Poor Pier
By Michelangelo Franchini
Murmuring. Someone murmuring outside. Or is it just the wind.
Pier delle Vigne strolls to and fro. The heavy door would soon open. The murmuring surely means that. Couldn’t be otherwise.
Sunny outside. The shadow of the metal bars projected on the floor. It’s just a mistake. He knows. They will soon come. He knows the truth. They’ll tell him. He’s being lied to. No way he doesn’t know.
Clouds. Pier delle Vigne keeps strolling to and fro, measuring the little cell with his steps, placing his hands on the door, pushing a little, then turning around. He pushes a little. Just a little. The resistance is still there, but it’s temporary. Imagine the embarrassment of the guard. Imagine the moment that will soon come. When the guard opens the door and he’s just there. Right in front of him. Picture his face. I’m so sorry. I apologise—as you should.
Pier delle Vigne laughs in his cell. His laughs echo through the hallway. When he notices, he laughs even more. He’s laughing so much.
The weather outside is changed.
He’s still laughing. How much time has passed?
(They know.)
He’s there. He’s still there. He touches his robe. His face. Somebody is going to come. He exhaled, relieved—somebody is coming.
(Perhaps his majesty himself?)
It will soon.
Sitting on the hay bedding. Concentrated.
(Is he going to walk down there himself, to apologise in person?)
Is now dark outside. A tree leaning towards the little window. Its branches moved by the wind. Thin.
Pier closes his eyes for a moment.
His majesty himself.
His majesty! Pier can almost hear his voice. He’s closer. He must be. He would have been told.
(they look like thin bones.)
It was a mistake, a manipulation. Someone must have noticed it.
Pier is bellowing his truth in the little cell—nobody answers. Are they even listening?
Pier runs to the door.
(Perhaps he’s embarrassed—roaming in the hallway, mustering the bravery to face the embarrassment...)
Touches the door. Pushes.
Lies.
(Its branches.)
They’re coming closer.
(Traitor.)
(What if he’s coming.)
(I’m not)
Savage wild beasts.
To and fro.
And they, inflamed, did so inflame Augustus—
Naked and scratched,
fleeing so furiously,
(Someone. Outside. A shadow—HE’S—)
[Pier Delle Vigne killed himself in prison, to flee from dishonour.]
A devil.
[He broke his head against the wall.]
Minos.
[He was transformed into a tree]
Seven coils.
[Eternally tormented by the Harpies, doomed to never again take possession of his body—the body he refused.]
Dante places Pier delle Vigne in the circle of suicides and squanderers, above the traitors’ zone. He believed therefore the accusations to be false: contrary to the rumours, Pier was not guilty of treason towards Federico II.
Michelangelo Franchini is an Italian author and screenwriter. His short stories have appeared in many Italian and English zines, such as Carmilla, Pastrengo Rivista, Tuffi Rivista, Reader for blind, Serendipity Periodical, Neuro Logical, The big windows review and Maudlin House.