City by Alessandro Baricco

into the distance. You could imagine that someone would come along, perhaps hours later, and walk with his feet in the two lanes, slowly, having fun keeping his feet in the lanes. Gould jumped to one side and moved on, walking carefully, trying not to leave tracks. He looked back at the two stripes that had been suddenly interrupted.
The Adventures of the Invisible Man,
he thought.
    â€œThere’s the bus, Gould. Shall we take it?”
    â€œYes.”
    It went to the end of the avenue and then turned, going up the hill, skirting the park, and passing the animal hospital. It was a red bus. Eventually, it arrived at the school.
    â€œHey, it’s nice,” said Shatzy.
    â€œYes.”
    â€œIt’s really nice, I’d never have imagined it.”
    â€œYou can’t tell from here, but it keeps on going back. There are all the playing fields, and then it goes on, for a long way.”
    â€œLovely.”
    They stood there next to each other, looking. Boys were going in and out, and there was a big lawn in front of the steps, with paths and a couple of enormous, slightly twisted trees.
    â€œYou know the field behind the house, where they play soccer?” said Gould.
    â€œYes.”
    â€œThose are the same boys, the ones who play soccer.”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œThe odd thing is that even when there’s no ball around they play. Every so often you see them kicking in the air, or pretending to dribble. Maybe they’ll make a header, but there’s no ball, they’re just jogging a little while they wait for the coach to get there, or for the game to begin. Sometimes they’re not even dressed to play—they’ve got their schoolbags, they have their coats on—but still they’ll make a pass to the midfielder, or they’ll be dribbling a chair, stuff like that.”
    â€œ. . .”
    â€œ. . .”
    â€œ. . .”
    â€œFor me it’s the same.”
    â€œ. . .”
    â€œSchool, I mean, for me it’s just like that.”
    â€œ. . .”
    â€œEven if there’s no book, no professor, no school, nothing, I . . . it’s the same thing . . . I never stop my . . . I never stop. You see?”
    â€œI guess.”
    â€œIt’s something I like. I never stop thinking about it.”
    â€œFunny.”
    â€œYou see?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œThe Nobel Prize has nothing to do with it, you see?”
    The thing is, they weren’t even looking at each other; they were still standing there, eyes wandering over the school, the lawn, the trees, and everything else.
    â€œI wasn’t serious, Gould.”
    â€œReally?”
    â€œOf course not. I was talking just to talk, you shouldn’t listen to me, I’m the last person you should listen to on the subject of school. Believe me.”
    â€œOK.”
    â€œAll in all, school’s not my strong point.”
    â€œ. . .”
    â€œExcuse me, Gould.”
    â€œIt’s nothing.”
    â€œOK.”
    â€œI’m glad you like it.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œHere.”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œIt’s nice here.”
    â€œBut you’ll come home, later, OK?”
    â€œOf course I’m coming home.”
    â€œDo it: come home.”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œOK.”
    Then they looked at each other. At first, they didn’t. They sort of looked. Gould had on a wool cap, slightly askew, so that one ear was covered and the other wasn’t. Looking at him, you would have had to have very sharp eyes to see that he was a genius. Shatzy pulled his hat down over the uncovered ear. Bye, she said. Gould went through the gate and started out along the central path, across the big lawn. He didn’t look back. He seemed very small, in the middle of that whole school; Shatzy thought that she had never, in her whole life, seen anything smaller than that boy with his schoolbag, as he went along the path, becoming smaller and smaller with each step. She