Tullio Forgiarini est né en 1966 à Neudorf, au Luxembourg, de père italien et de mère luxembourgeoise. Il a étudié l’histoire à Luxembourg et à Strasbourg. Depuis 1989, il est professeur d’histoire, de latin et de géographie au Lycée du Nord de Wiltz, au Luxembourg. Il est aussi très engagé dans l'aide aux enfants issus de milieux défavorisés.
Tullio Forgiarini écrit des histoires sombres, principalement en langue française et inspirées par des films de genre et des romans de série noire. Ses œuvres ont été publiées dans des journaux, des magazines et des anthologies et il est l'auteur de plusieurs romans. Il est marié et vit à Luxembourg.
Translated by Tom Johanns
We’re too early. More than half an hour. Still, we’re not the first ones. A few cars are already at the car park. And a bus. And also kids. Probably 5th, 6th school year. They’re playing football. Well, the boys are. The girls are watching. And sniggering stupidly. The teachers are standing there as well. They’re already irritated. One has told off the boys. In German, I think. I haven’t heard her. We prefer staying in the car. To have a quiet smoke. Not to be seen too much. Shirley’s been keeping quiet. For quite a while, in fact. Since the event with……, with what happened yesterday evening. She doesn’t believe me, apparently. That I have already done it 20 times. Or, that it was cool. Or both. Oh, well. It wasn´t that cool. Well, nothing like in the movies. There it always lasts for…..15 minutes? Yeah, 15 minutes minimum! And the bitches are screaming their heads off …Yesterday, everything was done and dusted in 2 minutes flat. Without anybody saying anything……Well, afterwards Shirley asked “Was it nice?” and I said “Yes”……Shirley’s sleeping again. She sleeps every single minute when nothing’s happening! That’s so annoying, but somehow I admire that. Every time you feel like it, just dropping off……Two buses left. I’m not counting the cars anymore. They are opening soon…… My back is itching again. Like mad. Not all the time, but now way too much. Actually, always when I’m alone……well, alone in my thoughts…… It’s trying to get out through my t-shirt. Through my jumper. Through my jacket. Even through the seat. I don’t get Shirley. How can she not be bothered about that? …… But, then again…… Nathalie didn’t say anything either……no matter……or……? …… I’m taking my iPhone out of my pocket. It’s switched off. ‘Cause of the cops. If I switch it on, they immediately know where we are. Or, maybe they don’t. If I just switch it on for a few seconds……just to see whether someone called……or sent a message……I turn it on. It takes a while ‘til it finds a network……and……3 calls. Twice my mum. And a number that’s not being displayed. Probably the cops……and a message. Also from my mum. I’m supposed to call her back. Nothing else. Just Call me back. Not even Call me back now! Or Please call me back! Only Call me back …… I turn it off again immediately. No-one gives a shit……almost no-one. The cops are searching for us. Because they have to. And…… Sandra as well. Because she thinks she has to. Because she thinks, a mother has to. Because she thinks she’s a mother. Because she thinks she’s my mother……