Blue Daughter of the Red Sea: A Memoir

Book 3 Exodus of Innocence

Book 3 E  I O    , bursting into gleams of blaze like a flaming desire. Young people obliged the palm of their hands to hover over the conflagration to steal some heat. It was a cold evening in Rome. And the big room that the social center let my friends use to throw a surprise party for our friend Mishael didn’t have a heater. So most of us abandoned the music and the dancing inside and sought after heat by the fire outside. Mishael was leaving for a better life (whatever and wherever that was), and it was almost a tradition to throw a party for the leaving ones. Mishael and I sat on the floor next to the campfire and listened to the sound of the blazes. Meti, said Mishael, you got to get the hell out of here. Look at our people. They work at signora houses, cleaning bathrooms and changing diapers for old people. And look at us! We waste best hours and days of our lives at Big, doing nothing but smoke, gamble, and go dancing on the weekend.What kind of life is this for fifteen- and sixteen-year-olds? Our minds are fucked up and can’t think any further because all we see is our people bending their back to the lowest places. That’s why you gotta get the hell outta here. Here, there’s no future for us, he sadly concluded. I listened to my friend’s words solemnly, gazing into the flames and at intervals turning to look at his face. There was rage in his expression, and when his eyes laid their gaze on the fire, they became one. He burned to escape to a better world. He yearned to be somebody and not just another number in the multitude. And I silently wished him luck with all my heart and forces, for I felt his words and his rage and his burning to be somebody. The guy who did us the favor of letting us use the place to throw a party, a worker or the head (I didn’t know) of the abandoned social center, approached the campfire and revealed to us that there was a story behind those flames.· 67 · 68 Exodus of Innocence
It’s a symbol of memory; something that happened here at the social center several years ago. I will share the story with you later on this evening. We looked at him without understanding. And I wondered what kind of story would be hiding behind the burning of wood. Ben, Elkanah, and I left the fireside and the party for a moment to go get candy bars and cigarettes. On our way back, a fashionable young fascist stopped the flow of our walking by standing in front of us. We attempted to move over to the side to get by, but he moved along with us, motioning his body the same direction as us, and prohibited us the right of way. His eyes were filled with contempt, and they looked into ours threateningly. Ben, who was standing between Elkanah and me and had his arms around our shoulders, squeezed us deftly as to encourage us to tolerate this encounter. After the stranger finished insulting us with his gaze and his hands, which floated in his pockets as if to promise the possibility of a weapon, he started throwing words of ice: You niggers are a fucking curse. You don’t belong here or anywhere. Why don’t you go back to your fucking country, you fucking shitheads! Negri di merda! Andatevene affanculo! Voi e tutte le vostre razze! When he was done yelling, he walked straight through us as if we were invisible ghosts. Tears struggled in my eyes. Ben forced a smile and endeavored to crack a joke but didn’t succeed. Elkanah spoke with a heavy knot in her throat, I lived all my life in this country and never had I anyone insult me like this. And Meti embittered. No one was outside by the campfire. Everyone had left the fireside to join the mirth of music inside. The desolate flames looked like a forlorn lover in all her liveliness, yearning to give her unshared passions. Inside, the room busted at the seams and was heated and made lively by the presence of my dancing and rejoicing friends. I went to the...