Numero Zero Read Free

early Moreau, and that Andrea Sperelli reminded him of the portrait of the unknown gentleman in the Borghese Gallery. And to understand what’s going on in a novel, you had to thumb through issues of art history magazines on sale in the bookstalls.
    If D’Annunzio was a bad writer, that didn’t mean I had to be one. To rid myself of the habit of citing others, I decided not to write at all.
    In short, mine hadn’t been much of a life. And now, at my age, I receive Simei’s invitation. Why not? Might as well try it.
    Â 
    What do I do? If I stick my nose outside, I’ll be taking a risk. It’s better to wait here. There are some boxes of crackers and cans of meat in the kitchen. I still have half a bottle of whiskey left over from last night. It might help to pass a day or two. I’ll pour a few drops (and then perhaps a few more, but only in the afternoon, since drinking in the morning numbs the mind) and try to go back to the beginning of this adventure, no need to refer to my diskette. I recall everything quite clearly, at least at the moment.
    Fear of death concentrates the mind.

2
Monday, April 6, 1992
    Â 
    â€œA BOOK ?” I ASKED SIMEI .
    â€œA book. The memoirs of a journalist, the story of a year’s work setting up a newspaper that will never be published. The title of the newspaper is to be
Domani
, tomorrow, which sounds like a slogan for our government: tomorrow, we’ll talk about it tomorrow! So the title of the book has to be
Domani: Yesterday
. Good, eh?”
    â€œAnd you want me to write the book? Why not write it yourself? You’re a journalist, no? At least, given you’re about to run a newspaper . . .”
    â€œRunning a newspaper doesn’t necessarily mean you know how to write. The minister of defense doesn’t necessarily know how to lob a hand grenade. Naturally, throughout the coming year we’ll discuss the book day by day, you’ll give it the style, the pep, I’ll control the general outline.”
    â€œYou mean we’ll both appear as authors, or will it be Colonna interviewing Simei?”
    â€œNo, no, my dear Colonna, the book will appear under my name. You’ll have to disappear after you’ve written it. No offense, but you’ll be a
nègre
. Dumas had one, I don’t see why I can’t have one too.”
    â€œAnd why me?”
    â€œYou have some talent as a writer—”
    â€œThank you.”
    â€œâ€”and no one has ever noticed it.”
    â€œThanks again.”
    â€œI’m sorry, but up to now you’ve only worked on provincial newspapers, you’ve been a cultural slave for several publishing houses, you’ve written a novel for someone (don’t ask me how, but I happened to pick it up, and it works, it has a certain style), and at the age of fifty or so you’ve raced here at the news that I might perhaps have a job for you. So you know how to write, you know what a book is, but you’re still scraping around for a living. No need to be ashamed. I too—if I’m about to set up a newspaper that will never get published, it’s because I’ve never been short-listed for the Pulitzer Prize. I’ve only ever run a sports weekly and a men’s monthly—for men alone, or lonely men, whichever you prefer.”
    â€œI could have some self-respect and say no.”
    â€œYou won’t, because I’m offering you six million lire per month for a year, in cash, off the books.”
    â€œThat’s a lot for a failed writer. And then?”
    â€œAnd then, when you’ve delivered the book, let’s say around six months after the end of the experiment, another ten million lire, lump sum, in cash. That will come from my own pocket.”
    â€œAnd then?”
    â€œAnd then that’s your affair. You’ll have earned more than eighty million lire, tax free, in eighteen months, if you don’t spend it all on women,