I'm Not Scared

As I look back on my years growing up in Acqua Traverse there is one period that stands out above all others: when I was an accomplice in the kidnapping of Filippo Carducci. Filippo was the son of the wealthy Lombard business man Giovanni Carducci and a steep ransom was demanded in exchange for his life.

It all started when that stupid roman Sergio Materia came to Acqua Traverse. I was twenty at the time and felt caged in such a small, rural village. Sergio offered the inhabitants a chance to make a large sum of money, of which everyone was in need. Our better judgment was overpowered by our hunger for money. Kidnapping a vulnerable young rich boy didn't seem too difficult at the time so we agreed. Nearly everyone in the town was in on the ploy.

There were six kids in Acqua Traverse, including my brother Antonio. Like me, Antonio was feared by the other kids. I would hit them, puncture their footballs and steal things from them just for the sake of it. I see now how cruel I was to but at the time I didn't think of my actions as bullying. The abuse I showed those children was an outlet for my anger and frustration as they were the only people in the village over whom I could exert any form of power. They viewed me as a powerful macho man which was the image I tried so hard to portray.

My daily attire reflected nothing of the times. I wore a combat jacket and camouflaged trousers. I always had a signature bandanna tied round my neck and I shaved meticulously. Thinking about it now I wonder how anyone could have ever taken me seriously. I imagine I resembled a baby with my shaved head and pointy little teeth. I did have one positive attribute, however, and that was my body. I was constantly doing press-ups and had the muscles to show for it.

My prized possession was my little 127. If it weren't for that car I think I would have gone mad. I knew all about cars as my father had once been a mechanic. He resented, however, that I spent hours taking my car apart and putting it back together. I remember one day, whilst tinkering with the engine, I got trapped under it and was forced to ask one of the kids, Michele, for help. By doing this I knew the power I had over him was somewhat jeopardized but it was better than asking my father as he'd have beaten the hell out of me. Growing up in such an isolated hamlet, my father was my role model and I believe that his lack of affection towards me growing up was one of the primary causes of my malicious behavior.

People considered me an idiot. When it came to the kidnapping I was given the worst responsibility of all; babysitting the boy. I hated driving up to the abandoned house every day: it gradually destroyed both my car and my spirit. I spent days on end singing along to the radio and taunting the "little prince". In his delirium he thought I was "the lord of the worms", which I happily played along with incorporating other fictional characters into his already polluted mind. I began noticing subtle changes around the hole in which the boy was being held. I thought all the hours alone in the hot sun had made me crazy. This was until one of the kids, Salvatore, came to me one day and, in exchange for a drive in my car, told me who had been visiting the boy. It was Michele Amitrano.

I caught Michele red handed in the hole with the boy. I thought he was trying to set him free which would have ruined everything. I must admit that at this point I lost control and may have overreacted. I knocked Michele about a bit before dragging him into the car to take him home to his parents. I might have killed him had it not been for his father of whom I was quite scared. In the car I saw young Michele staring at his friend who had betrayed him. It gave me some sort of pleasure to see the hurt in his face so I praised Salvatore and rubbed his disloyalty in Michele's face.

Dragging Michele into his house I expected his parents to be as angry as I was. But when his mother, Teresa, saw the cuts and bruises on her son's face she went ballistic. Her eyes filled with rage and disgust as she lunged at me. She kicked me in my genital region causing me to fall to the floor at which point my temper flared and I managed to knock her over and get on top of her. I remember the feeling quite clearly. I stared down at her feeling dominant, my heart racing. I had never been in such close proximity to a woman before and I could feel her female presence underneath me. Her dress had ridden up and one of her breasts was exposed. Her husband, Pino, came in at that moment, saw me sitting on his wife and started beating me. I quickly returned