Romana Petri, self-defense and violence against women. The story

DWhen I was little, my mother wanted to enroll me in ballet. I couldn’t resist for long. I liked classical dance to watch, it wasn’t for me to do. For my body I had other ambitions that he only knew about my father. That’s why he secretly taught me some boxing punches or, better yet, those moves that weren’t a sport, but self-defense. And which for a woman they simply meant knock out an opponent even briefly and then have time to escape.

Dad’s advice

I remember him always telling me: «The whole thing about aiming for balls is bullshit. You risk having them grab your ankle, pull you and make you fall to the ground hitting your head. You have to aim for the throat, the Adam’s apple. Then they come down like logs and you can run away.” And then he also taught me another trick. If I found myself walking in a semi-deserted street and I saw a group of kids from afar, I just had to look up, point it at a window and make big waves with my arms and then say: “I’ll call you right away”. Possibly placing your right hand next to his ear mimicking a cornet. L‘I’ve done it many times and it’s always worked. They looked up too, but since they didn’t know how to read or write, they left me alone.

My father had also taught me how to hold keys. Never in the pocket, they are held in the hand, with the small ones all in the fist and the long one between the index and ring fingers. It’s a weapon. He didn’t want to scare me, he was warning me. There were many examples: if they grab you by the neck; if they grab you by the hair from behind; if they hold you tight with their arms around your torso to immobilize you and take you away. There was a solution to every trick and he knew them all. But between saying and doing… I was commenting. And he told me I was right. It was difficult. Even the much-loved boxing was fine but it was much less safe than self-defense. «Always be on the alert” he told me. «Unfortunately you have to learn to prevent. You women are better at everything. You only have one catch: you are less physically strong.”

Romana Petri: «It had always gone well for me…»

It’s all the fault of this story here. I reached the age of twenty and all I needed was the trick of looking up and speaking to a hypothetical person looking out. It had always gone smoothly. They looked up too, but they never came to the conclusion that it was a trick. At the time I found my first job in a shady company that took (under the table) only girls and then load them all into a van with quite a few volumes of encyclopedias under their arms, unload them in a specific point of the city, give each one its own path and four hours of time. Eventually we would meet there and be driven home. Not the morning appointment, that was always in an office cubby, where there was a gentleman of a certain age who gave us advice. Or, as he said, he trained us. When we were dropped off at work, we had our long road (in the more commercial districts) and the job consisted of entering shops offering the purchase of encyclopedias. There was something for all tastes. We were not always treated well, we were often told in a rude way to leave. Sometimes, if the store manager was a man, he would ask us to show him all the materials only to then ask us out on a coffee date. “There’s nothing wrong,” he said. «A beautiful girl is nice to take out of her».

Some even made jokes about my clothing: «If you want to convince someone to buy these encyclopedias you should dress a little more provocatively: miniskirt, unbuttoned blouses, tight trousers…». Inside I was quivering like a horse. And out of the blue I would leave without saying a word. I have sold several encyclopedias, but only to female dealers. If there wasn’t a customer around they listened to me. In the end they asked me if that job would pay for my studies, and when I answered in the affirmative the conversation always ended with: “Then I’ll gladly buy you an encyclopedia in installments.”

The person riding around in the van was a certain Silvio. Thirty years old or little more, face like a bar of soap, straight hair and always a little greasy. She made us sing songs at the top of our lungs. There were always six or seven of us at a time, all in our twenties. There were also those who didn’t study and hadn’t even finished high school. They hoped that job would turn into something more seriousor they were simply gaining experience for their future CV.

Silvio was a guy who made a lot of comments about us. But heavy, things like: «You with those tits will go far, you with that nice ass, you with those long legs». I was the one with the long legs and from behind I looked at him in the rearview mirror with a grim face. He joked about it and told the others that I had no practical sense. He said exactly that. He always wore a tight shirt that was very unbuttoned on the chest to expose his hair and gold chain. His pants, white jeans, were also very tight. He was inappropriately funny with everyone. She thought she was funny when in fact she didn’t make anyone laugh. I didn’t even like singing. And I didn’t sing.

But that day…

That day, the last one to be taken home was me. He decided whose turn it was and he always said that it was convenient for him because then he had a “problem” right there. He liked to use the word “inconvenience”, he tried to understand what effect it had on us, if that mystery increased his fascination for him. I lived in Monte Sacro, exactly in Piazza Monte Torrone which was a dead end. Everything else was surrounded by countryside with sheep grazing. From afar you could see a paper mill. I even wrote a poem about it. I only remember the beginning: «Clouds of smoke, dirty chimneys…».

We were almost there when he swerved and took via Monte Nevoso which led to the paper mill. I told him he was wrong, I didn’t live there. But he, silent, took a dirt path. And suddenly he braked. I immediately got out and started running with my shoulder bag full of volumes except for one that didn’t really fit and I was holding in my hand. It was the weight that slowed me down and also the shoes. He reached me and gave me a push. I didn’t end up on the ground, I took a few steps with my torso tilted, slightly slouching, and I turned towards him.

– What the… do you want?
– What everyone wants.
– You’d better go.
– It’s better if you don’t break the shit… It’s convenient for you. Anyway, then you like it.

I was very close to home. A few hundred meters away was my father who knew nothing of what was happening to me. The idea brought a bottomless sadness to me. A great bitterness. What was I supposed to do, go over all the holds to understand how to free myself? I didn’t have the head to do it. Everything was confusing and my legs were shaking.

– Yes, you’re fine, I won’t hurt you. Only good.

And I smiled. Now I’m sure I smiled out of fear. But he didn’t understand it. And so she opened her arms wide and in that winning position she walked the few meters that separated us. I remained still, but dropped the bag with the volumes from my shoulder to the ground. She kept her arms low as she approached. I remained still. There was no one. Just him and me. I held the only volume that hadn’t fit in the bag in my hand, I held it low, in a surrendered way. But when he got in front of me I gave it to him straight away and with full force on the famous Adam’s apple. And it came down like a log.

I ran away. As fast as I could. To my left was a shiny, wire fence that blurred my vision. And then I was sweating. It seemed like my legs couldn’t support me, but I didn’t stop and as if due to a momentum syndrome, when I entered the front door of the house I walked up the three floors, still running, even if there was an elevator.. So I entered the living room, where my father was reading a book in an armchair. I stood still in front of him venting all that desperate running.

– Maybe I killed someone, I told him.
– Start from the beginning.

And then, with difficulty, but without crying, I told him how things had gone. Every now and then I stopped to wipe the sweat from my eyes that continued to fall with my hands. Or to catch your breath.

I concluded by saying:
– What if I really killed him?
We will know this soon – my father replied calmly. – On the news tonight. Or tomorrow in the newspapers.
– All right. But what if he really died? – I pressed him.

And at that point he said the phrase, the one that has remained etched in my mind for my entire life. Even today I can hear it resonating in her head with her beautiful voice. Even today that he has been dead for so many years.
– In that case, my daughter, a trial is better than a funeral.

We could have laughed about it. That sentence actually had something comical about it. Instead we hugged. Neither of us cried, neither of us said anything. After two weeks in which there was no mention of a dead man killed near Via Monte Nevoso, I regained my colours. Then my father said that we had to go to that little office cubicle, because I had closed several contracts and they had to pay me for them. He entered at 1.92 m tall. Furious.

– Which one of you is Silvio? – She asked. But Silvio wasn’t there. There was a replacement and there was the usual older gentleman. And the girls ready to get into the van who all came around me and asked me what happened to me. The older gentleman said they didn’t have any cash at the time.

– Then send the substitute to withdraw some from the bank – said my father. And he added: – Which is better. Look, it’s better for everyone.

Except for the replacement, we all stayed there for a long and unreal time. The elderly gentleman is also standing. When the boy returned, he counted the money he owed me and handed it to me. We left. At the door my father turned and said:

– Tell that… what’s that asshole’s name?
– Silvio – I said.
– Here, tell him I’ll see you around.

Nothing so serious has ever happened to me again. But even the less serious one always made my blood swirl around my heart at great speed. I hear words that no one should say and from the inside it seems like I no longer have enough space to contain my entire body.

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