Road to Rome

Antonio eventually abandoned his plan to bring the radio near the road, as it was impractical to move the diesel generator.The next day, when the weather was clear, he managed to use every inch of wire to move the radio into the glade.The little machine lay on the tree stump, like a remnant of some pagan cult, spewing electrical noise incessantly, and the noise would change when you turned the FM knob, rising and falling, but it was still white noise, and Antonio endured it. For 15 minutes, hoping that by some miracle, discernible music or words would emerge from the noise, I finally threw in the towel and turned off the radio.

Marco sits on the front step watching a good show, wrapped in a blanket and teakettle at hand, like a real theatergoer, keeping polite silence the whole time, not even taking a chance when Antonio trips over a wire laugh at.The priest couldn't help but wonder if the other party was fulfilling the transaction terms negotiated yesterday in this way. Maybe after deducting the inexplicable flirting and bad jokes, there wasn't much left in Marco's vocabulary.

"You're right," Antonio said loudly, starting to put away the wires, and walked toward the cabin with the radio in his arms. "There's no signal at all."

"At least you've tried it yourself now." Marco stood up, squinting his eyes in the sun, "I have more fun things to do, do you want to come along?"

"what's up?"

"Look at you, Father, get on your guard right away. Take it easy."

"I'm not nervous."

"When you are anxious, there will be some small wrinkles here, which are obvious." Marco pointed to the center of his brow, and drew a circle with his index finger, "Aren't you afraid of blood?"

The priest slammed down the radio and said, "Don't be afraid."

Three or ten minutes later, the two trudged on a muddy path deep in the woods. Marco walked in front, carrying a shotgun with a leather shoulder strap, and Antonio followed, carrying a buckle canvas bag, which contained Spare bullets, matches, rope, and hunting knives of different sizes.The cloth bag exuded a strong strange smell, like bleach, like diluted blood, and also faintly sour. The priest couldn't tell what it was, but he had an unpleasant premonition.

There is a very obvious sound of running water somewhere in the woods, and it is far and near. Antonio can even hear where the stream bends from the position of the sound. He disappeared behind the bushes again, thinking that the place where there was water was covered with dead leaves.This area is full of chaotic rocks, with emerald green ferns and thin nameless trees emerging from the crevices of the rocks. No matter where you look, there are only leaves, moss, dirt, stones, and tree roots.Because it rained yesterday, the water vapor mixed with the smell of earth was so thick that it could almost be broken off by hand.

"Are you sure you can go this far?" he asked Marco's back.

"Thank you for your concern."

"I don't really care, it's just that if you pass out again, I may not have the strength to drag you back."

"I promise I won't pass out."

"I'm not a doctor, but I know it's not something people can guarantee—"

"Quiet." Marco stopped suddenly, pulled Antonio behind the bushes, and motioned him to squat down, "Don't make any noise."

Antonio held his breath and looked around through the foliage, worried about brown bears or coyotes.But what Marco saw was not a carnivore. He set his shotgun on a lichen-covered rock and aimed it somewhere ahead to the right.For a few minutes the priest saw nothing, and then, perhaps the wind had shaken a branch, perhaps the angle of the sun had changed slightly, and he was suddenly aware of the sparkle of running water, the brook hidden deep in the ferns. Behind the plant, bald cedar grows nearby.The priest wondered why he hadn't noticed these amphibious fir trees sooner, they were like road signs, clearly pointing out the location of the water source.

The bald cedars were most dense at the edge of the shallows, and among the small stalagmite-like breathing roots a flock of waterfowl, probably Canada geese, or some kind of mallard, Antonio didn't really know the difference.He could hear Marco take a deep breath and let it out slowly.

Gunshots.

Birds startled and quacked.The other unknown birds in the woods also fled to the sky in fright, circling above the woods, and it took a long time before they calmed down.The waterfowl that had been shot was floating in the shallow water next to the tree root, with one wing spread and the other drooping in the water, the blood slowly dispersed like a thin mist.

"Dinner." Marco patted Antonio's back, "The shore is slippery, be careful."

"You want me to take..." He considered several nouns, prey, food, bird, "get it back?"

"Obviously."

Antonio doesn't want to touch dead animals at all: "Why don't you—"

"Have some compassion, Father, I've been shot, please take care of me responsibly."

I never had such a responsibility.Antonio retorted in his heart, reluctantly pushed aside his ferns, and walked towards the creek.Animals must often come to drink water around here. There is a series of clear hoof prints on the soft mud, and there are paw prints near the grass. They are of different sizes and overlap each other. They must be squirrels or hares, and there may be foxes.He stepped into the water and bent over to reach the dead, motionless bird.The feathers were cold and wet, and the bullet hit just above the breastbone, nearly breaking its neck completely.Blood dripped with water as Antonio picked up the prey.

The moment he turned around and walked back, maybe the shallow water covered up the ubiquitous fir tree roots, or maybe it was the mud that caused Antonio to fall heavily on the shallows.The water was unexpectedly cold, and his knees and feet were slipping in the mud.The dead bird plopped back into the water, its bloody neck completely separated from its body.With great difficulty, Antonio grabbed hold of the tree trunk, panting, pulled himself up, and picked up the headless bird that was floating and sinking.Marco rushed over, and the priest grabbed his hand and let him pull him to the bank.

"Take off your wet clothes." Marco put the canvas bag on the ground, opened it, and took out a hunting knife and a matchbox. "Otherwise you'll get pneumonia. I'm going to make a fire now, come here, and put that bird here."

Antonio shivered, tore off the dripping clothes from his body, took the coat that Marco handed over, wrapped himself up, and breathed a sigh of relief.The coat has a soft lining and more importantly has the body temperature of another living person.He sat on the stone, wrapped his arms around himself, and watched Marco light the fire deftly.The dried leaves and lichens were quickly ignited by matches, and Marco broke the bark into small pieces to feed the nascent flame, and finally set up branches to make the campfire burn brighter.Antonio moved closer to the flame and slowly stopped shaking.

"You and your 'good idea,' Mr. Costa."

Marco was busy hanging the wet clothes on the long branches that had just been folded and drying them by the fire. When he heard this, he seemed to want to laugh, but he held back: "I did warn you that the shore is very slippery. Father Pelligrini." He stepped on the soil to make sure that the makeshift hanger would not collapse into the fire, and sat down next to Antonio, "Are you all right?"

"As good as a man overboard in the wild in April."

"You have a good memory and a good sense of sarcasm, I already know that, I don't need to prove it again. Antonio, I need to know if you are injured, if you lose consciousness anywhere, sometimes people don't know that they have hypothermia. It happens all the time."

"We're not climbing mountains."

"It's still worth asking."

"I feel fine."

Marco stared at his face for a while, nodded, got up and walked away, picked up the wet waterfowl carcass, took out a smaller knife from the cloth bag, and started to clean the head and tail, claws and internal organs.

"You look like you hunt a lot," Antonio said, looking at Marco's bloodstained hands.

"It's been a long time since I did this, but some skills are not easy to forget once you learn them, such as bicycles, lockpicking, kissing, and slaughtering small animals." He held up the small bird's heart for Antonio to take a look at, and then threw it into the grass, "Wild geese don't taste good. I was hoping to catch rabbits, but any meat is five times better than canned tomatoes."

"I have to agree."

Marco blinked, showed Antonio a pair of dimples, stuffed the eviscerated wild goose into a canvas bag, so that's where the weird smell came from, repeatedly soaked in blood and washed repeatedly with bleach. "Hot water is needed to pluck the hair and go back and process it. I personally like it roasted to get rid of that smell."

Antonio didn't know what smell he was talking about, but didn't intend to ask.The wet clothes and trousers placed on the fire slowly released steam, and Marco hummed in a low voice, and returned to the shallows, washed his hands and hunting knives, and made the sound of splashing water.The priest tightened his coat, looked up at the sky through the gap in the canopy, and relaxed.In this woods, in this situation with no obvious exits and no written rules, he unexpectedly got the feeling that only libraries and archives could give him before: safety is not protected by anyone, but from someone else. Visibility, the kind of safety that moles are known for, away from noisy surfaces and other people's eyes.

"What are you thinking?" Marco's voice suddenly appeared in my ear.

"Home." He lied, while secretly apologizing for this behavior in his heart, "Xiamen."

"Fascinating idea."

By the time the fire went out, the setting sun had dyed the shallows red.Marco kicked the fire away and scooped water from the creek to thoroughly soak the ashes before they started a forest fire.The priest put on dry clothes, still wrapped in Marco's coat, and followed him back to the cabin.The path was still muddy, and the priest walked forward with one foot deep and one foot shallow, all he wanted was to return to the fireplace, burn some hot water, and take a good bath.

When they saw the clearing in the forest, the two stopped at the same time, looked at each other, and hid behind the dense bushes tacitly.Marco carefully pushed aside the thorny branches, and the two of them got together and peeped through the gap.

A car was parked in front of the cabin with the driver's and passenger doors open.A man leans against the car and yawns, a cigarette in one hand and a gun in the other.The door of the wooden house was wide open, and the only light was on. Someone was walking around inside, moving furniture, perhaps looking for hidden compartments and mezzanines that did not exist.A bald man appeared at the door and yelled something at the smoking man. The latter walked towards the storage room with a cigarette in his mouth, kicked open the door, and walked in with a gun in his hand.

"Keep quiet." Marco whispered, touching Antonio's wrist lightly, "Come with me, move slowly, watch your feet, and try not to step on the branches."

Antonio held his breath, held Marco's hand tightly, and dived with him into the woods gradually engulfed by the twilight.