Page 321 of Marcello

I glanced over at Vincenzo. He looked slightly green.

I clapped him on the back, trying to be reassuring.

He smiled weakly, but he smiled. “Let’s fuckin’ go.”

“Let’s fuckin’ go,” I agreed.

At first the tunnels weren’t too bad. They started open and spacious, but gradually began to narrow.

Within 30 minutes, most of the men had to stoop slightly to walk. Poor Massimo was nearly doubled over. Lucia and the old man – ’o Munaciello – were the only ones who had no problem, since they were so short.

And the darkness…

It was fucking pitch black down there. The only thing that allowed us to see was our headlamps. Their light bobbed along the rough stone floor and walls as we moved.

The air was stuffy and smelled of damp stone, but at least it was cold. Hot and stuffy would have been much worse.

The old man seemed to know what he was doing. The tunnels forked every so often, but he confidently chose which direction to go.

The first hour, it was exciting. An adventure. Lucia and Valentino chattered the entire way, which annoyed Niccolo but lifted the spirits of everyone else.

The second hour, everyone fell quiet, and there was only the sound of our boots going chuff-chuff-chuff on the ground.

By the third hour, we began to have to wade through shallow canals filled with water. It was probably just rainwater runoff – it didn’t stink like sewage, thank God – but the air was still thick with the stench of rotting grass.

By the fourth hour, intrusive thoughts began to fill my head. I kept imagining what it would be like to die down there, buried alive beneath a thousand tons of stone.

I knew Vincenzo had it worse. When we started out, I made sure I was directly in front of him. Every so often I would turn around and check on him.

His face became paler the farther we walked. He began to sweat profusely, even though the air was cold. Two hours in, and he looked like he had run a marathon in July.

I would point my headlamp down at my own face so he could see my expression, then raise my eyebrows without saying anything.

You okay?

He nodded, and bravely gutted it out in silence as we crept deeper and deeper into the bowels of the earth.

108

Schizzato

Bashing a hole in a stone wall was a hell of a lot more work than bashing a hole through wood.

I was sweating after two minutes, even though the air in the tunnel was cool –

But I kept at it.

It was almost like I could hear voices coming from the hole near the ceiling.

They kept whispering, She’s in here.

Come and get her.

So I kept going with the sledgehammer.

CLINK!

CLINK!