I Am David (8 page)

David reflected seriously, and then he bought himself a pair of scissors, and a pencil and a small pad of note-paper as well: the scissors to cut his hair with so that he would not look conspicuous and the pencil and paper because for many days now he had wished he could write. Johannes had begun to teach him once; perhaps if he could practise, he could learn to do it properly. It might stand him in good stead to be able to write — one never knew when it might prove useful.

He was not used to having more money than the price of a loaf of bread, and he found his unexpected wealth a problem. He had now spent almost half of it — the scissors had been expensive. Still, he would have enough to buy bread for many days to come, and he had a great desire to try some cheese. If he could get a bit for fifty lire …

It tasted good, even better than he remembered it: he had had it once in the camp and again in the van on the road to Salonica. When he had satisfied his hunger, he began cutting his hair. He was sitting under an olive tree, and he placed his mirror on the lowest branch so that it leaned up against the trunk. Cutting the tufts at the back of his neck where he could not see what he was doing proved a tricky business, but at length he was satisfied with the result.

He wondered if he dared try out his plan of getting a lift. If he chose one of those lorries that transported foodstuffs … they never drove them.

But every time a lorry approached he lacked the courage to try, although he had made up his mind to do it. He was so frightened he could feel his heart beat faster and his throat grow tight. Then he thought of God.

“God of the green pastures and the still waters,” he said softly, “I’m David. And I’m frightened … not just ordinary fear that you always have — worse than that. I want to beg a lift so that I can get quickly to another country, but I daren’t. If you’re strong enough to do something about what people think and feel right inside themselves, then will you please take this fear away, just long enough for me to wave to a lorry? And if it isn’t greedy to ask for two things at once, will you let it be a good man that comes in the next one? I haven’t yet found anything I can do for you. I am David. Amen.”

It seemed that God was strong enough, for when the next lorry came along David was no longer too frightened to get up and step into the roadway.

The lorry-driver looked exactly like the sailor who had shielded him aboard the ship! David waved, the man pulled up and asked where he was going, and David answered, “To Perugia,” as he had decided he would when he formed his plan. Perugia was a long way — it would take him three days to walk there.

And so there he was, sitting in the lorry by the side of the stranger who was so like the sailor. When he had once told his tale about the circus, the man asked him no questions at all, obviously preferring to do the talking himself. He was called Angelo, and he gave David a mass of detailed information about his home and family. He had both father and mother and many brothers and sisters, and then there was a woman called Rita whom he wanted to marry when he had saved enough money to buy a lorry of his own. But his father wanted him to marry someone called Clorinda and her father had a vineyard.

He talked about it at great length as if he were not sure which of them he should marry, and he asked David what he thought.

David considered the matter. “Are they both good people?” he asked finally. “For if there’s any difference, you see, I think you’d better marry the one that’s good and kind. You could buy a vineyard yourself perhaps when you’ve earned enough money. But I think you’ve got to decide for yourself. Perhaps your father hasn’t thought whether they’re kind … You must make quite sure about it before you choose.”

Angelo frowned — then he smiled and nodded. “I think you’re a very clever boy,” he said. “I’ll do what you say …”

Then he chattered on about his plans for the future, and David listened, but not with the same attention as before. Angelo was stupid. He was a good man, but he was stupid. David was puzzled, for he had always thought that good people must be clever. He thought about it for a long time. Could he have been mistaken? He knew so little about anything. But no, Angelo was a grown man, and here was one thing he was quite free to decide for himself, and yet he was ready to let others make up his mind for him … that could only be stupidity.

When they had been driving for several hours, Angelo pulled up and shared his food with David — he gave him a drink from his bottle of wine as well, and a little later they came to Perugia. It was a large town situated on the top of a hill. But David asked to be put down on the way up the hill, and when Angelo had driven on, he walked back to the point where the main road continued into the countryside. He had no need of either bread or water, and he preferred to remain in the open.

His plan to stop a lorry and ask for a lift had gone off very well. Perhaps he would stop another the next day — provided he were not too frightened. But he would have to do it on his own: while he had not found anything he could do in return, he could not go on asking God for things — it would be greedy, and God might very soon grow tired of a boy who was always frightened and could never do anything for himself. And suppose he grew tired of him the very day something happened that David could not possibly deal with by himself!

David did not know that the very next day something would happen that he could not tackle alone and he still would not ask for help …

David had never seen a forest before. He had had a lift that morning and come a long way by car, and although he wanted to waste no time, he thought he might spend an hour or two finding out what a forest looked like. He liked it at first, but after a while he began to feel uneasy. You could hide behind the tree-trunks … but so could they! He felt more at ease when he was out in the open again.

He could not yet make up his mind whether they were really after him or not. If they were, it was not because he knew anything. Johannes had always said, every time a new prisoner entered the camp, “Don’t tell the boy anything they may try to worm out of him afterwards.” Later on, when Johannes was dead, others had said the same thing. And the man had known that. But there was always the possibility that he was a useful hostage: suppose, for example, he had had a father and that father had been their enemy, then they might have threatened him with the fact that they had David in their power.

Not that David really believed it could be so: he could not imagine ever having had a father. But he had to reckon with the possibility that there was some reason that made it necessary for them to find him, and that was as near as he could get.

He was suddenly aware of a strange sound. He looked quickly round and threw himself down behind a clump of bushes. There he was again, walking along and thinking without even looking where he was going! there was a house close by. He could see it among the trees … a large house and beautiful to look at, almost like a church.

What was that sound? It was strange … yes, and wonderful, too!

When he was in Naples, he had seen a balloon. If you could turn into a balloon, that sound was what you might feel like … as if you had a great space inside you and it was all filled with air, a heavenly air full of sweet voices that made you fly up and up and your heart beat faster and faster … not because you were afraid, but because you were … happy? Was that what happiness felt like?

And David knew he was listening to music. there had once been a musician in the camp, and before he had been there long enough to lapse into silence, he had talked about music and tried to explain what it sounded like. But David had not understood.

He understood now, however. That sound that seemed to flood right into your very being and draw you upwards and upwards — that was all the instruments playing together. And that thin delicate sound that made your heart beat so fast — that must be the violin!

“What the hell! You young thief, forcing your way into people’s grounds in broad daylight! I’ll show you, you … Come here and I’ll give you a damn good hiding!”

The voice fell like an explosion on David’s ears. The wonderful sound of the music lay murdered, crushed and kicked to death by an evil voice. He just managed to catch sight of a boy, a black-haired boy with spiteful eyes, before he was fully occupied in trying to ward off the blows. It was impossible to get away, for the boy was as big as himself, and to escape would mean hitting back. David shielded his head against the boy’s blows and clenched his teeth. The blows began to lose some of their force, and the boy seemed to hesitate.

“So you won’t hit back, eh? Scared to fight, I suppose?”

David did not answer, and the boy set about him again but less violently this time — rather as if he felt he had to.

“Use your fists, you young swine!”

“No.”

The boy appeared to have grown tired of striking him, at least for the moment, and David sat up with blood streaming from his nose.

“You seem to enjoy a good hiding. Maybe you like me for giving you one!” The boy’s voice was sneering.

David regarded him calmly. “No, I don’t. I hate you — and I’d hate you just as much if it had been anyone else you’d hit. I wouldn’t care if you fell dead right now: at least I’d be sure you’d never look at anything beautiful again!”

The strange boy looked astonished. “Why don’t you fight then?” he asked crossly.

“Because if I hit you back, I’d be no better than you are. I’d be just as rotten and worthless, and I’d have no right to be free!”

The strange boy grinned at him, but there was a look of uncertainty about him and his eyes shifted uneasily. “You’re not all there!” he said. “Who do you think you’re talking to?”

“I don’t think. I know. I’m talking to someone who likes brute force. And that’s why I don’t want to talk to you any more. You can hit me again if you can catch me!”

With that David jumped up smartly and ran off. He could not run very quickly because he was beginning to ache all over where the other had struck him. But the strange boy did not follow him: he only shouted, “Idiot! You’re a daft coward!”

David had the impression that he was shouting so loudly for his own benefit.

David was sick, and every time he thought about the young stranger he felt like being sick again. He found it difficult to understand that people should be so much better off here in Italy, where they had so much food to eat and were surrounded by so much beauty, and yet could still love violence. That boy was just like the guards in the camp, the only difference being that the guards did not leave off striking till their victims fainted. the boy, of course, had had only his bare hands to strike with and had tired of the effort too soon.

For a moment David was tempted to think that perhaps there were no good people at all outside concentration camps, but then he reminded himself of the sailor and Angelo and the other people who might have been ignorant but were certainly not bad. And then when he was living among the rocks overhanging the sea there had been the man with the loaves. He had not been bad either: he had just not been brave enough to let a boy go without giving him away — not for more than a few days at any rate.

Yes, he felt there must be somewhere where everybody was kind and decent, a free country where people did not believe violence was a good thing. And he would find a free country — if he could do it before he were caught again. But first of all he must have a thorough wash. He thought from the lie of the land that there was probably a river nearby.

There was — a large one, too, although it was partly dried up. David took his clothes off and laid them in the water. He scrubbed himself thoroughly all over. His soap would soon be worn thin at that rate, but he did not care — he must not leave a spot unwashed where the boy had touched him. Not until all contact with him had been washed away would David be able to feel free again.

He washed his hair, too, and then took his clothes out of the water and laid them out to dry. He lay down beside them and made an effort to calm himself and forget the boy. Much better to recall what the music had sounded like … had there been a large orchestra inside that fine house? Or had it been a radio?

He was startled by the sound of voices not far away. He pulled his wet clothes towards him. A large boulder provided good cover on one side, and in front of him the trunk of an olive and rows of close-growing vines, old and gnarled, completely hid him from view when he ducked down.

It was the sound of children playing and David decided he would watch them. He usually hurried away when he saw children. He was afraid of them. He had never spoken to children and he did not know how to begin. From the very first day when he had made his home among the rocks he had made up his mind to avoid children: they were much more dangerous than grown-ups — except them, of course. Grown-ups could not really remember what children were like, so Johannes had once said. But other children would very soon discover that he knew nothing of the things they took for granted. One thing alone would give him away: he had no idea how to play. People were always talking about children playing, but playing seemed to mean so many different things that David had given up trying to find out what it was.

There were so many more important things to learn about, and as long as he avoided children there was no need for him to be able to play.

But since he could not get away before they went, he might just as well watch them. He parted the vines cautiously so that he could see.

There were two little boys, much smaller than himself, and a girl who was somewhat bigger, perhaps ten or even eleven. Shouting and laughing and all three talking at once, they were running round a small building — not the sort of place people lived in but where they kept tools and wheelbarrows and baskets for fruit-picking.

David could not take his eyes off the girl. She had black curly hair, very long and tied with a red ribbon, and everything about her was so beautiful — not just her fine red dress, but everything. Her laughter sounded like the light tinkling of polished glass, and when she moved she reminded David of a flower swaying in the wind.