Read To the Wedding for Free Online Page B

saying—to lift you up and up and up and the wall of the house fell down! Look at the apples, Ninon! And he gave me one and I knelt all naked, holding it like I once saw in a painting. Ah! Gino. The painting wasn’t of Eve.

    The city is being announced by huge, printed or flashing, words. Kilometre after kilometre of conflicting words which promise products, services, pleasures, names. Some syllables are so large they seem to be deafening, their noise roaring in and out of the rush of the traffic. Jean Ferrero weaves his way between the words, sometimes riding under them, sometimes slipping between two letters or cornering around the end of a slogan. BOSCH, IVECO, BANCA SELLA, ZOLA, AGIP, MODO, ERG.
    The traffic is congested. He moves from lane to lane and rides between the lanes. All the time he’s reading. He reads the signs concerning what another driver is going to do during the next five seconds. He watches how drivers hold their heads, how their arm rests on an open window, how their fingers tap on the bodywork. Then he accelerates or brakes, stays behind or pulls away. He’s been a signalman all his life.
    Papa explained the scientific principle to me. Everything’s a question of how you lean. If anything on wheels wants to corner or change direction, a centrifugal force comes into play, he says. This force tries to pull us out of the bend back into the straight, according to a law calledthe Law of Inertia which always wants energy to save itself. In a cornering situation it’s the straight which demands least energy and so our fight starts. By tipping our weight over into the bend, we shift the bike’s centre of gravity and this counteracts the centrifugal force and the Law of Inertia! Birds do the same thing in the air. Except that birds, Papa says, are not in the air to make journeys—it’s where they live!
    The traffic has come to a standstill. The signalman pursues his way between the stationary vehicles, searching for wherever there is a passage wide enough, sometimes to the left along the centre of the road, sometimes to the right near the curb. He manoeuvres, guides the bike. A pall of mist and fumes hangs over the city, masking the sunlight. His motor has overheated because he’s going slowly and the electrical cooling system switches itself on. When he reaches the head of the column he observes what has brought the traffic to a halt. A herd of white heifers is being driven by a man, a boy and a dog along the street. The cattle follow one another like a line of disarmed soldiers who have surrendered. Then a tram appears from the opposite direction, ringing its bell. The driver of a Vision A Mercedes swears to God, and says it’s a scandal that the abattoir hasn’t been moved farther out of Torino. Jean undoes the zip of his jacket.

    Gino has given me a ring which is gold-coloured and has the form of a turtle. Every day I decide which way to wear it. I can wear it with the turtle coming home, swimming towards me, his head pointing to my wrist, or I can wear it the other way around, with the turtle swimming out to meet the world. Its metal weighs less than gold, and has more white in its yellow. The ring, according to Gino, came from Africa; he found it in Parma. Today I’m going to swim out with the turtle to meet the world.

T here’s a shop in Asklipiou Street where I get my hair cut. Outside is written:. Which means barbers. Then there’s a slogan:. “No Sooner Said Than Done.” Two men and two chairs, that’s all. No photos, no magazines, no lights. They don’t even use mirrors. Instead, there’s trust. The door opens on to the dusty street where the lorries go by. No other barber in Athens can match the scissor speed of these two. The blades snip all the while, whether there is hair between them or not. Never stop. All the time one of them has a pair of scissors up in the air chattering. They don’t move round the chairs. They stay in the same place and swivel the customer. When they