One poor woman, he characterized: "alters between lust and lightheartedness. Wants money. Enjoys dance and shows and violent novels. Passes from sadness to joy, friendship to anger." (Sentenced to death)
That could be my Tinder profile. That could be anyone's, right?
Luckily a judge commuted her sentence to life in prison.
One guy's clothes, made of bleached ropes, were proof positive of criminality. His reverent weekly washing of them was also derided. But now they're pretty sure they were a regional Alpine festival outfit. Maybe he clung to them because they were his nonno's, or memories of a happy time. Or just the one vestige of his true humanity he could cling to in prison.
Finally, the prisoner art was fascinating. They hand drew decks of cards. A fan had cherubs playing violins. One enterprising fellow carved a company of uniformed toy soldiers with huge erect penises, tips painted in red. It felt downright political. One excellent watercolor of a couple dressed up for the opera. A careful line drawing of a lead coin. "Me, at eight" self-portrait. It was good! Yet except for one guy, who had a design theme that made you want to analyze its meaning, all those names are lost...unless the skull has the name and crime penned on it, but even then, it isn't attached to the art.
By the end, I decided this criminologist was not a bad man. He believed criminals were born that way, and torturing them in any sense was cruel. Putting them to death was, he thought, more humane. He did bad science, was his crime. His skull is there too. Apropos.
His will was displayed, and this got to me, deeply. (I translate. ):
"I beg my loved ones not to grieve because I happily abandon life at a time in which being Italian virtually arouses shame."
I very much understand that feeling.
No comments:
Post a Comment