Let the Games Begin (38 page)

Murder pointed at a crushed supplí beneath a laurel bush.

Husband and wife, silently, trying not to make any noise, sneaked over. At first they couldn't see anything, but then they realised that, beneath the branches, crouched down, was a man wearing an old tatty tracksuit and a strange headdress made
of pigeon feathers and small bottles of Coke. He was stuffing down their picnic.

‘Hey! You! Thief!' Murder yelled at him. ‘Give that back!'

The man, caught redhanded, jumped back in fear. For a second he turned around and looked at them, just for a second, then he picked up the omelette from the ground and, limping, disappeared into the vegetation.

The two of them stood there, petrified.

Silvietta put a hand over her mouth. ‘Don't tell me that that was . . .'

Murder was staring at the bushes, then he swallowed and looked at his wife.

‘No. I won't tell you.'

 

Acknowledgements

And now we've come to the thank-you page.

First of all, I have to thank Antonio Manzini. Thank you, my friend, without your tightrope-walking fucking around, your inventions, your encouragement, this story would never have existed. Then I thank Lorenza, who sees further than I do, and I thank my wonderful family. A special thanks also goes to Vereno, Marino, Massimo and Sauro for having built me the best hideout in the world, and to Marco, the orchestra conductor of a little act of foolishness. Then come Severino Cesari and Paolo Repetti, Antonio Franchini, Kylee Doust and Francesca Infascelli, for having supported me while I paddled upstream.

And of course, how can I forget Nnn . . . nnn . . . nnn . . . ntwinki and Nicaredda, my silent and caring life companions.

Obviously, this novel is the product of my imagination and of turbulent dreams. If you see any things or facts that remind you of reality, that's your problem. For the history of Villa Ada and the Olympic Games, I plundered Wikipedia and other websites. I would like to say one last thing. Villa Ada is in a state of terrible decay. One of the last green lungs of a metropolis smothered in smog and stunned by noise is about to die. If the public institutions don't intervene soon, by attempting to treat the sick pine trees (treat doesn't mean decapitate), reclaim the lakes and repair the buildings, which are crumbling, we will lose another piece of this old and tired city that is Rome.

See you next time.

 

No animals were harmed or mistreated during
the writing of this novel
.

 

CHANNELLING GREAT
CONTENT FOR YOU
TO
WATCH, LISTEN
TO AND
READ.