Multiversum (34 page)
Alex smiled and stood up. âYou're right. Let's go for a walk instead.'
Jenny grabbed his hand and let herself be pulled to her feet, then she wrapped her arms around him and let their lips brush delicately. They could savour each moment without any fear that it might be their last ⦠They had all the time in the world; there was no mass of incandescent rock hurtling overhead.
They walked hand in hand in the direction of the casino, full of energy and lively curiosity.
âWhen you came here the first time, did they take you there?' Alex asked as they crossed the street.
âWhere?'
âTo the casino!'
Jenny laughed awkwardly. âAs if! Knowing my classmates, they would've probably tried to break into the slot machines. No, they didn't let us anywhere near the place.'
âIs it that way?' asked Alex as they came to a fork in the road.
âI think so. That day, this was as far as I got with my friends, but unless I'm mistaken it's right near here: we just have to turn left down there.'
Alex held Jenny's hand tighter as they got to the end of the road, on the opposite side to the beachfront walkway. She was laughing, dreamy and carefree. He couldn't stop looking into her eyes. Then they both turned into the cross street.
And suddenly they were in the midst of nothingness.
âWhat ⦠what the â¦?' Jenny stammered. Stretching out in front of her was nothing but endless white space. Like a giant wall where your sight gets lost, with nothing for your sense of perspective to latch on to. It was a void. But it was somehow more frightening than just a void. It was as if that part of the world had been erased, swallowed by a dense white fog.
Jenny tried to take another step forward, but her legs felt as heavy as boulders. She had a hard time breathing, while before her eyes reality became a page that had never been stained by ink. She closed her eyes and opened them again, over and over, but nothing changed.
Standing by her side, Alex also noticed the absence of sounds, as well as of sights. He took a few steps backwards, and was hypnotised by the void. A sensation he'd never experienced before. He didn't know where he was walking and he'd lost any point of reference, with the exception of two basic but inexplicable certainties:
On one side there was a Spanish seafront, with a pier stretching out into the waves.
On the other side, nothing.
âLet's get away from here, I'm begging you,' Jenny whispered, her gaze both imploring and incredulous.
They turned on their heels and walked slowly back to the beachfront walkway, both speechless. But both of them were reliving it all.
Those thirty days.
The trip from home to school.
The trip from home to the pool. The gym, the coach.
The parents.
The bedroom.
Everything was exactly the same as they remembered it, from before the asteroid blasted away all human civilisation.
Jenny stared at Alex, while clutching at his arm with the fingers of her right hand.
âWhat I saw before, Alex ⦠that wasn't déjà vu. That was the same scene. My friend giving a euro to the guy. Exactly like during our class trip.'
âThe same scene â¦' he repeated tonelessly, as he recalled the note his mother had left him when he came home from the basketball game, the Christmas decorations in the streets of Milan, his backpack, his journal.
âGod, it can't be!' screamed Jenny, her hands in her hair. Then she turned and ran back into the void, crossing the street without even looking.
Alex saw her disappear around the corner and scream at the top of her lungs. Then he walked closer, almost terrified at the idea of finding himself face to face with that senseless vision.
Jenny reappeared before his eyes, her face ashen, her lips stretched in a hysterical grin. âIt's absurd.'
If we've saved ourselves from the end of the world and we've wound up in a parallel universe where the asteroid never hit the planet, how can it be that our lives aren't even slightly different?
The question that Alex had asked himself continued to spin like a whirlwind that went from his head into Jenny's. Gradually, other questions swam into the mix, as if building up a whirlpool where every one of their memories mingled and hurtled crazily.
Our mind is the key.
Jenny stretched out her hand to Alex and closed her eyes.
âThis is Memoria,' said a voice behind them.
When they turned around, the wooden stall of the Malaysian fortune teller was there, on the beachfront. His unkempt grey hair, wind-tossed; his stained jacket; his legs crossed beneath the little table and the cards in his hands.
Alex and Jenny stood there aghast, unable to speak, while the smile on the fortune teller's face turned into something like a mocking grin.
âYou see only what you remember. This is after.'
Jenny tried to free her mind from her confusion and panic to consider the man's words.
I was here on a class trip, but we never actually saw the road leading up to the casino. But I clearly remember the airport, the road right up to here, the beachfront walk, and the pier â¦
âThink about it. In the last thirty days you have lived in the only reality that you know. The same streets, the same house, the pool, the gym. This is Memoria.'
âDamn it, who are you?' Alex blurted. âWhere the hell are we? What's happened?'
The fortune teller nailed him to the spot with a decisive, penetrating gaze.
âI'm nothing but a message. When you were small I came to show you how the future would be. And you drew everything I showed you. But you can't remember me. Thomas Becker is only a message, too. The world as you know it has been destroyed. What you see is nothing more than an echo of the apocalypse, the last surviving fragment after the destruction. The only place where you can still live.'
âBut I've never been here. I don't know this city,' Alex objected.
âYou didn't need to. Your memories and the girl's memories are intertwined. They always have been. They're the only maps you can move in.'
Alex shut his eyes and said nothing more. He relived, as if in slow motion, their leap into the void as the asteroid struck. He had really fallen in, then. In every corner of the Multiverse.
It wasn't a nightmare.
It was much worse.
âGreat. What now?' Jenny said sarcastically, as the wind kicked up, sending red and blue fliers into the air, swooping and diving in all directions. âAre we imprisoned here for the rest of eternity?'
The fortune teller let the cards fall onto the table, then he turned his right hand, palm up, and finally stretched out his arm with the elegance of a stage actor, as if to indicate the reality around them.
On the beach, Jenny's classmates were playing soccer in the sand.
At the end of the walk, Valeria and Giorgio Loria, hand in hand, were sitting and chatting on a bench.
On the other side of the road, Roger and Clara Graver were strolling down to the harbour.
Suddenly, every person in their field of sight was transformed into a fragment of their past lives. The man behind the reception desk at the St James Hotel. The little boy on the train to Cadorna. The old man who was eating alone and remembered where the Gravers lived. Mary Thompson. The taxi driver from Altona. The policeman in Milan who had warned Jenny to go home during the curfew. Giovanni, with his rifle under his arm, and the family that had welcomed Alex and Jenny into their home as their guests for the last night before the end of the world.
They were all there. It was the only reality possible. They were Memoria.
The fortune teller disappeared, leaving the two of them caught in a labyrinth of questions.
Alex and Jenny saw it appear at the far end of the street.
It came towards them slowly, taking shape among the purplish hues of the Spanish sunset, while all around it were pamphlets dancing in the wind, and a procession of characters from the past running into each other along the boardwalk.
Alex's eyes widened when he was finally able to focus on the figure in the distance. He shook his head slightly, as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing. Jenny grabbed his hand and took a deep breath.
When the electric wheelchair came to a halt in front of them, they saw Marco's straightforward, radiant gaze, accompanied by an enigmatic smile. The few words he uttered had the same effect on Alex and Jenny as a spark about to ignite and blow up an entire machine. He spoke of a secret passageway leading to an inexplicable way out. A password that would allow them to reopen the gates of the Multiverse.
âCome on, guys. Let's get out of this cage.'
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
When I was six years old, I wrote a story about the Exogini, a collection of tiny monsters also known as a Fistful of Aliens, and who have since been replaced by the Gormiti, or Lords of Nature. It was four pages of hard work, and I clearly remember why I did it: my mother had pushed me to write by promising me that she'd take my âtreatment' to the offices of Radiotelevisione Italiana. Only many years later do I understand why she employed that strategy. So she is the first person I should thank. She's always had complete confidence in my abilities, total passion in keeping track of all my artistic endeavours, and she has always been there, ready and willing to help. The publication of
Multiversum
is a success for her as well.
As far as locked in back
, I used to say to her whenever she asked me how much I loved her. That was my childish way of describing a hug. The same thing applies today, Mamma.
But this book exists because a number of people have chosen to travel through parallel realities, allowing my worlds to express themselves.
Piergiorgio Nicolazzini, my agent, whom I thank wholeheartedly along with all his staff. A solid, trustworthy, perceptive soul â there are too few people like him around. When I decided to join his list of authors, I finally started to believe that this passion of mine might actually turn into a profession. Dear Piergiorgio, our conquest of this universe is just the first objective. In time, we can start planning our takeover of other universes as well!
Fiammetta Giorgi and the editorial staff of Mondadori Ragazzi, a team of talented professionals who snipped, stitched, and ironed my novel, displaying the greatest kindness and intuition from the first day we met.
A special mention goes to my editor, Francesco Gungui, who risked his mental health by venturing into the vast labyrinth of the editorial process required to bring
Multiversum
to fruition. We both know where this all began. In a steakhouse, when the novel hadn't yet come into existence, before he even went to work for Mondadori. That meeting was no coincidence. They never are.
Moreover, thanks to everyone who pitched in during the editing process, reading the book in special sneak-peek screenings, and offering invaluable advice: Andrea and Stefano Brambilla, Eleonora Giupponi and Claudia Erba, Mirko Cioffi, Veronica Volpe, Giulia Forcolini, and my colleagues Francesco Falconi, Asia Greenhorn, and Simona Toma.
My sincerest thanks also go to several friends who have patiently put up with my narrative follies over the last few years, along with my plots and half-baked ideas that have gradually developed in my head, before they could pour out onto the page. The âPort Royal gang', in no particular order: Matun, Ema, Mayer, La Giò, La Fra, and Il Vlad.
To conclude, let me thank the person who changed my life. She's my therapist, my editor, my first reader, my nurse, and I could go on ad infinitum.
One day she decided to hold out her hand to me and walk by my side, in our own little section of the Multiverse.
La amo davvero
, in the words of Luca Carboni. Grazie, Valeria.
P.S. In a parallel universe, I've already thanked all those whom I've inadvertently neglected to mention in this woefully incomplete list!
