We’ve taken up position on the Lazzaretto square, facing the sea. For centuries, people and animals arriving from unknown places were confined here in quarantine to prevent the spread of disease. The plague reached the city nonetheless, in the mid-17th century. After the last war, displaced people who had emerged from the caves – where they’d taken refuge to escape the bombing – set up camp here. From here they set out to rebuild the neighbourhood that now welcomes us. Behind me lies the dazzling expanse of water. On the other side of the gulf, the outline of one of Europe’s largest refineries comes into view: 300,000 barrels of oil a day. We set up our things under the powerful afternoon sun. We enjoy the sea breeze. It arises from the temperature difference between the warm land and the cold water. It dies down as the testimony begins. The light fades and, beyond the twenty kilometres of sea that separate us, the electric glows of the refinery appear. I weave the gestures and words into this landscape, and it seems to me that they take on a broader dimension.