Yet now, almost twenty years later, a stranger had come to rummage through his memories again. Of course he remembered that wretched year and that little blond boy with glasses, who told strange stories. Dark stories. Horror stories. One day, Dario told Marco and their classmates that Rita, their teacher, had taken him to the cemetery. Marco couldn’t remember exactly what he’d said, but he never forgot those stories. They’d affected him so strongly that they insinuated the same “memory” into his mind. “I’m . . . sure that what I’m about to tell you never happened,” he told me during our short
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