The Dawn Of Sin

Guido Gobbi had already regretted hosting his two friends at his home, an apartment on the outskirts of town in the populous San Lorenzo district. Five thousand quiet souls, divided between the buildings with high facades that followed the profile of the hill.

On the one hand Manuel screamed, making him miss the jurors' jokes, on the other, Leo Fratesi replied to the comments, with the vice of emphasizing several times the concept already expressed.

"Please, will you stop messing around?" Guido asked as he pressed the remote control button to turn up the volume.

A week had passed since Daisy and Guido had quarrelled. She thought Guido was a peeping Tom and wanted to report him to the principal. It seemed like the sad ending to a story that had never been told. Then, that phrase appeared on the computer.

Adriano has to stop looking for me. Or he'll come to a bad end.

After an exhausting explanation where Guido had tried to convince her that he had nothing to do with it, they finally made peace, even though the longed-for appointment had been postponed.

Daisy, in fact, had preferred to investigate who had sent the message, with Manuel's help. The dreadlocks high school boyfriend was a good geek, one of those who could trace the source code. Manuel had tried to find out who the author

was, but with every attempt, the computer inexplicably froze.

The seriousness of the attack ruled out the possibility that it was a prank on Daisy.

Guido said that Adriano probably did something he shouldn't have. Perhaps a virtual meeting gone wrong. Or, he stepped on the wrong people's toes, or something, and they were threatening him. Daisy had never seriously considered the possibility that they were really angry with her brother. She used to feel that she was the centre of attention, which led her to think that the message was addressed to her. It is likely that her disabled brother had really attracted someone's hatred, and now she wanted to find out why.

"So, Daisy, what do you want us to hear?" Sebastian Monroe asked, drinking a sip of scotch that made his lips slurp with pleasure.

"Well, I'd like to sing a song. A new song” she replied, grabbing the microphone stand, which she lifted to suit her height.

"Did you hear that?" exclaimed the juror, turning to the audience.

"We're dealing with a singer-songwriter” added Circe, puzzled, who searched the stands for someone who shared her scepticism. There were some whispers of approval.

"I didn't actually write it."

"Could you be a more verbose thread, or shall we move on to monosyllables?"

There was a giggle from the audience.

"It's a song written by Adriano Magnoli. My brother. The song is I’m Rose.

In Castelmuso, Adriano watched the program with his arms folded, his shoulder resting on the door jamb, and there was a lot of excitement around him.

"For God's sake, Adry, they're talking about you here!" Franz shouted out the foam from the beer bottle.

"Really, Adriano. It's great” Uncle Ambrogio remarked, raising his glass to another toast.

The compliments of the people gathered in the living room of the villa were sincere, insistent, and a bit annoying. In Adriano's ears they sounded a bit like ʺNothing bad for a mental patient.ʺ

He couldn't blame them. After all, it was the truth.

"Now a little silence, please" Sebastian said, raising his hands to silence the audience, while the camera's ruthless eye was placed on Circe's finger on the stage.

"Daisy Magnoli. Your time has come!"

Daisy closed her eyes, seeking maximum inspiration.

The sweet sound of a piano rose up. Just a few notes chasing each other. The music, light and evocative, seemed to lead into a garden of fragrant roses. A melody that recalled soft colors, delicate flights of butterflies and clear skies full of harmony.

Adriano's music began as a calm journey into the soul.

Daisy, the feeling of riding a rainbow of emotions, began to sing.

My heart pierced by blinding suns

My hard crystal tears

It's beauty

The joy of love

But a shadow is hidden in the folds of my soul…

The words, whispered like a loud chant, did not provoke any reaction from the audience.

As expected, if the artist showed little, if any, talent during the performance, shouts and whistles were heard, but when the skill was undeniable, applause and shouts were heard. Nothing happened to Daisy. No one said a word. Everything was still, suspended in a vacuum.

Suddenly the sigh of the piano became a thunder rumble. A powerful, dark bass gave off a powerful energy. Melody and rhythm exploded into a gothic rock piece. Drums and guitar fused, in the background, a chorus of deep voices. It was an ancient Gregorian chant translated from Latin, the voices modulated on prophetic tones. A warning that spoke of beauty, love and damnation.

Love is the mirror of the dark.

The dark will be my husband.

The cloak of the black reaper will fall on my face, heavy as a shroud.

Beauty and damnation…

Then the choir silenced. A thick, grey smoke came down on stage.

Daisy's voice rose clear and vibrant.

Sin crept into the mists of my innocence.

The dark angel is joy and innocence.

The dark angel is joy and perversion.

I am the rose.

He is damnation…

The dance steps touched the stage with light and agile touches, a roll rose as the succession of threatening thunder, the choir to create an atmosphere of warning and omen.

At the end of the song the guitars interpreted an acrobatic solo, a perfect counterpoint to celebrate the dying sound of the drums.

Then, suddenly, the music dissolved.

The piece was finished.

Daisy stood motionless, her face turned to the sky, sweat running down her temples, strands of hair clinging to her reddened cheeks, her knee pointed to the ground and her arm outstretched to the sky in a beautiful, epic pose.

Daisy smiled at the jury, holding her anxieties, her heart beating fast in the center of her chest.

It was time for the verdict.

All around, a heavy, unfathomable silence.

Daisy stared at Sebastian Monroe. She knew the verdict would pass through his eyes. The New Zealander, almost always arrogant and clear-headed in his judgements, had an indecisive look, and all of his poise suggested an insecurity that no one recognized. The other judges were also nervous and uncertain.

Daisy, in anticipation of the response, felt that she could hear thudding from under the stage.

She heard a technician swearing heavily behind the scenes. The smoke grenades were not supposed to go off. Daisy, in fact, had been surprised. During rehearsals no one had mentioned that she had to dance in an annoying cold fog.

"I'm Rose" Sebastian finally said, "It's, like, you know… what I heard was something crazy."

"Immense is the word” echoed Circe, caged in a shiny black latex costume, the sweat coming down from under her wig.

The jury's verdict preceded the verdict of the audience, who rose and applauded. An unusual tribute, where everyone's enthusiasm was measured, but full and complete, as if the exhibition deserved admiration and respect as if it were a piece of work.

As people applauded, the thunder under the stage became darker and deeper.

Daisy took a bow. That was the most important moment of her life.

She was restless, smiling and thanking.

The thudding increased. ʺMa no one hears them? ʺ she thought, as the stage vibrated beneath her feet, the mike stick was jumping in front of her lips. He blamed the tension, and thought of his brother. Adriano had fallen ill due to severe stress. She was also under a lot of pressure now. Her imagination led her to believe that someone, or something, was buried somewhere. A presence trapped in a dark and

undefined place trying to free itself. Maybe she was sick, too?

She felt a painful cramp in her stomach and was afraid of vomiting. Despite everything, she struggled to smile.

"Daisy, I have no words. I'm simply astounded” Sebastian exclaimed, shaking his head, as if to shake off the emotions that I’m Rose has brought.

Isabella Larini agreed as she brushed her arm to caress the goose skin, her eyes flashing with admiration.

"Gentlemen, personally I am still in shock. We have witnessed the birth of a star. A star that will long shine in the firmament of the Next Generation” was Circe's comment.

"Now we want to know everything, just everything about you" Sebastian asked, smoothing his hard, stinging beard.

Daisy felt the blows stop. The mike player was no longer jumping and the stage stopped vibrating. She was convinced that she had only imagined them. She passed the back of her hand over her sweaty brow, her eyes spinning in the stands. In her dreams, her audience was always invisible, someone who applauded her but only she could see. Now the audience was real. There he was, in the flesh, standing before her, peeling his hands.

"I'm glad you liked the piece" she could say, almost moved.

Daisy's house had gone up in flames. Amelia, Franz's wealthy wife, laughed with a smiling face. Aunt Annetta took two tears of emotion from the back of her hand. The landline and cell phones were ringing off the hook. Each ring was a friend, a neighbour, an acquaintance who called to congratulate him. Franz and Uncle Ambrogio, half drunk, urged a toast by shaking beer mugs overflowing with foam in their hands.

At that moment in Castelmuso everyone could boast that they were fellow citizens of a celebrity.

Adriano was watching Daisy on the stage of Next Generation. He knew her like no other. She was tense and nervous, and the smile was not sincere.

The young man, just like Daisy, was overwhelmed with anxiety. "Adriano, you're great” his uncle told him, hugging him with an abrupt gesture and throwing his weight around to support himself.

"I said. I have always said it. I don't have two nephews. I have two phenomena."

Adriano departed from his relative to free himself from that cumbersome arm. He left the room and slipped into the hallway. He went up the stairs, cursed every step, cursed his migraine that had suddenly burst and cursed the drugs that were slowing him down.

He went into his room. He opened the desk drawer to take a painkiller. In his head, everything began to take on faded and confused forms.

He went through the drawer with his hand without remembering what he was looking for. He began wandering around the room in a disoriented and distraught air, before collapsing to the floor with his head in his hands. At that moment the hallucinations returned to him.

Adriano convinced himself that his head was a vase full of earth, where dense tangles of roots, impossible to eradicate, were taking root.

He took from the bookshop an old volume with a heavy and worn-out cover. His trembling hands turned the pages of the Bible with a frustrating and resigned slowness.

He stopped on a particularly crumpled page, aware that it would be of no use to read, or even to pray, as if at that moment religion had become distant and contrary to the truth.

Schizophrenia. It is called schizophrenia. My mind is sick. It's just that. It's the only thing I can think of thatis repeating the Bible at the foot of my bed, the pages open on the floor like the wings of a dead bird.

No. It's not schizophrenia, Adriano. He's about to come on stage.

"Very well, Daisy Magnoli” Sebastian said. "I don't know if you realise, but your voice is amazing, you dance like a pro, and if I'm not mistaken you're only 16, right?"

"That's right. At least for the part about my age. Otherwise I trust your judgment."

Daisy's response was underlined by applause from the audience who seemed to like not only her artistic talent, but also her verve.

"Now tell us, darling” exclaimed Circe. "The piece was written by your brother, wasn't it? What did you say his name was?"

"Adriano. Adriano Magnoli."

"Would you like to talk a little about him? Such a good author deserves to be here, next to you."

"Well, my brother can't come. Because he, as it were, he… he… he… is…"

"He what? You look a little embarrassed” Sebastian frowned. You don't want to talk about Adriano, do you?"

ʺHere is the moment of perfidyʺ Daisy thought. ʺCome, now I'm going to get blackmailed.ʺ

Daisy knew that judges could become particularly hateful, even cruel, in the name of ratings.

But she had no intention of falling into that trap, and she tried to concentrate to keep up with their assaults.

"So, where is your brother? You should let us meet him, love…"

Isabella Larini's mellifluous voice officially started the provocations.

"Maybe you didn't want him here because you're jealous of him?"

"Adrianoooo! Where are you? Adrianinooooooo!" Circe suddenly shouted, putting his hand over his forehead to look away, provoking the spectators to laugh.

Sandra had been backstage the whole time. I’m Rose's performance had been perfect. She was proud of Daisy. She had rejoiced and cried with emotion.

The cameras had lingered on her tears, moving housewives and mothers in front of the TV.

The whole show was running on the right track. There was the girl with an uncommon talent, an emotional mother and a composer brother who, in her absence, was feeding the viewers' curiosity.

All oxygen to the ratings. And the ratings were turning into euro palates thanks to the profits from the advertising sales.

NCC's contracts were based on ratings. The higher the ratings, the more companies that advertised their products paid more to the sender. And each share point was worth something like two million euros.

For Sandra, however, the program was taking an unpleasant turn.

Why are they making fun of my son?she wondered. The authors know he's not well. They talked to him a lot. They even prepared a video with a cross-section of our family. An interview where Daisy talked about her dreams, her affections, her mother, her father who's gone… The authors know about Paolo's suicide, Adry's problems. They were impressed and saddened. That's why they advised against mentioning it on TV. Daisy's only 16. She can't handle an interview where they talk about things bigger than her. Why are they acting like this now? That wasn't the fucking deal!

The ratings were on the jury monitors. The average for the Next Generation was normally around nine percent. Jurors got excited when they read that the share was close to eleven.

The data was calculated in real time using a sophisticated system that cross-referenced information from a sample of 20,000 households across all regions. And eleven percent was great news, so the authors decided to go heavy with Daisy. She was the one who raised the ratings.

We had to create interest around the girl. A lot of interest. On the judges' monitors, a string of particularly cynical suggestions appeared in fiery characters.

Listening goes up. Hit the girl hard!

Go for it. Go through the shit. We need to get to thirteen!

The father killed himself. See if you can get it in there somewhere.

Crazy brother, suicidal father. This is strong stuff. We agreed not to do this, but to hell with it! Get it all out. But make sure it doesn't turn on us. We have to splash at thirteen.

Jenny Lio was staring at the monitor enthusiastically. She thought of the jury's bonus, also calculated on the share. If the ratings had been on 12, she could have collected a surplus of 50,000 euros. But to earn that amount, you would have to give your best. She stood up. Sarcastic hummed: "Adrianoooo! Adrianinooooo! Why are you playing hide and seek?"

Isabella Larini, too, when she did her math, started her wicked show. The juror pretended to be outraged and shouted, "Forget it, Jenny. Don't be a bitch. Adriano's not here because he has a problem. And we're talking about something serious. Aren't we, Daisy? As far as I know, Adriano, the author of your beautiful song, is… Do you want to say it? Do you want to talk about his problem?"

Daisy was unprepared for that question. That wasn't the arrangement. She was supposed to sing and have fun. And if, on top of that, she was really good, she'd have a chance to get into show business.

The judges weren't sticking to the chords or the set list now.

She hoped they wouldn't force her to talk about her family's misfortune.

After all, I’m Rose wasn't just a song.

It was her story.

"Come on, Daisy. You can tell us anything. What's wrong with your brother?" Sebastian asked, twiddling his thumbs under his chin, pretending to be careful and concerned. "My brother's not well” replied the girl, feeling like a lost bunny surrounded by ravenous wolves.

At that moment she would want her mother beside her, and throw herself into his arms to feel as safe and protected as when she was a child. She watched as the judges pressed on with more and more uncomfortable and indisponsive questions. Her cheeks shed tears and cursed her stupidity. She had to be strong, she had to respond to those insidious questions at a stroke. Instead, all she could do was cry.

A flash of triumph crossed Jenny Lio's eyes… The display showed the share at thirteen and a half.

Daisy's crying was capturing the viewers. But, above all, it would have added another thirty thousand euros for her.

Jenny, Isabella and Sebastian exchanged a look full of satisfaction.

On the monitor came the tips of the authors, which gradually became more and more nasty.

Go ahead, take the snap. Let the little girl tell you what the fuck is wrong with her brother.

Come on, come on, come on! If we get to fifteen, it's a hundred thousand euros!

Come on Circe, get a move on. You're not doing anything to raise your voice. Hurt her. Hit her hard with a question of your own!

Sandra wanted to complain to someone, but she didn't know where to turn. The two cameramen who were filming her followed her backstage, until she came across one of the

writers, a bald guy like an ostrich egg with two huge headphones on his ears and a clipboard in his hand.

"Mrs. Magnoli" he said peremptorily, "you cannot come here, you must stay in the area that has been assigned to your parents, and…"

"Get the fuck off me, you fucker!" Sandra screamed, pointing her hands at the thin boy's chest, pushing him away.

"Please calm down now" she begged the author in the face.

A sturdy and discreet orderly approached Sandra. The author waved his hand to make it clear that everything was under control.

"How can I calm down? My daughter's crying on the fucking stage!" Sandra raved, desperate.

"A lot of kids are crying during the show. It's normal for them to get excited" the young writer replied, angry at a cameraman who wanted to film the scene. The protest of a minor's parent on air could have raised a hornet's nest of controversy. And many consumer associations and security agencies would have been happy to bring down the program, considering the presence of people like Circe and Monroe unsuitable for a protected band.

"I warn you. Leave my son out of this" Sandra threatened to point the finger at the author.

The bald young man knew full well how legitimate the woman's anger was. He couldn't blame her, but there was a lot of money at stake.

If he listened to him again, he would have pocketed 20,000 euros. In fact, his name was the headline immediately after Sebastian Monroe's, and the young author had no intention of giving up such generous compensation. He warned the director to turn off the drone that was filming backstage, and had cameras six and seven, the ones on Sandra Magnoli, darkened. When he did so, he ordered the security man to escort the woman back to her family members' seats.

Sandra reluctantly accepted, but without any intention of letting her guard down. If anyone tried to rage against her children, she would run to the stage to drag Daisy off, after insulting the judges and denouncing the program's producers live.

"It's 14 and a half!!!!"

The inscription flashed followed by a triumphant row of exclamation points.

Daisy would have wanted to escape from the stage. But she was nailed there, unable to react. The jurors' questions became more and more precise, nasty and outrageous.

There was a 30-second commercial break. The share dropped physiologically by two points.

When the commercial ended, the ratings went up again.

Daisy's clean face furrowed with tears leapt to the top of Twitter's topic trends.

Sebastian looked at the display with a flash of euphoria.

They were at fourteen and eight, two more points and the bonus of one hundred thousand euros would be triggered. With that money he could have bought top quality cocaine, and a gold piercing studded with diamonds that he already imagined dangling from the rosy nipple of Christine, his underage lover. Sebastian had fallen in love with the little girl when she was fifteen, and he never ceased to be surprised by the naturalness she showed in certain complicated erotic games.

"Well. Here we are again in your company. We were talking about Adriano” Sebastian summed up, before adding, "Forgive me if I'm indelicate, but I was wondering how a mentally ill boy could compose such a fantastic song as I’m Rose.

ʺNo, you're not indelicate, you're just a bastard, filthy dickhead thought Daisy, who replied by trying to keep her anger in check.

"My brother is suffering from paranoid schizophrenia. It's a very serious illness. Besides, crazy or not crazy, I love my brother. I love him more than anything in the world. He is sensitive. He's sensitive. He's a good boy. And if I'm here, it's all because of him."

An emotional sigh rose from the audience.

Fourteen and nine.

The audience was getting up again. Daisy's response, with those brief words dictated from the heart, had struck deep into the viewers.

Jenny Lio and Isabella Larini took an enthusiastic look at Sebastian. On the monitor, the authors wrote more and more pressing messages.

We're about to hit the big time. Come on, come on, come on! Let's make it round, so tonight we'll toast with Moet & Chandon surrounded by fancy sluts and faggots!

Sebastian passed the palm of his hand over his sweaty brow. It was time to use the heavy artillery.

Daisy felt his evil look on his face. She was frightened by the next question, which turned out to be a masterpiece of wickedness.

"Did you love your father too, Daisy?"

The girl became earthy. How could they do this to her? How could they afford to name her father?

"Well, Daisy?"

She didn't say anything. She tried to chase away the memory of her parent, but she couldn't. She'd never got over the trauma of suicide despite years and years of therapy.

The show's judges, pressing her with no humanity at all, brought it all back, and Daisy relived the horror that stained her childhood. She saw her father again dangling from the tree with his eyes slit open staring into the void, his tongue dangling inert on the side of his lip, his neck stretched, his cervical vertebrae broken. He never really saw it, but he always imagined it that way.

"Well, Daisy?"

Daisy heard her mother screaming and calling someone a bastard. She distinctly heard Adiano's cry of pain, even though her brother wasn't there, and she thought she was going mad.

"So? Tell us about your father…"

"Enough! Enough!" she shouted as if she had been seized with hysterics.

"Enough! Enough! Enough!"

Suddenly, a deaf thud made the trellis that supported the stage lights vibrate. The steel mounts where the strobe lights were attached jumped off. Another thud was heard.

The spotlights exploded one after the other between flashes of white light.

The stage jolted, as if someone, or something, was pressing in from below.

A pylon suddenly tilted down, tearing the electrical wires. Sparks crackled from the bare wires. The bolts gave way. The pylon fell to the ground dragging cables and reflectors. Daisy screamed when the pylon hit the jury table.

Jenny Lio heard a thunderous blow. She had been grazed by the pylon. A cable waving like a snake, crackling with energy, struck her in the face. She fell to the ground unconscious. The 20,000-volt discharge burned her face, leaving a gash on her neck, while her right ear had shrivelled to a steaming black stump.