The class’s glee and happiness reached incredible peaks.
“Benucci, C plus. Salvetti, B minus.” And that was that. The students who hadn’t yet picked up their classwork heaved a sigh. By now, they had definitely received a passing grade. Signora Giacci always handed back the assignments in order of grades, from worst to best. First the failures and then, in a slowly rising crescendo, up to passing grades and then the various A minuses and As. Although an A was something of an event.
“Marini, B plus, Ricci, A minus.” A few of the girls were waiting calmly to receive their grades, accustomed as they were to occupying the high end of the rankings. But for Pallina, this was a genuine, full-fledged miracle. She couldn’t believe her ears. Ricci, A minus? Then that meant she must have received at least that grade, if not higher. She dreamed of being able to go home to her mother for lunch and tell her, “Mamma, I got an A minus in Greek.” Her mother would flat-out faint.
“Gervasi, A minus.”
Pallina smiled happily for her friend. “Go, Babi.”
Babi turned to look at her and waved a greeting. For once, she wasn’t going to have to feel bad about having gotten a better grade than Pallina.
“Lombardi.” Pallina leaped out of her desk and headed straight toward the teacher’s desk. She was euphoric. By now she must have at least an A minus.
“Lombardi, D.” Pallina stood speechless. “Your paper must somehow have wound up in this stack by mistake,” Signora Giacci apologized with a smile.
Pallina took her assignment and trudged back to her desk, devastated. For a fleeting instant, she’d believed it. How great it would have been to get an A minus. She sat down.
Signora Giacci glanced at her, still smiling, and then went on to read the grades on the last few papers. She’d done it on purpose, the old bitch. Pallina felt certain of it. Her surging rage caused her eyes to fill with tears. Damn it, how could she have fallen for it? An A minus on a Greek translation: impossible. She should have realized immediately that something wasn’t right.
She heard a whisper on her right. She turned around. It was Babi. Pallina tried to smile but without much success. Then she sat up, running the back of her hand under her nose. Babi showed her a handkerchief. Pallina nodded. Babi knotted it and tossed it to her. Pallina caught it in midair.
Signora Giacci glanced at her with a look of annoyance. Pallina raised her hand apologetically and then blew her nose. Taking advantage of the handkerchief in front of her face, she made a face as well as a rude noise. A few of the girls around her noticed and laughed in amusement.
Signora Giacci slammed her fist down on her desk. “Silence!”
She handed back the last few papers and then opened her ledger, ready to test some students. “Salvetti and Ricci.”
The two girls went up to the teacher’s desk, handed in their notebooks, and waited by the wall, ready for the ensuing firing squad of questions.
Signora Giacci looked down at her ledger again. “Servanti.”
Francesca Servanti stood up from her desk, stunned. That day it really wasn’t her turn. Giacci was supposed to be testing Salvetti, Ricci, and Festa. Everyone knew it.
She walked in silence to the teacher’s desk and handed over her notebook, doing her best to conceal her outright desperation. Actually, though, it was plain to see. She was entirely unprepared.
Signora Giacci gathered the notebooks and laid them one atop the other, squaring them up with both hands. “All right, with you three, I’m done with this round of testing, and then I hope to set aside Greek for a while. We’ll be able to focus on Latin. Well, I’m going to tell you right now. Almost certainly, that’ll be one of the subjects that’s going to be on the final exam…”
Well, tell me something I don’t know, most of the class thought inwardly. One young woman had another thought on her mind. That was Silvia Festa. She was afflicted by quite another order of worries, far more personal to her own situation. Why hadn’t Signora Giacci called her? Why wasn’t she being tested, instead of Servanti, as she ought to have been? Could Signora Giacci have something else in mind for her?
And yet her situation was far from ideal. She already had two Cs on the books, and she really couldn’t afford to do any worse.
That said, the teacher could hardly have made a mistake. Signora Giacci never made mistakes. That was one of the golden rules there at Falconieri High School.
Everyone knew Signora Giacci. She lived on in the memories of the school’s graduates for the rest of their lives, for better or worse. Especially for worse, given that no one had ever told or heard a single story or anecdote that featured Signora Giacci helping out a student in dire straits.
If you were having difficulties, then Signora Giacci would pounce on you, finish you off, terminate you. If you were doing well, on the other hand, Signora Giacci would sing your praises and, if she could, at the final exams see to it that your grade was pumped up by a point or two.
Which meant, in practical terms, that she never did a lick of work. If a student was doing well, she didn’t need anyone’s help. But if a student was doing poorly, then she needed everyone’s help, including all the saints on the calendar. In fact, especially the help of the saints. What Silvia Festa needed, more than anything else, was the score from her third test, and what’s more, she had the right to it.
Stealthily, she called out to Babi. Babi replied by shrugging helplessly. Babi, too, had noticed that something wasn’t right. But she couldn’t figure out what had happened. She gestured to Silvia to wait a second.
Silvia sighed impatiently. Babi rechecked her notebook. No doubt about it. Her little dots and checkmarks were all where they were supposed to be. To finish the round of testing, Signora Giacci was supposed to summon Salvetti, Ricci, and Festa. Servanti had already been tested three times, and most recently on March 18, to be exact.
Signora Giacci must have made a mistake. But it wasn’t a very good idea to bring that point up to her. Babi knew the golden rule of Falconieri High School as well as everyone else. She decided it was better not to get involved. There are rules you’d best not break.
She called out to Silvia. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what to tell you. According to my notes, you were supposed to be tested too.”
“So what are you saying? That Signora Giacci made a mistake?”
“Maybe. But you know the way she is. Better not say anything.”
“Yes, but unless I say something, they’re not going to let me take the final exams.”
Babi threw both arms wide. “I don’t know what to do…” She really was sorry. But it just wasn’t a good idea at this point to set out to collect more disciplinary notes. Her school notebook and, most of all, her mother wouldn’t be able to withstand the impact of another one.
She started the test. Silvia fidgeted nervously at her desk. She didn’t know what to do. In the end, she decided to speak up. She raised her hand.
Signora Giacci saw her. “Yes, Festa, what is it?”
Silvia started to speak, and then she remembered. She stood up with alacrity. She did her best to infuse her tone of voice with as much respect as possible.
“Excuse me, teacher. I don’t want to bother you. But I’m afraid I’ve never had my third test.” Festa smiled, trying desperately to conceal the fact that she was accusing her of having made a mistake.
Signora Giacci heaved a sigh of annoyance. “Let’s just take a look.” She pulled out two notebooks to aid her in her research. She laid them out on the Ancient Greek class ledger and cross-referenced them until she found the last name Festa and the corresponding third test. “Festa…Festa…Here you are, tested on March eighteenth, and naturally it’s a C. Satisfied? Actually…” She checked the other grades. “I’m not sure you’ll be admitted to final exams.”
A weak “Thank you” emerged from Silvia’s mouth as she turned to go back to her desk.
With an aloof air of competence, Signora Giacci went back to her testing.
Bab
i rechecked her notebook. March 18. In fact, that was the date that Servanti had been tested. There could be no doubt about it. Signora Giacci must have made a mistake. But how could she prove it? It would be her word against the teacher’s. Which amounted to guaranteeing another disciplinary note.
Poor Festa, she really had bad luck. This seriously meant that she’d flunk the year.
Babi opened to the pages with the other subjects. March 18. That was a Thursday. She checked for all the other classes. How strange though—on that day Festa hadn’t been tested on any other subjects. Maybe it was just a coincidence, or maybe not.
She leaned over the front of her desk. “Silvia.”
“What is it?” Silvia looked devastated. She wasn’t wrong, poor thing.
“Would you give me your notebook?”
“What for?”
“I just want to see something,” Babi said.
“See what?”
“I’ll tell you after I check it…Come on, hand it over.”
For a moment, a tiny spark of hope glittered in Silvia’s eyes. She handed Babi her notebook. Babi opened it. She went to the back pages. Silvia gazed at her hopefully.
Babi smiled. She turned to her and handed back the notebook. “You’re a lucky girl!”
Silvia shot her a sketchy smile. She wasn’t all that sure it was true.
Suddenly, Babi raised her hand. “Excuse me, teacher…”
Signora Giacci turned around to look at her. “What is it, Gervasi? Haven’t you been tested either? Oh, you’re really pains in the neck today, all you girls. Speak up, what is it?”
Babi stood up. She remained silent for a second or two. The eyes of the class were all pointed right at her. Especially Silvia’s.
Babi looked at Pallina. She, too, like all the other girls, was waiting curiously. Babi smiled at her. After all, it was only right what she was doing. Signora Giacci had intentionally put Pallina’s paper in the stack with the ones that had been marked A minus.
“Well, Gervasi, what is it?”
“I just wanted to tell you, teacher, that you made a mistake.”
A general murmur washed over the class. The girls seemed to have lost their collective minds. Babi was unruffled.
“Silence!” Signora Giacci turned red before regaining her self-control. “Oh, really, Gervasi, about what?”
“You couldn’t have tested Silvia Festa on March eighteenth.”
“What do you mean? It’s written right here, in my class ledger. Would you care to take a look? Here it is, March eighteenth, a C for Silvia Festa,” she said. “I’m starting to think that you really enjoy receiving disciplinary notes.”
“That grade is for Francesca Servanti. You made a mistake, and you put it down for Festa.”
Signora Giacci seemed to explode with rage. “Oh, really? Well, I know that you mark down everything in your notebook. But it’s just your word against mine. And if I say that I tested Festa on that date, then that’s the way it is.”
“And I say it’s not. On March eighteenth you couldn’t have tested Silvia Festa.”
“Oh, really? Why not?”
“Because Silvia Festa was absent on the eighteenth of March.”
Signora Giacci blanched. She pulled out her general ledger and started leafing back through it.
Sitting at her desk, Silvia Festa opened her notebook. She turned to the last pages, where her justified absences were all noted. That’s what Babi had wanted to see. She leafed through it rapidly. The whole class sat in silence, waiting to learn whether that final confirmation would be forthcoming.
Silvia found her mother’s signature. There it was, gleaming in all its reality, on March 19, the day after her absence.
Signora Giacci stopped and stared at the page in the ledger that bore that awful date: March 18. She frantically checked the absences. Benucci, Marini, and then, there she was. Signora Giacci slumped onto her desk. She couldn’t believe her eyes. Festa. That surname, written in her own hand, stamped before her in letters of fire. Her agonizing shame. Her mistake. Nothing more was needed. Signora Giacci glanced at Babi.
Babi slowly sat down. All her classmates turned to look at her. A general buzz of voices stirred in the classroom: “Good job, nice work, Babi, good job.”
Babi pretended not to hear. But that soft buzz of whispers reached Signora Giacci’s ears, those words as chilling as needles of ice hitting her, cold and cutting, like the burden of that defeat. Looking like a fool in front of the class. In front of her class. And then the words that issued from her lips, so heavy and painful, to underscore her mistake. “Servanti, please be seated. Festa, come up to be tested.”
Babi lowered her eyes to her desk. Justice had been done. Then she slowly lifted her face to look at Pallina. Their gazes met, and a thousand words flew silently between those two desks. Starting today, it was possible for Signora Giacci to make mistakes. The golden rule had been shattered. It collapsed before them, crumbling into thousands of shards like a fragile crystal glass slipping out of the hands of a young and inexperienced waitress.
But Babi didn’t see anyone step forward to dress her down. Everywhere she turned, all she saw were the joyful eyes of the other girls in her class, proud and entertained by her courage.
Then she looked farther on. And what she saw terrified her. There sat Signora Giacci, staring at her. Her gaze, devoid of any expression or sign of life, was as hard and grim as a slab of gray stone on which someone had labored mightily to carve the word hatred.
Chapter 9
It was noon. Step walked into the kitchen wearing a sweatshirt and a pair of shorts, ready for breakfast. “Good morning, Maria.”
“Good morning, sir.” The housekeeper immediately stopped washing the dishes.
Step took the coffeepot and the pan of hot milk off the stove and sat down at the table, but then the doorbell started to ring. Step lifted a hand to his forehead. “Who the fu…”
With tiny footsteps, Maria hurried to the door. “Who is it?”
“It’s Pollo! Would you let me in, please?”
Maria turned to look at Step with an inquiring expression. Step silently nodded his head so Maria opened the door.
Pollo came rushing in. “Hey, Step? You don’t know what an incredible thing! A fairy tale, the coolest shit ever!”
Step cocked a brow. “You brought me sandwiches?”
“No, look at this.” He showed him that day’s edition of Il Messaggero.
“I already have the newspaper.” He lifted a copy of La Repubblica from the table. “Maria brought it to me. By the way, you haven’t even said good morning to her.”
Pollo turned to look at the housekeeper impatiently. “Morning, Maria.”
Maria smiled. “I’ll go and tidy up your room, sir.” And she left the kitchen.
Step sipped his hot coffee. Pollo opened the newspaper and laid it out on the table. “Have you seen? Take a look at this unbelievably cool picture! A legend. You’re in the newspaper.”
Step put his hand down on the page with the local news. It was true. It was him on his motorcycle with Babi on back as they were pulling a wheelie in front of the photographers. Perfectly recognizable, but luckily it was impossible to see the license plate. Otherwise there would have been bitter repercussions. There was a whole article. The illegal street races, the surprise arrival of the police, some of the names of those arrested, and a description of the chase that ensued.
Pollo looked enthusiastically at his friend. “Did you read it? You’re a legend, Step! You’re famous now! Fuck, if only I could have an article like this.”
Step smiled at him. “You can’t pull wheelies as well as I can. Oh, it really is a nice picture! Did you see how good Babi looks?”
Pollo nodded glumly. Babi really wasn’t what he would have defined as his ideal woman.
Step held up the newspaper in both hands and gazed at the photograph in a state of bliss. “No doubt about it, my motorcycle really looks great here!” He wondered if Ba
bi had already seen their photo. Almost certainly not. “Pollo, you need to take me somewhere. Here, have some coffee while I take a shower.” Step went into his bedroom.
Pollo took his seat. He looked at the photo. He started rereading the article. He lifted the coffee cup to his mouth. Yuck! Oh, that’s right. Step always took his coffee without sugar.
Step’s voice arrived muffled from the shower: “What time do the shops close?”
Pollo put his third teaspoon of sugar into his coffee. Then he looked at the clock. “In less than an hour.”
“Then, fuck, we’d better get moving.”
Pollo tasted his coffee. Now that was the way it should be sugared. He lit a cigarette.
Step appeared in the doorway. He was wearing a bathrobe, and with a small hand towel, he was vigorously massaging his short head of hair. Soon, his head was nice and dry. He turned to look at Pollo again and then gazed at the photo. “So, what’s it like to be friends with a living legend?”
* * *
The motorcycle, with Pollo sitting on it, sat motionless, parked on its kickstand on Viale Angelico. When Step walked out of the print shop, Pollo kicked over the motorcycle engine and revved it.
Step climbed on behind him, being careful not to crease the poster. “Oh, Pollo, drive carefully. I put the poster right between us.”
“How much did they charge you?”
“Twenty-two thousand lire.”
“Son of a bitch. I wanted to do the same thing with my picture, but does it have to cost that much?”
“Practically speaking, they print it, plus they laminate it too. That’s not much, if you stop to think about it.”
“I don’t want to stop, and I don’t want to think. Where are we going now?” Pollo asked.
“To Piazza Jacini.”
“What for?”
“That’s where Babi lives.”
“Not seriously! And you’ve never seen her place?”
“Never.”
“Life is funny, isn’t it?”
“Why?” Step asked.
“Well, at first you never see someone at all, and then you start seeing them practically every day.”
One Step to You Page 9
