The conductor was adamant. They could not stay there.
Guido hated it when rules went against common sense. He listened to the discussion between the woman and the conductor. A little girl, the older one, was crying. The other one, diapers sticking out of a funny little green skirt, was red in the face as if she was trying hard to poop.
The Nigerian woman, who spoke a weak Italian, asked it again, but the impatient conductor pointed out to the woman. Guido felt Caterina's hand squeeze his arm, her nails, lusciously lacquered, sunk into his anthracite-colored shirt, calling his attention. He turned to see what she wanted when Catherine got up from her seat.
"Excuse me, ma'am” she said intrusively, "if you want, I can pay the difference." The woman hesitated, then nodded with grateful expression. The conductor shrugged, as if to say, do as you like.
The young mother approached to thank Caterina, when she met Guido's eyes. The woman with the wide Heban cheekbones lingered over Guido's dark eyes for a long time, as if she was attracted to something that seemed to disturb her. Suddenly she stopped staring at the boy and held her daughters in an instinctive gesture of protection.
"That's twenty-six euros difference” exclaimed the conductor. Caterina got up to take the bag, which was resting on the glove compartment.
The Nigerian woman backed away and bumped into the conductor.
"For crying out loud. Be careful!"
The African rolled her eyes around with a look veiled with fear. She wore a hand around her neck and squeezed an amulet carved on a piece of iroko between her fingers.
"Egwu... Juju..." she said hurriedly in his tongue, then dragged the girls down the hall. The door opened with a plunger. "Egwu... Juju..." she repeated with a groan. Mother and daughters disappeared beyond the bulkheads that divided the wagon.
"I don't understand. Why did she leave?" surprised Caterina.
"Africans: if it were up to me, I'd throw them all overboard" the conductor exclaimed cynically.
Guido didn't comment. He knew that for a moment that woman was trapped in his shadowy world.
The next day, Filippa and the others were waiting for Guido in the editorial office for the afternoon briefing.
Leo was no longer wearing his leg brace, but his muscles had atrophied and his right thigh was all skin and bones. The face wounded by the glass was healing, and now he was enjoying peeling the last remaining scabs. The broken ribs hurt less and less, and the psoriasis was gone.
That morning they had removed the stitches on his forehead. The scar formed an inverted S. It was vermilion in colour and very unattractive, but soon it would absorb like a bad memory.
Filippa stretched her legs resting the heavy amphibians on the desk top. She looked out the large windows, where the glass reflected haloes of opaque light, as if someone had tried to clean them, but it made the situation worse. His gaze wandered beyond the esplanade of old compact houses in
tight rows all the way down the neighbourhood. Behind them, there was a bird's-eye view of the boundless expanse of hills.
Up there, amidst the mayor and purple mountains, was Lake Montevicino.
Manuel Pianesi pressed the button on the coffee machine before offering the drink to friends in plastic cups. He had lightened some braids on his dreadlocks. He had taken a photo with his mobile phone, sending it smugly to someone he was particularly fond of. Immediately afterwards, a message arrived. Manuel's contrite expression showed that his new look had not met with approval, even though the message was still full of kisses.
The clock on the wall was still. The battery had run out, and it was already 3:20 in the afternoon.
Guido showed up at the meeting without apologizing for the delay. The boys noticed that, for the occasion, he had finally shaved and smelled good cologne.
He took an espresso, lit a cigarette, and gave an account of the meeting in Milan.
He explained that none of them would be replaced and that they could continue to cooperate with the newspaper. Everyone, in those words, breathed a liberating sigh of relief.
"Of course, we also talked about the manuscript" he specified, and without going around it too much, he added: "In Milan, however, they suspect something. For example, that I hide the truth. Exactly as you suspect it".
Filippa, Leo, and Manuel blushed with embarrassment. They looked each other, as if to decide which of them should speak first, but no one had the courage to do so.
"You guys aren't stupid. Like I'm not. And it's time I told you a story."
"I knew it! I knew you were hiding something from us" Manuel said, tapping his fist in the palm of his hand.
"Guido. We're friends. Don't you trust us?" asked Filippa.
"Of course I trust you. I love you guys. That's why I waited to tell you."
"Talk about what?" asked Filippa.
"I can explain. But you wouldn't understand..."
"So give us one good reason why we shouldn't ask you things you can't tell us” Filippa urged him.
"All right. I'll try” replied Guido, aware that once the story was told, they would take him for a fool.
"Let's start with Frater Paolous. Filippa, do you remember your interpretation of the Year of Domini? You said that, according to the monk, the painter was someone else's reincarnation."
"Yes. I remember it perfectly. But it was just a..."
Guido interrupted her. "Then know that you've probably come close to the truth."
"Come on, Guido. Please be serious."
"Wait. Are you telling us that you... you think it's true?"
"No, Manuel. I believe much, much more than that. Filippa sensed a dark reality. Only a genius like her could have walked a path where there is no logic. But it is something real. Damn straight real. Some mysterious entities have always been rooted here. They're inside people, inside things, and... no. I don't need to explain. It's all so absurd..."
"What are you talking about?" Manuel asked.
"Are you sure you're all right?" he urged Leo surrounded by a stunned silence.
"No, I'm not okay. I'm on the verge of a nervous breakdown. I take a lot of pills to stay lucid and calm, and they don't always affect me. So let's forget about that and get back to the reason for the meeting."
"Yes, maybe it's better” Leo agreed, not to contradict him, the look that bounced off his friends' incredulous faces.
"That's perfect. I didn't say anything. So let's cut to the chase and... Jesus, what a face. I knew it. All right, all right. You're free to think I've gone crazy."
"No-one is saying this” reassured Filippa, who wished to return to the subject, but was dissuaded by Manuel's nasty touch.
Guido regretted having introduced an argument that had made him pathetic in the eyes of his friends, and he was saddened by having tried to tell the truth, but this attempt had not reconciled him to his conscience. Truth, said only to get the weight off, can sometimes sink more than a stone around his neck.
"Let's talk about concrete things” Guido said. "Crazy or not, I know who stole the manuscript."
22
"One million three hundred thousand euros? Daisy, for God's sake. That's a fortune."
"Keep it, Mom. You know how to handle it."
"I don't know what to say..."
"Don't worry about it, just take it."
"But it's too much money!"
"Mom, please."
"All right. I'll talk to the manager, I'll get advice on how to invest it” Sandra Magnoli said, staring perplexedly at the Bank of Italy's check. She knew that it was not a gesture of generosity, but proof that Daisy was not well. But her latest oddity made sense. Leaving her all her savings could guarantee her a future, something that would not have happened if it had remained in her hands.
Daisy had been back for a month now, and she never left the house. She had become sloppy, lazy, impulsive. She was always arguing on the phone with her agent, Rinaldo Duranti. She refused all interviews. If any journalist was particularly insistent, insults and
threats would fly. She spent a lot of time locked up in his room, and got drunk a lot. The psychiatrist followed her for some time, until Daisy decided to end all relations with Salieri.
Otherwise, she spent most of her time with her brother. The doctor advised Sandra to keep them apart as much as possible. Salieri was convinced that Adriano's illness could somehow fuel his sister's discomfort.
The psychiatrist had diagnosed Daisy with an insidious bipolar disorder, a disease that usually affected particularly creative people. It was less devastating than schizophrenia, but those who suffered from it were subject to many destructive behaviours. A bipolar could ruin himself at play, spend fortunes buying useless things, have a wild sex life. In addition, one in three bipolars had suicidal tendencies.
For Sandra it was yet another blow, though not entirely unexpected. Evidently, the disease was written in her family's genes. She knew of a great-grandmother who was considered insane, cured with electroshock, a particularly invasive treatment. She died at the age of forty-four, forgotten by the world, within the hostile walls of a madhouse. As if that wasn't enough, one of her uncles was
regarded by all as the village idiot - a relative she had been ashamed of throughout her childhood.
Sandra went upstairs and locked the cheque in the safe, hidden behind one of the paintings hanging in the corridor.
When she went back into the living room, Daisy and Adriano were sitting on the couch next to each other. On the table, a bottle of brandy, lipstick shading on an empty glass.
"We have to take a new appointment with Salieri” said the mother peremptorily.
"No. No way" replied Daisy, straightening her shoulders from the back. Adriano did not move and sat softly beside her.
"We don't trust him anymore."
"You should. He's a very good doctor."
Daisy didn't answer right away. She looked at her brother, and exchanged a nod with him, as if the time had come to discuss a particularly important matter.
"Adriano and I have talked a great deal during this time" was the preamble. "Perhaps like never before. And... he told me things. Things you know."
"Let's hear what it is” the woman calmly said.
"You knew about Nicole Dubuisson and Dad."
Sandra closed her mouth, her lips became thin, her chest rose with a tired sigh.
"Pass the brandy" the woman said, pointing to the bottle resting on the silver tray. Daisy poured two fingers into the glass, which gleamed the reflections of a filtered ray of sunshine from the window.
Sandra drank in one breath, her throat burning, giving her two buckets of coughing. She beckoned to pour more.
"I knew it" she admitted in an arrogant voice. "I knew about Dubuisson. The psychiatrist's wife is one of many. And I don't think that's a good reason not to go to Salieri anymore. He's just a victim of unhappy love. Just like me."
"That's not the point” Daisy said again, waving her hand nervously.
"Isn't it? What is the point?"
"You never suspected anything?"
"What are you talking about?" asked Sandra, with her chest crushed by a sudden wheezing.
"Listen. I'm going to explain you a thing. You've always been convinced Adriano was sick with schizophrenia, haven't you?"
"I would give my life if someone would prove I am wrong."
"Let's do a hypothesis. What if Adriano was perfectly healthy?"
"Be sensible” Sandra suggested with a hint of disrespect. "I don't want to talk about this in front of you, Adriano. But perhaps we should clear the air. You're intelligent and sensitive. The best of children possible. But you, Daisy, how many times have you witnessed his hallucinations, the voices that haunt him, his delusions?"
"You can't count, in fact" agreed the daughter, the suddenly gloomy look. "But what if everything he sees and hears really exists?"
"Let's not talk nonsense” bothered the mother.
"What if her dual personality really belongs to someone else?" Daisy insisted.
Sandra noticed an exaltation about her daughter that didn't bode well.
"Good God, Daisy. Cut the crap."
"Open your eyes, Mum” continued the girl, her mouth taking a bitter turn, as if blaming her for being blind for so long.
"Adriano is not sick. And... I'm beginning to feel something, too."
"You're just drunk" cut Sandra short. "Or crazy” she thought to herself with death in her heart.
Adriano reached out his hand to intertwine his fingers with his sister's. The two looked at each other for a long moment.
They seemed to see each other inside, as if they were made of glass.
Sandra put the glass down. She leaned forward to massage her temples. She'd never held her liquor well, and she got a bad headache. She stared at a spot on the table where a green dust had settled. Next to it, a couple of pills of the same color. They were smashed up and reduced to little grains.
"What are they?" asked the mother.
Daisy shrugged them off. "Barbiturates. "I chopped them up and mixed them with the coke. Then I drank on them. It helps me get on."
Sandra would have slapped her, but she managed to hold back.
Outside the sun was gone. A cold breeze began to blow through the clouds. The yellowed leaves rose from the bare branches of the maple trees and stuck to the window panes, only to slip away when the gusts of wind fell.
"Take Daisy's words into consideration, Mom. "Get used to the idea that I've never been crazy. Never."
Adriano let go of his sister's hand.
"I can't accept it” he continued, "all this time stuffed with drugs. Shitty medicines that ruined my liver, destroyed my dignity, reduced to a living dead. Shit, Mom. Why did you assume I was crazy?"
Daisy stroked him with her fingers through his soft, straight hair. She kissed him on the cheeks, the kiss that slipped stealthily over the soft curve of her lips for a moment.
Sandra had learned not to be shocked by anything. But she had to fight back. She had to make her children stop thinking of themselves as kindred spirits, as if they were in love with each other.
"I'll call Dr. Salieri. We must make an appointment” exclaimed Sandra, almost without moving her lips.
"That would be a mistake" said Adriano, who straightened himself out of Daisy's arm.
"Adriano is right. Mom, how can you not understand?"
The boy closed his eyes for a split second, and his face stiffened in the time of that slow blink.
"I knew it. I could feel it” exclaimed the boy with the sudden shortness of breath. "This is it. It's coming again." Adriano grabbed onto the armrest of the sofa with one hand. The body contorted itself as if it wanted to eject an unwanted guest. He tried to resist. He shook and jerked as if he was being electrocuted. When he stopped fidgeting, he looked around with an expression that did not belong to him.
‘What a beautiful family reunion’ he exclaimed amused.
‘Learn to listen to your creatures, Mrs. Magnoli.’
Daisy nodded to her brother's words as she reclined her head, the tinge of a smile on her lips, as if she was looking at someone particularly handsome.
"That's enough!" Sandra screamed, exasperated not so much by her son's madness as by Daisy's behaviour. She refused to think she was crazy, too. She wanted to cry, but this was no time to be weak. ʺÈ drunk and drugged thought the mother. “The drugs and alcohol, I can take it. Insanity, however, is not. God, please. No! ʺ
The son leaned on Sandra's shoulder to whisper to her ear: "Adriano... Adrianino... your son has a beautiful name. Have you ever told anyone why you called him that?”
"What do you mean?" Sandra drew back, like she was feeling disgust for Adriano. A feeling she was ashamed of, but couldn't quite get rid of.
“Of course. Even your husband didn't know that” said pleased with Adriano, adding: “Ah, the good old high school days, when there was a mysterious blonde boy. He was handsome, wasn't he? Although he wasn't the best in school. Your great lov
e. Do you remember how he had leukemia? Remember your promise?”
"I don't know what you're talking about."
“If I ever have a son, I'll name him after you. I'll name him Adriano. That's exactly what you said.”
Sandra went pale, confused. That was her secret. Adriano couldn't have known about it.
"Don't ask yourself too many questions, Mom. He just wants to show you that he knows things. He knows everything” Daisy said, watching Adriano with satisfaction.
"You're not well. Neither of you. I have to call Salieri."
"Go ahead..." replied her son, pointing to his cell phone on the table.
Sandra grabbed the phone. She dialled the number, misdialled it.
She tried again. Two rings, and she heard the assistant's gentle voice.
"Good morning, Dr. Salieri's office."
"Good morning, Greta... yes, thank you, I'll hold..."
“You still don't understand that he did it” he asked his son with a provocative laugh.
“He was mad with jealousy. Funny, isn't it? Years of self-analysis to get clean, just to do his job properly. A quiet man. A near-perfect man who kills a man full of sin.”
Daisy approached her mother. She spoke slowly, face to face.
"Mom, he's telling you Daddy didn't hang himself” he confirmed in a voice filled with bitterness.
Sandra struggled to remain impassive. She was used to her younger son's delusions, but at that moment it was really hard to stand up to both of them. On the phone, Sandra heard the familiar voice of Dr. Roberto Salieri.
Just two words, and Daisy ripped the cell phone out of her hand.
"I mean, Mom! Why won't you understand?"
"Give it back, Daisy” she said calmly, holding out the palm of her hand.
"You have to know the truth first."
“That night, your husband and the doctor met to clarify” Adriano explained, distressing his mother not so much because her face was hardened like a leather mask, but because she felt that face revealed an evil soul.
The Dawn of Sin Page 24
