“Oh, none taken, mister Corte. And to dissipate any doubt you might have I want to assure you that this kind of questions isn’t meant to satisfy my personal curiosity.”
“I can see that…”
“You are an adult male, isolated in this place for twelve months, with no feminine company… you are heterosexual, right?”
“Yes, of course.”
“You have no girlfriend, despite your young age.”
“I have had a couple, if that’s what you are asking. But I’m… single now, as we used to say once. First came the studies, then the NMO… I chose to invest my time in those kind of things. As for girls… I think they’ll come looking for me once I’m out of here.”
“I think so too. Good for you. So, I was saying… you can’t blame me if I point out how such a situation could be… problematic, on the long term.”
“It is possible. But I’m sure I can keep it under control. These kind of questions were on the tests, as you surely know…”
“I do.”
“…and they came out positive.”
“I know so too. But… I hate repeating myself, so I won’t. But one thing is giving an answer on a test, being coherent with oneself for twelve months in a completely different story. I’ll make an example. Some years ago I visited the Keeper of another Tank, I don’t remember which, and he too said he could withstand the period of isolation and solitude without any sort of problems. He didn’t make it past Jun. I had to relieve him from duty because he gave sign of mental imbalance. He dreamt of being the Keeper of a female Tank and each night – in the dream, I mean – he let himself fall among hundreds of women, and he sank… an obsession that made him inadequate to his role.”
The two stared at each other in silence for a few seconds. Giovanni realized the doctor was giving him time to let the story sink in and react accordingly. He couldn’t think of anything better than a vague: “But…”
“Yes. But it was a borderline case. You look like a balanced person to me.”
Giovanni raised both his eyebrows. “Good to hear.”
Nicastro smiled. “Just a few more questions? Then I’ll let you return to your duty.”
“Of course, doctor.”
I suspect I really have no choice but to collaborate, don’t I?
“Thank you. So, it emerged from your profile that you were not driven by personal motives, when you applied for your role as Executor, but only by loyalty to NMO.”
“Exactly.”
“But that was before. Now… I mean, now that you have experienced the act of taking life more than once, tell me: what do you feel when you push that button and make those rejects disappear forever?”
Giovanni stared at his interlocutor, trying to understand what the right answer was: “What do I feel?” He said trying to buy some more time.
The doctor interrupted him: “You lost both your parents when you were sixteen. A car crash with a drunken immigrant driving a stolen car, right?”
“Yes.”
“Then you moved to an aunt’s, from your father’s side, if I’m not mistaken. A pretty complicated cohabitation… until you came of age.”
“Correct.”
“So, what I would really want to know is: how much hate have you got inside you towards some categories of people or what they represent? Do I make myself clear?”
Giovanni felt like he was swallowing a cotton ball. The buzz coming from the fridge was a far electric saw sensing his presence, hunting him down to sink softly into his skull.
“Crystal, doctor. I would lie if I told you that I don’t get any satisfaction from my job. And you would notices.”
Nicastro was unmoved and kept staring at him.
“Yes, there’s some… satisfaction, I would say. Nothing morbid, of course. And I can’t deny I feel a sense of personal revenge. But the desire to do my best in serving the NMO always comes first… and that’s what’s important. Isn’t it?”
(Isn’t it? It’s the right answer, isn’t it?)
The doctor nodded slightly and, finally averting his gaze from his interlocutor, smile softly. “Yes. Yes, mister Corte. Serving the NMO is what’s important. Nothing to object. And I admire your honesty. It’s a very appreciated git. I thank you for your cooperation.”
Those words reassured Giovanni so much he felt light-headed for a second. “More juice, doctor?”
Nicastro answered by drinking what was left in his glass and standing up. “Thank you, but I don’t want to take away more of your time. I’ll let you go back to your job.”
Giovanni stood up too. “Oh, I have nothing important to do this morning. Some exercise, some reading, cleaning up…”
“Good, mister Corte, good. And don’t hold a grudge against me should I return. I’m not the one who decides. I go when I get called.”
“Oh, well, sure. And if they maybe notified me before the visits…”
“Regrettably, that’s not possible. The visits have to be unexpected. A good part of their efficiency comes from this. Believe me, in my job the most honest answers are the ones to unexpected questions.”
“I understand. Never mind, then.”
After the doctor had left, Giovanni nervously grabbed the two small dumbbells. He wondered whether he had passed the exam, with his hesitant answers, his blushing, his reticence…
He hadn’t even started sweating that the began to think about the Keeper that had given up. A mass of feminine bodies, sinuous, moaning, in which to dive, to lose oneself… a truly perverted thought. He wouldn’t ever think about something like that. Or would he? In any case, now that Nicastro thought it was appropriate to get that image into his head, it would be difficult not to, from time to time. It was as if he had almost done that on purpose.
Giovanni spread his legs and started lifting and lowering his arms, like a heavy albatross trying to take flight in vain.
With the 3:00 P.M. delivery came three assassins: two for a robbery, one for passion. Scalp and Glutton (who had an incipient double chin) were the ones escorting them. Everything went smoothly. After the incident with that Lucas, the security controls during the sedation phase probably got stricter. Giovanni supposed that Scalp himself probably made sure everything was under control, in order to avoid further incidents.
The second delivery of 5:45 also went smoothly. The only detail that unsettled him a little was the accusation of the three men, all under thirty: revolutionaries. They walked past him with their heads bowed, hands behind their backs, like schoolboys going to detention. But, from how the third one raised his head when he walked by him, he realized he was about to tell him something, or at least he would try. He was right.
The new convict’s tongue – a moment before his feet stepped on the moving platform of the Shutter – managed to articulate some barely audible words. Giovanni could understand them clearly enough. “We are many… and we are ready.”
The first guard, Scar, looked like he didn’t hear anything, and so did the second one, Glutton again.
Giovanni followed the procedure with indifference and the three enemies of the NMO disappeared from the world.
That evening, just before dinner, the Postman delivered him a message: “Result of the physical and psychological check-up: positive. Congratulations, Keeper.”
Congratulations indeed.
In his head there was little room for savouring his success. He felt clog-headed. He needed to run some more, after supper.
He felt the need to relieve a tension that didn’t want to show, didn’t want to be recognised. It was like having a thorn somewhere, but not understanding where.