the wateT that

as they pushed me again, this time into the toilet bowl md aaemards, foT fun, he threw

held mybody. Why did he tbIow me in that Nb? Was it because I wmted to play hide-

world? I still did not know what was yet to come and how many more times I was to

andmseek like the other chil&en? Or was it because l t6ed to hide Hom the evil and cpel

reveal the tmth..*the tmth ofa young child. How is it that these people havc never had

suffer the touch ofrough hmds on my little body, l still did not know that I would never

possible that they never thou0t of me as a child?

any re8ets and have killed the dreams and the youth ofthe most cue5ee years? Is it

I wanted to play &nd live my

childhood, even though it was ine lived in povedY. bstead, everytime that theyplaced

their fllthy hands on my little body, they killed a pm ofmy innocence. A2er all, l WM

only a little child.
 

THE END