They say he's not only very smart but good-looking, with an angelic face. When one girl says she's much less interested in the intellect than in the face, they burst into giggles. They're the same girls who went around talking trash about me a few months ago, saying I'd given it up to some guy who wasn't my boyfriend. I'd confided in one of them, told her everything about Daniele, and she'd hugged me, uttering an "I'm so sorry" that was obviously hypocritical.

"What's so funny? Wouldn't you let a guy like that bang you?" asks the girl who expressed more interest in the face.

"No, I'd rather rape him," answers another with a laugh.

"What about you, Melissa?" she asks. "What would you do?"

I turned around and told them I don't know him, and therefore I don't feel like doing anything. Now I hear them laughing, and their laughter blends withthe shrill, metallic sound of the bell that signals the end of the hour.

4:35 P.M.

Perched on the platform built for the assembly, I didn't care about the demolished customs building or the torched McDonald's, even though I'd been chosen to write a report on the event. I was seated in the center of the long table; on either side of me were the representatives of the opposing sides. The guy with the angelic face sat next to me, gnawing on a ballpoint pen in the most obscene way. And while the confirmed rightist engaged with the tenacious leftist, my eyes studied the blue pen wedged between his teeth.

"Write down my name among the participants," he said at a certain point, his face bent over a slip of paper filled with notes.

"What is your name?" I asked tactfully.

"Roberto," he said, although this time he looked at me, surprised that I didn't already know it.

He stood up to speak. His speech was strong and compelling. I watched him as he moved with self-confidence, holding the microphone and the pen. The extremely attentive audience smiled at his ironic quips, which he made at just the right moments.