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"A Devil's Rejects" - Story of Oliver Canetti

It is with pleasure and pride that we publish a story sent to us by our collaborator, the great professor Oliviero Canetti, who are all our most diabolical compliments.

And here we are, all together and quiet, home of the devil.

the day you have to be careful, because the devil is awake during the day. We hear him run through the rooms, with his slow and measured, the pace of the devil. We hear it in the kitchen munching his meager meal, bones of children and baked potatoes, dinner of the devil. Or at the library, in the light of santelmo, rubbing and dusty old maps, scrolls of the devil.

You can not make any noise, in these long hours. It is bad, the devil, you know, and if we seize it takes in the oven. And we are there, huddled between the legs of furniture, in closets and under beds, watching all together and shut up, the feet of the devil. Clogs goats in old slippers, the feet of the devil, who go up and down the large rooms, the marble and carpet, up and down in the slow turn of the day. In silence, we hear the harsh panting of his breath, the breath of the devil, who knows a bit 'of sulfur.
Slow sinks the sun set over the The Devil's Rejects, and you can not do anything. Just shut up and just stay together, in awe and reverential silence. But we collect nell'imbrunire its yawning, the yawn of the devil, prolonged and intent. Then we give each other elbow. Here we go. And when the devil goes to bed and the night falls on his big house, is our moment.

And so we come out from the crevices between the furniture legs from under the cupboards and under beds, and here we are walking in single file and four along the walls to finally meet all together and keep quiet in the hall the devil. On one wall hangs a portrait of the devil, framed in silver, and the portrait of the devil searches frowning. Look of the devil have the eyes of the devil. But otherwise there is a calm and deep silence. Now the devil is asleep, and when the devil sleeps, we can run and play for his big house.

all together and quiet, home of the devil.

We look at each other and we exchange furtive giggles. This is the house of the devil we know every corner, every nook, every hiding place. There are only a few rooms, a few large shady quiet rooms. How many are enough to hell, which is a kind of unpretentious, but we will explore each time with a mixture of fear and wonder.
First we move along the corridor and look out cautiously in the room, the bedroom of the devil. The room is dark and in the darkness, the devil is asleep. Deep sleep is the devil's dreams and dreams of the devil. A slow, deep snoring, the snoring of the devil. Until you hear the devil snoring means that the devil is asleep. And the devil sleeps until we are safe.

we go quietly into the kitchen. And here we are in the kitchen of the devil. At the top there are the beliefs, the beliefs of the devil, and that's where the devil takes the flour, the flour of the devil, who goes all in bran. The fire is burning on the stove and the pot boils, the pot of the devil. The stare from a distance, facing the door, afraid to approach. Black and evil is the devil's pot. There is no cover and gurgles with menacing nonchalance. Tomorrow we steal, we say every time, but then we lack the courage. Is there anything left in the pot of the devil. It cooks the food of the devil.
And now we look at the cat of the devil. He has red hair like rust, the cat of the devil, and sleep curled up in the basket. Hush hush do to get closer, but the devil's cat opens one eye and pulls out the claws. Do not want to cuddle, he does not want to caress: the cat is the devil. Spying on us from the basket with treacherous malice. We go there and the devil cat closes his eyes and goes back to snoring.

for a while 'we do not know what to do, then decide to go rummaging in the closet of the devil. Heavy mahogany and the Wardrobe is the devil. As we open the doors with caution, because they squeak and creak. We are afraid that the devil will wake up and when he wakes up, the devil grabs it and puts us in the oven. But snoring fills the house of the devil and the devil until you hear snoring means that we can rest easy.
In the wardrobe of the devil are his clothes: shirt, pants, vest, coat, shoes, spats, bowler, all the clothes of the devil. We pull down the crutches, we wear them and marched down the aisle imitating the moves and grimaces of the devil, We look at each other and laugh squeezing his cheeks. It's so funny, the devil! But he feels elegant and refined, the devil, and walk around strutting with eerie and do diavolesco. Here these are his clothes, the clothes of the devil, and this is his style, the style of the devil.

last shelf of the cabinet is a cardboard box. Inside there will be what? The box is high and for a while 'we stand there in the uncertain, uncertain whether to open it to spy on the secrets of the devil, or give the devil his secrets. Made our decision, we go looking for a chair. Finally, the devil take the bench, the bench found in the great hall of the devil, just under the portrait of the devil, the majestic bench on which, during the long winter afternoons, the devil weaves his dark and deep meditations, the meditations of the devil, his fist under his chin and his feet stretched towards the fireplace. It is of heavy wood, the bench of the devil, with padded backrest and feet worked. Laboriously carry it under the cabinet and we finally climbing back to the box on high.

In an instant the box is on the ground and we are all around, eager to open it to see what's inside! What to expect? The open.

Old photographs taken with large elastic yellowed snapshots and portraits of focus. The photographs of the devil, the devil's memories, the nostalgia of the devil. So that's the devil with colleagues in the office. And here the devil during the winter holiday, with the hood and skis. These are the grandparents of the devil, these are the brothers and they will be perhaps some distant relatives. And this is the devil on the first day of school: Red is the devil's apron, the red ribbon of the devil. And look here, that's funny, this is the devil when he was a baby. She is face down on the pillow, a toothless smile, with her ass in the air and tail tip!

They make us laugh, photographs of the devil, and even a little 'soften us. To replace it. Prudence is never enough to house the devil.

And then we go to the library. It is antiquated and austere, the library of the devil. Cobwebs and silence. Ancient and dusty books are the devil and tell things about devils. Sometimes we pull them down and paged through. There are many mysterious words in the books of the devil, pentacles and magic formulas, and creak when we turn the pages. We are there for hours and pretending to read, the books of the devil, and while pretending to read, imitate the devil He rolls his eyes, written annotations on the edges of the pages in her handwriting and fine angular. Once we scribbled them to him as a joke, then the devil got angry and started to cry with the voice of the devil, and says that if we take puts us in the oven.
the bottom of the library, on a substrate, is a beautiful violin. The violin is the devil. The light slides onto the wooden crate in a thousand reflections. It is strange and mysterious, the music of the devil, and when the devil plays and running the bow over the strings, the house was full of trilling notes, skeletons dance and we do peeps from hiding and beating time with his hands. We like the devil's music. His violin admire it from afar and do not dare touch it. Sacred is the violin of the devil, because he plays the devil's music.

On the table there a pitcher of crystal. The chocolates of the devil. They are milk, cocoa, hazelnut, vanilla. Come, Let us use! We jump on the table and we begin the feast. We stained chocolate and we eagerly lick your fingers before cleaning disdainful on the tablecloth in the Holland cloth. While joking and laughing, joking and laughing and we pushed, someone bumps into the glass pitcher, glass pitcher of the devil. The pitcher rolls on the table, it rolls and rolls, and we are not able to catch it, we can not catch it and the glass pitcher rolls and rolls, and falls to the ground. A crash.

block us.

a while.
One ... long ... moment. A howl
turn through the rooms.
... The howl of the devil!
We look at each other and begin to tremble.
Footsteps in the hall.
... The steps of the devil!
The door opens.

is the devil!

Red is the devil's pajamas, the red robe of the devil, the devil's red socks.
The devil sits on us, opens his wings, the horns get impatient spurt sparks.

- Now I look and I put in fornoooooo ...

Try to catch the devil. But we are smaller and more nimble. We run around the table, we take the door and go through the rooms! The devil is behind us, furious. We scattered in the corridors, halls and rooms. The devil is trying to grab stretches. Devil's arms are long, skeletal fingers of the devil, black devil's claws. We slipped into the clutches and the one by one we dive between the legs of furniture, in closets and under beds. Then the hell of me giving the broom and began to beat between the legs of furniture, in closets and under beds.

tries to flush out, but we huddled far back as we can. It is our house, below, below we are safe. Among the furniture legs, under the cabinets and under beds. Screams and threatens the devil throws curses, the devil, but can not help it. It goes away furious and humiliated.

We remain holed up, motionless and silent, without moving and without saying a word. We try not to even breathe ... But get out again. Maybe tomorrow night, maybe the next night. Emerge from the crevices between the furniture legs from under the cupboards and under beds, and then start to turn and play for that big house, the house of the devil.
Next time, tell us by giving us elbow,'s going to get a joke of me and the devil. The ruberemo the pot.

Yes, the pot of the devil!

Oliviero Canetti