The Seventh Function of Language

Nobody tries to hide, because Simon had the brilliant idea of bringing the man to this completely exposed place: in the middle of a volcanic crater more than two thousand feet in circumference. In other words, there is not a single tree, not a single bush behind which they can take shelter. Simon scans his surroundings for any potential hiding place and spots a well and a small building made of smoking stones (ancient steam rooms representing the gates of Purgatory and Hell), but they are out of reach.

Two men in suits advance toward them. One carries a pistol, the other a rifle. Simon thinks he recognizes a German Mauser. The two brigade members who are still alive raise their hands, because they know their P38s are useless at this distance. Bianca stares at the corpse, a bullet in the head.

The Camorra has sent a team to rescue the corrupt politician. The sistema does not let its creatures get stolen from it that easily. And Simon is confident that it is equally punctilious when it comes to avenging an attack on its interests, which means that in all likelihood he will be executed on the spot along with what remains of the gang. As for Bianca, she must suffer the same fate, as the “system” has never been easygoing when it comes to witnesses either.

He has the confirmation of this when the politician gets to his feet, puffing like a seal, and slaps him, first, followed by the two brigade members, and lastly Bianca. Thus their fates are sealed. The politician growls at the two henchmen: “Acceritele.”

Simon thinks of the Japanese men in Venice. So, won’t there be any deus ex machina to save him this time? In his last moments, Simon renews his dialogue with that transcendent authority he used to imagine: if he were trapped in a novel, what narrative economy would require him to die at the end? Simon goes over several narratological reasons, all of which he considers questionable. He thinks of what Bayard would say. “Remember Tony Curtis in The Vikings.” Hmm, yeah. He thinks of what Jacques would do: neutralize one of the armed men, then take out the second one using the first one’s gun, probably. But Bayard isn’t here, and Simon isn’t Bayard.

The Camorra henchman points the rifle at his chest.

Simon understands that he should expect nothing from any transcendent authority. He senses that the novelist, if he exists, is not his friend.

His executioner is not much older than the brigade members. But just as he is about to squeeze the trigger, Simon tells him: “I know you are a man of honor.” The man pauses and asks Bianca to translate for him. “Isse a ritto cà sìn’omm d’onore.”

No, there will be no miracle. But, novel or not, it will not be said that he just let it happen. Simon does not believe in salvation, he does not believe that he has a mission on earth, but he does believe that the future is unwritten and that, even if he is in the hands of a sadistic, capricious novelist, his destiny is not yet settled.

Not yet.

He must deal with this hypothetical novelist the way he deals with God: always act as if God did not exist because if God does exist, he is at best a bad novelist who merits neither respect nor obedience. It is never too late to try to change the course of the story. And it may well be that the imaginary novelist has not yet made his decision. It may well be that the ending of the story is in the hands of his character, and that that character is me.

I am Simon Herzog. I am the hero of my own story.

The Camorra henchman turns back to Simon, who tells him: “Your father fought the fascists. He was a partisan. He risked his life for justice and freedom.” The two men turn to Bianca, who translates into Neapolitan: “Pateto eta nu partiggiano cà a fatt’a Guerra ’a Mussolini e Hitler. A commattuto p’ ’a giustizia e ’a libbertà.”

The politician becomes impatient, but the assassin signals him to shut up. The politician orders the second henchman to execute Simon, but the one with the rifle says calmly: “Aspett’.” And apparently the one with the rifle is the boss. He wants to know how Simon knows his father.