One Step to You

by Federico Moccia

  Signora Giacci stared at him with a superior attitude. She wasn’t one bit afraid of this guy. He might have all the muscles imaginable, but he was still just a boy, a small insignificant mind.

  Step leaned forward as if he wanted to share a confidential matter with her. “Let’s see if you understand this word, teacher. Listen carefully, eh? Pepito.”

  Signora Giacci turned pale. She didn’t want to believe her ears.

  Step walked away. “I see that you’ve grasped the concept. So, now, I’d like to see if you can behave yourself, teacher. If so, you’ll see that we won’t have any problems. In life, it’s all just a matter of finding the right words, isn’t it?”

  He left her there, in the middle of the room, looking older than she was, with a single shred of hope. That maybe none of this was true. Signora Giacci went to the principal’s office, asked for permission to leave the school, hurried home, and when she got there was almost afraid to go in.

  She opened the door. Not a sound. Nothing. She went through all the rooms, shouting, calling her dog by name, and then she collapsed into a chair. Even more weary and lonely than she already felt every day of her life.

  The doorman appeared in the doorway. “Signora Giacci, how are you? You look so pale. Listen, two young men came at your instructions today to take Pepito out for a walk. I let them in. That was the right thing to do, wasn’t it?”

  Signora Giacci stared at him as if she were looking right through him. Then, without hatred, resigned, full of sadness and melancholy, she shook her head. How could he have guessed? Young people were wicked and cruel.

  Signora Giacci watched the doorman walk away, and then she struggled to get up from her chair and went to shut the door. Ahead of her lay days of loneliness without Pepito’s cheerful barking.

  You can make mistakes about people. Babi had seemed like a proud and intelligent young woman, maybe a little too full of herself, but never vicious enough to undertake this kind of retaliation.

  Signora Giacci went into the kitchen to make something to eat. She opened the refrigerator. Near her salad was a can of Pepito’s dog food. She burst into tears. Now she really was alone. Now she really had lost, once and for all.

  Chapter 28

  That afternoon, Paolo had finished work early, so he was a happy man when he returned home. Suddenly he heard the sound of a dog barking. He went into the living room to find a little white Pomeranian wagging its tail on his Turkish carpet. And right in front of the dog was Pollo, with a wooden spoon in one hand.

  “Ready? Go!” Pollo tossed the wooden spoon onto the sofa across the room. The Pomeranian didn’t even turn to look, utterly uninterested in where that piece of wood might be now. Instead it started to bark.

  “Fuck, though, why won’t he fetch? This dog doesn’t work! We got a defective dog! All he knows how to do is bark.”

  Sitting in an armchair in the same room, Step stopped reading the new issue of the Totem comic. “This dog doesn’t know how to fetch, you understand? He just hasn’t been trained for it. What do you expect?”

  Then Step noticed his brother standing in the doorway with his hat still on his head. “Oh, Paolo, ciao. How are you? I didn’t see you at first. Why are you home at this hour?”

  “I finished work early. But what is this dog doing in my house?”

  “It’s a new dog. Pollo and I went halfsies on it. Do you like him?”

  “Not at all. I don’t want to see it in here. Look.” He walked over to the sofa. “It’s already covered with white dog hair here.”

  “Oh, come on, Pa, don’t be rude. I’ll make sure he stays in my half of the apartment.”

  “What?”

  The dog wagged its tail and started to bark.

  “You see, he’s happy with the arrangement!”

  “Right, already I lose sleep when you come in late at night, so I can just imagine with a dog barking all the time. It’s entirely out of the question.” Paolo left the room angrily.

  Pollo made a funny face at Step. “Jesus, he’s pissed off.” Then he got an idea. Pollo shouted loud enough that he could be heard from the other room. “Paolo, for the three hundred thousand lire I owe you…I’ll take him away.”

  Step started laughing and went back to reading his Totem comic.

  Paolo appeared in the doorway. “You’ve got yourself a deal. After all, I was never going to see that money again, and this way, at least, I get this dog out of here. By the way, Step, do you have any idea what became of my butter biscuits? I bought them the other day for my breakfast, and they’ve already disappeared.”

  Step acted vague. “I don’t know. Maria must have eaten them. I didn’t take them. You know I don’t even like them.”

  “I don’t know why it is, but whatever happens around here, it’s always Maria’s fault. So, shall we just fire this darned Maria? She only seems to make things worse around here…”

  Pollo broke in. “Are you kidding? Maria is fantastic. She bakes these apple pies you wouldn’t believe. There was one just the other day, for instance…”

  “So you guys did eat it. I was positive!”

  Step looked at his watch. “Damn, it’s really late. I have to go.”

  Pollo stood up too. “So do I.”

  Paolo stood, all alone now, in the living room. “What about the dog?”

  Before leaving, Pollo just had time to reply, “I’ll swing by later.”

  “Listen, either you take it away or you give me the three hundred thousand lire.”

  The door shut behind them.

  Paolo looked at the Pomeranian, in the middle of his living room, wagging its tail.

  Chapter 29

  Babi was riding behind Step. Her cheek rested on his jacket, and the wind was tearing at the tips of her hair.

  “So are you sure this isn’t going to hurt me?”

  “Positive! Everyone has tattoos. You see how big mine is. If it really hurt, I’d be dead now, right? You just get yourself a really little one. You won’t even notice.”

  “I didn’t say I was going to do it. I just said I’d come in and take a look.”

  “All right, whatever you decide. If you don’t like it, you don’t have to do a thing. Agreed?”

  Babi didn’t answer. Step braked and parked the motorcycle. “Here we are.”

  They walked down a narrow lane. There was sand on the ground. It had been blown there by the wind, stolen from the nearby beach. They were in Fregene, at the fishermen’s village.

  For a moment, Babi started to wonder if she’d lost her mind. Who knows what she’d be able to say to her parents if they found out. She’d have to get it in some hidden spot. But where? A place that was reasonably well hidden, but not too much so. After all, the guy who’d be doing the work would have to be able to see it.

  Omigod, I’m about to get a tattoo, she thought. She imagined her mother finding out. She’d start screaming her head off. Her mother always shouted at her.

  Step smiled at her. “Are you thinking about where to get it?”

  “I’m still thinking about whether to get it at all.”

  “Come on, you really liked mine when you saw it. Plus, Pallina has one, too, doesn’t she?”

  “Yes, I know that, but so what? She did that on her own, at home, with needles and india ink.”

  “Well, this is much better than that. And with the tattoo machine, you can add color and everything. It’s supercool.”

  “But are you sure that they sterilize it?”

  “Of course. Come on, how could you doubt that?”

  Babi thought to herself that she didn’t do drugs and she’d never had sex. It would really be the dictionary definition of bad luck to get HIV from having a tattoo done.

  “Here, this is the place.”

  Step stopped in front of a rustic cabin. The wind was moving the reeds that covered the little building’s corrugated tin roof. The window was glazed with panes of colorful glass, and the door was made of dark brown wood. It almost looke
d like chocolate.

  Step opened it. “John, okay if I come in?”

  “Oh, Step, sure. Come right in.”

  Babi followed him. She fearfully shut the door behind her. A strong smell of alcohol washed over her. At least there was disinfectant in the place. Now she’d just have to make sure they used it.

  John was sitting on a sort of stool and was touching the shoulder of a young blond woman sitting in front of him on a bench. The sound of a little electric motor reached Babi’s ears. It reminded her of the sound of a dentist’s drill. She just hoped that it wouldn’t hurt like one.

  The young woman was gazing straight ahead. Maybe she was feeling pain, but if so, she wasn’t showing it.

  A young man, leaning against the wall, stopped reading his Corriere dello Sport. “Does it hurt?”

  The young woman with extremely pale skin and the strap of her tank top pulled down over her arm replied in a faint voice, “No.”

  “Oh, come on. It does too hurt.”

  “I told you it doesn’t.”

  The young man went back to reading his newspaper. He almost seemed annoyed that it didn’t hurt. Maybe it had hurt him when he’d done it.

  Babi looked around. The walls were covered with sheets of paper with drawings of all sorts: birds, fish, butterflies, dragons, tigers. Below that array, arranged over a table covered with small bottles of pigment, were a number of photos. John had had pictures taken of him with his newly tattooed customers. There were pretty blond girls and strange muscular guys with long hair. Every one of them was smiling as they displayed the new tattoo on their bodies.

  In one especially big photograph, a muscular man with a bald head had covered his back with an enormous blue dragon. Farther down, a guy was displaying a rose on his chest, the same rose that could be seen on his motorcycle’s gas tank. Everyone seemed happy to have been tattooed.

  Babi looked at the young blond woman John was working on. Why wasn’t she smiling? There was a strange expression on her face. At a certain point, she made what looked like a grimace of pain. If he’d taken her picture just then, John wouldn’t have known where to put the photo.

  “All done.” John moved the machine away and leaned over her shoulder to get a better look at his work. “Perfect!”

  The young woman heaved a sigh of relief. She craned her neck to see if she, too, was in agreement with John’s enthusiasm. Babi and Step moved forward, curious. The young man stopped reading and leaned in. They all gazed at each other in silence.

  The young woman looked around, seeking some sign of approval. “It’s nice, isn’t it?”

  A butterfly made up of many colors glowed vividly on her shoulder. The flesh was slightly swollen. The color was still fresh, mixed with the red of the blood, making it particularly glossy.

  “Beautiful,” the young man replied with a smile, clearly her boyfriend.

  “Very.” Babi decided to give the young woman an extra smidgen of satisfaction.

  “Here, let’s put this on.” John applied a gauze bandage to her shoulder. “You’ll have to clean it every morning for a few days. You’ll see, there won’t be any infection!”

  The young woman clenched her teeth and inhaled sharply before letting out a sigh.

  Babi smiled. One thing was certain. At least afterward, John definitely applied alcohol.

  The boyfriend pulled out a hundred thousand lire and paid. Then he smiled and hugged his newly tattooed girlfriend.

  “Ouch. You’re hurting me, you know!”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, sweetheart.” He delicately moved his arm lower, to her waist, and left the cabin with her, wondering if it really had hurt her or if she was just taking revenge for earlier.

  “All right, Step. Let me take a look at how things are going with your tattoo.”

  Step pulled up the right sleeve of his jacket. On his muscular forearm there was an eagle with a flaming red tongue. Step moved his hand like a pianist. His tendons tightened and darted under his skin, bringing those large wings to life.

  “It’s really beautiful.” John looked at his handiwork complacently. “Maybe we need to touch it up, here and there…”

  “One of these days, maybe. Today we’re here for her.”

  “Ah, for this lovely young lady. And what would you like, signorina?”

  “First of all, I’d like for it not to hurt, and then…do you sterilize the tattoo machine every time you use it?”

  To reassure her, John removed the needles and cleaned them with alcohol right in front of her. Her two big blue eyes followed every tiny detail as he worked, increasingly worried about the fateful moment that was fast approaching.

  “Have you decided where you want it done?”

  “Well, I’d like it to be someplace where it’s not too obvious. If my folks see it, I’m going to be in a world of pain.”

  She immediately regretted using that turn of phrase. Maybe it was going to be a world of pain in any case. She decided not to think about it.

  “Well”—John smiled at her—“I’ve done some tattoos on people’s ass cheeks and others on their heads. One time, an American girl came in here and insisted on getting one, well, yeah, you know where…right? But before I did the tattoo, I even had to shave her!”

  John burst out laughing right in front of her. Babi looked at him with growing concern. Omigod, this guy is a sex maniac.

  “John.” Step’s voice, slightly harsh, resounded from behind her. John’s expression changed immediately. “Yes, sorry about that, Step.” Now he turned back to look at Babi with a more professional demeanor. “Anyway, I don’t know. We could do it on your neck, under your hair, or on your ankle, or even on your hip.”

  “Okay, on the hip would be just fine.”

  “It’s just that it would have to be something small. Nothing special, because I’m guessing you’d need it to be covered up by the hem of your panties or under your swimsuit, I mean, right?” This time he wasn’t being lewd.

  “Oh, but I want something simple. Something brightly colored, something cheerful.”

  “Here, you can choose something from here.” John pulled a large book out from under a table. Babi started leafing through it. There were death’s heads, swords, crosses, revolvers, all sorts of terrible designs.

  John stood up and lit a Marlboro. He’d figured out that this wasn’t going to be quick.

  Step sat down next to her. “This one?” He pointed at a Nazi swastika set on a banner with a white background.

  “Are you joking?”

  “Well, I didn’t think it was bad…How about this?” He pointed out a large snake done in purplish hues, its jaws wide in a sign that it was about to attack.

  Babi didn’t even reply. She continued leafing through the large book. She skimmed the figures rapidly, dissatisfied, as if she already knew that she wasn’t going to find anything good.

  Every so often, Step would interrupt, suggesting this or that terrible design. This only got on her nerves. Finally, Babi turned the last page, a sheet of hard plastic, and shut the book. Then she looked at John. “No, there’s nothing I like.”

  John took a drag on his cigarette and blew out a plume of smoke. Just as he’d expected. “Well, then, we’ll have to invent something. Would you like a butterfly like the one I did for the young woman earlier?”

  Babi wrinkled her nose.

  “A rose?” Babi shook her head.

  “A flower in general, by any chance?”

  “I don’t know…”

  “Well, young lady, why don’t you help me out? Otherwise we could be here all night. Look, I have another appointment at seven.”

  “Well, I really don’t know. I’d like something a little odd.”

  John started pacing the room. Then he stopped. “One time I tattooed a bottle of Coca-Cola on a guy’s shoulder. It turned out great. Would you like that?”

  “I don’t really like Coca-Cola though.”

  “Well, Babi, why don’t you tell him something that you do like
?” said Step, trying to be helpful.

  “All I ever eat is yogurt. I can’t exactly get a container of yogurt tattooed on my hip!”

  In the end, they came to a solution. Step had proposed it. John agreed, and Babi really liked it.

  John immediately set to work. It was no easy job. First, because Babi refused to take off her jeans and, second, she was afraid of even a single injection, let alone a hundred or so, administered in rapid succession with the aid of a small electric motor. John told her all kinds of stories just to calm her down. His most absurd memories, people that had asked him to do tattoos on their head and on their eyebrows. One guy even had a tattoo done on his, well, “you-know-what.”

  He told her about the time that Step and Pollo came in to get their tattoos. Step had been cool as a cucumber, Pollo a complete disaster. He’d drained two beers in a row, and then, as if that weren’t enough, he’d decided to smoke a joint, even though he never smoked dope. Okay, that was years and years ago, and they’d both been kids at the time, but that was clearly a case of genuine fear.

  In the end, Pollo, completely wrecked, had decided that he didn’t like his tattoo. He’d started whining that he wanted to get it removed right away. John had told him that it was impossible, but Pollo didn’t want to listen to reason. Higher than a kite, Pollo had overturned the pigments, all the little bottles full of solvents, things John had imported from Bali. Pollo left the tattoo parlor with two hundred fifty thousand lire less than when he’d come in, and on his chest, a red tattooed heart with Mamma written on it.

  Babi burst out laughing. She asked mischievously whether Pallina had even seen it. For a moment, she forgot about the faint stinging feeling on her hip. Then, as she noticed the droning buzz of the motor, she turned serious again. There was a risk she might hurt herself, and lying there, stiff and tense, seemed like a good way to ward it off.

  She remembered when she’d gotten her ears pierced with Pallina. That piece of cork behind her earlobe and the ice to keep her from feeling anything. Oh, but she’d felt it, and how! And now, here she was, getting a tattoo. She smiled at Step.