Wednesday, February 23, 2011

Carlo Lucarelli


 He felt the irresistible desire to one of the two things that you can never do while driving: to cross your legs. The other to close your eyes…

You can do several things while you’re driving along the motorway. You can listen to music, talk on the phone, think, sing, drink, scratch yourself. You can take off your jacket with one arm, pulling it down with your hand and pushing your elbow through to make it come off, then reaching around and taking it off behind your back. You can open letters by holding the letter down on the seat next to you with the palm of your hand, then sliding a fingernail inside and tearing it, bit by bit, until you can inch your finger in like a snail. You can eat a whole container of mini salamis by sticking a knife through the plastic and cutting it open just far enough to pull them out one at a time, little round balls, held together with floury string. You can even make love, unzipping your trousers and sliding them down by pushing back against the seat, arms taut against the wheel, teeth clenched, eyes wide open so as not to let your sight fog over. Things you can’t do on the motorway: raise your legs up on the seat and assume the lotus position. Read a book or watch television. Sleep. Keep your eyes on anything other than the road.

Day After Day, Carlo Lucarelli, translated from the Italian by Oonagh Stranksy, The Harvil Press, London, 2004

Carlo Lucarelli