The New Yorker: Fiction cover image

André Alexis Reads Italo Calvino

The New Yorker: Fiction

CHAPTER

Seeing Her Made You Regret That Life Was What It Was, Painful and Obscene

Diego would have liked to wander through sunny countries where there was no injustice. He said, if we survive, when all this is over, i want to come back to this hotel for a week when it opens again for tourists. Michele didn't reply. Diego asked, your wife came. Did she speak? Michela did not look him in the eye. Listen, diego, i've had it. Snakeskin shafted me. Luciano told my wife, she's down there crying. These were michele's words. And in those words was the simplicity of something long feared and inevitable. In the ripples that could be expiated only at end of time -

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