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Editorial Note:

 

Diego Lama was born in Naples and is an architect. This story is translated by Rose Facchini. 

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                                                                           *****​

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               The small, silent city waited in the distance.

               The walls -- ancient, vulnerable, and black like the night sky -- seemed easy to breach.

               The Captain watched from the hilltop where they bivouacked before the final advance. He turned around. Behind him, the army was quietly awaiting his order to strike. The low murmur of the soldiers resembled the growl of a gargantuan animal.

               He observed them. Strong and well-armed, but weary from weeks of marching in the desert on the hunt for the silent city. And now they were savage; the right frame of mind for destroying whatever they might find in their path and leaving nothing but blood, dust, and pain in their wake.

               The Captain knew that mindset well, that desire to immerse yourself in suffering and bloodshed, losing yourself to then find yourself again. He craved it as well.

               He turned his gaze back to the city. On the battlements behind the towers, he saw small, dark forms that moved about restlessly in fear, like birds trapped in a cage.

               Their fear gave him a shiver of pleasure. And one of fury.

               He lowered his helmet, raised his sword to the morning sky, and ordered the attack.

               His voice died in his throat. He had to repeat it.

               The army stirred, trampling the ground with their thousands of boots, the earth trembling like an enormous monster rousing.

               Arriving at the city limits, the army slowed its pace.

               The men raised their shields to protect their heads then stopped. They crowded in front of the doors, but did not need to break them down. They were already open.

               A final desperate and useless attempt of the townspeople to placate the army’s frenzy, thought the Captain. Useless, like their lives.

               The soldiers dropped the heavy battering rams and entered. They passed through the black walls, then marched among the houses, streets, and piazze on the hunt for men, women, and children.

               Their shouts of conquest sounded like cries of joy.

               Then a hush fell over them. The city was empty.

               The Captain, first among his men in the streets, houses, and churches, halted. He looked around cautiously. The city seemed larger within its walls. He had never seen so many streets. They stretched out in every direction as if infinite in number. From every angle it seemed as though the city grew, by virtue of whatever phantasmagoria its architects had constructed.

               “Bastards!” the Captain shouted, annoyed by both the marvel that paralyzed his troops and by his own awe. Vile wretches. He would gouge out the eyes of every last one of them, then tear off their fingers, arms, and all the rest.

               Dividing his army into regiments, he sent each one in a cardinal direction and ordered them to divide themselves into smaller battalions to cover more ground and flush out the enemy.

               And they were to take no prisoners.

               The Captain saw the soldiers slowly disperse and looked at the end of the road where the perspective disappeared to infinity. He slowly advanced. In the heart of the city lay thousands of buildings and from the corners of each building, thousands of other streets set off at right angles. And from each of those, thousands of other streets vanished in other directions.

               His men split up. They were no longer savage. They were frightened, confused, wary.

               For the entire day, under a sun that climbed ever higher in the sky, the soldiers continued to wander among the houses. More time passed and more men divided themselves into companies of a hundred, but a hundred became fifty, then twenty, then ten, then five, three, two, one. Every man found himself alone running through the empty streets. Every man felt as though he were a phantom.

               And so he began to call upon his companions for aid, hearing their voices from afar becoming increasingly distant. The more he endeavored to reach them, the farther away he seemed.

               And although he ordered his guards to stay united and close, the Captain saw his regiment scatter at every turn, every corner, every piazza. From forty remained twenty, ten, five, three, two, one.

               Alone he ran in the streets. But he had the sensation that with every step the city grew a million more.

               Night fell by the time the Captain collapsed on the ground to rest, alone, exhausted, and frightened. The voices of his men sounded far off as they searched for one another, all in vain. Then, little by little, the shouts became too faint for him to hear them anymore.

               At dawn the next morning, he awoke in the empty city. For hours he walked among the abandoned houses in search of food and water.

               In the infinite streets he searched for something to help him return to the walls, to the doors, to freedom, to life. But he continued to get lost, lost, lost.

               After three days, death found him and all his soldiers.

               A bird devoured his eyes, then flew up to the walls and perched upon a stone tower to watch for another army. The silent city lay in wait.​

 

END

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