The Bus Driver Who Wanted to Be God & Other Stories Read Online Free PDF Page B

safety’s on. I grab the butt with both hands, swing the rifle over my head a few times, and suddenly let go. It flies through the air, barely scraping the ground, then lands about midway between us. Now I’m just like him. Now I’ve got a chance of winning too.
    â€œThat’s for you, ya
majnun
,” I scream at him. For a second he just stares at me, puzzled. Then he makes a dashfor the weapon. He lurches right at it, and I race toward him. He’s faster than me. He’ll get to it before me. But I’ll win, because now I’m just like him, and with the rifle in his hand, he’ll be just like me. His mother and his sisters will make it with Jews, his friends will vegetate in hospital beds, and he’ll stand there facing me like a fucking asshole with a rifle in his hand, and won’t be able to do a thing. How can I possibly lose?
    He picks up the rifle, with me less than five meters away, and releases the safety lock. One knee on the ground, he aims and pulls the trigger. And then he discovers what I’ve discovered in this hellhole over the past month: The rifle is worth shit. Three and half kilos of scrap metal. Totally useless. No point in even trying. I reach him before he so much as makes it up off the ground, and kick him hard, right in the muzzle. As he buckles over, I drag him up by the hair and pull of his kaffiyeh. I look him in the eye. Then I grab that face and bang it against a telephone pole like a raving maniac. Again and again and again. Let’s see some cross-eyed sergeant push it up his assnow.

The Flying Santinis
    I talo waved his left hand and the irritating drumming stopped. He took a long breath and closed his eyes. When I saw him standing tensely on the little wooden platform, wearing his glittering costume, almost touching the canvas ceiling of the tent, everything suddenly seemed clear to me. I would leave home and join the circus! I too would become one of the flying Santinis, I would leap though the air like a demon, I would hang onto the trapeze ropes with my teeth!
    Italo turned over two and a half times in the air and in the middle of the third somersault he seized the outstretched hand of Enrico, the youngest Santini. The audience rose to its feet and applauded enthusiastically, Dad took my box of popcorn and threw it in the air, salty snowflakes landed on my head.
    Some children have to run away from home in the middle of the night to join the circus, but Dad took me in his car. He and Mom helped me to pack my things in a suitcase. “I’m so proud of you, son,” said Dad and hugged me for a minute before I knocked on the door of Papa Luigi Santini’s caravan. “Farewell, Ariel-Marcello Santini. And spare a thought for me and Mom whenever you’re flying high over the circus floor.”
    Papa Luigi opened the door wearing the glittering pants of his circus costume and a striped pajama top. “I want to join you, Papa Luigi,” I whispered. “I want to be a flying Santini too.” Papa Luigi looked at my body with a discerning eye, felt the muscles on my thin arms with interest, and finally let me in. “A lot of children want to be flying Santinis,” he said after a few seconds of silence. “Why do you think that you of all people are suitable?” I didn’t know what to reply, I bit my lower lip and I didn’t say anything. “Are you brave?” Papa Luigi asked me. I nodded my head. With a quick movement Papa Luigi thrust his fist in front of my face. I didn’t move a millimeter, I didn’t even blink. “Hmmm. . . .” said Papa Luigi and stroked his chin. “And nimble?” he asked. “You know that the flying Santinis are known for their nimbleness.” Again I nodded my head, biting hard on my lower lip. Papa Luigi spread out his right hand, put a hundred lira coin on it, and motioned to me with his silver eyebrows. I succeeded in snatching the coin