I put on the cassock which was in the backpack. I struggle with the tiny buttons but finally make it. I look at my reflection in the mirror. I try to remember whether I had the chance to play a priest back in my time at Lirica Piccola; it’s quite probable but I can’t recall it right now.
‘Splendid,’ Davide says in a happy voice. ‘You look like a natural in this clerical collar. Go, I will be waiting here for you.’
I take the backpack with me and leave the bathroom. I am scared; I can’t hide this fact even from myself. I force myself to bring a friendly smile to my face. I want other passengers to see me as the kind-hearted, travelling priest I want to impersonate.
I walk along the carriage. I don’t think anyone recognised me as a participant of the shooting; no one pays any attention to
