卡利古拉，卡利古拉是罗马帝国方言中鞋子的小名，是公元37年罗马帝国的暴君凯奥·凯撒的名字。在罗马南部的内米小火山湖的阴暗湖水下，本世纪初挖掘出了两艘皇帝的小帆船——实际上是玩具船——他的疯狂在湖森林的阴影中指挥着滑稽的恶魔游戏，湖森林曾经是戴安娜神话中狩猎的神圣森林。现在，内米小湖周围的松树林和橡树林似乎足够宁静，没有任何关于这个地方古老恐怖的低语。在那里，在五月里，从天鹅绒般的黑色土地上开始长出最美丽、最细小的野生草莓。我们喜欢去那里，参加庆祝它们的节日，吃它们，从树林里出来的凉爽新鲜的食物。去年6月的一个周日，随着浆果季节的结束，我们在Nemi镇吃午饭，希望能找到最后一剂浆果作为甜点。我们坐在外面一个背阴的露台上，眺望着主广场，看着几个还没有就座的市民在散步。我们身后传来两个男孩拿着镀银的塑料剑比武的小骚动。其中一个是健壮的小伙子，粗壮，他那贵族般的黑眼睛的脸侧面对着我们。他的对手是个流浪儿，是另一个孩子的缩影，有着同样辉煌的外形和特征。 The small one was losing the battle. I tried not to feel every blow I saw him take, the bigger one thrusting the blunted end of the toy sword into his spare middle over and over again. The little one was crying, then, but hardly in surrender. His pain was evident, his fear, too, I thought, yet he stayed to fight. Then, throwing his weapon to the side, the victor began to use his hands to pummel him. The diners around were unmindful. I begged Fernando to do something, to stop them. He told me sternly with his eyes that we must do nothing. I got up and walked, nonchalantly, over to them. “Buon giorno, ragazzi. Come stiamo? Come vanno le cose?” “Hi, boys. How are you? How are things going?” I asked inanely, as though they had been shooting marbles. Gentlemen to the core, the bigger one said, “Buon giorno, signora. Noi stiamo bene, e lei?” “Good day, my lady. We are well, and you?” “What is your name?” I asked, playing for time so the little one might catch his breath. “Io sono Alessio e lui si chiama Giovannino.” “I am Alessio and he is called Giovannino,” offered the big one. I ventured further. “Alessio, did you know that you were hurting Giovannino, that you were hurting him so terribly?” “Sì, signora. Lo so di avergli fatto un pò male.” “Yes, my lady, I know I hurt him a bit,” he answered willingly. I asked him why he would want to be so violent with his little friend. Alessio looked at me full face: “Signora, siamo romani. Combattere è nel nostro sangue.” “We are Romans, my lady. To fight is in our blood.” Educated by the eight-year-old gladiator, I could only shake his hand, then shake the hand of Giovannino and walk back to our table. Fernando told me quietly that a Roman boy could never be Huckleberry Finn. During the lunch, I noticed that Alessio, now sitting on a bench between two people who were likely his grandparents, kept looking at me, waving once in a while, smiling at me with sympathy for my unworldliness. He strolled by the table a little later and asked if we were going to taste the gelato di fragole. It’s made with basil and pepper and vinegar, he proclaimed, as though that composition might be as difficult for me to comprehend as was his penchant for rough sport. He went on to assure us it was the best gelato in Nemi. We asked him if he might like to join us. He said he couldn’t, but thanked us, bowed rathe...
