“I hope he makes you happy.”
Then that was all. Only silence remained. The telephone receiver hung up, put back in its place, mute now. This can’t be. It’s a nightmare. Wishing he could travel back in time and, right before hearing the news, hover and remain there, halting time and stopping his own life, never to advance another second. Caught in a magical, terrible equilibrium.
He’d lain there, alone in his bed, a prisoner of his own mind, of hypotheses, vague, formless ideas. He imagined her in the arms of someone else. Faces of people glimpsed, possible lovers appeared and mingled, swapping noses, eyes, mouths, bodies. Her face, close to the face of some imaginary man who was still, unfortunately, all too real.
Step felt a hot shiver run through his body, and he trembled slightly. Then he got off his motorcycle and started strolling. There was something in a shop that he liked. He went in to buy it. When he came back out, he felt like he was dying. A Lancia Thema went by, right in front of him. But not so fast that their eyes didn’t have time to meet. At that moment, their eyes told each other everything, suffering deeply, and this time, once again, together. Babi was right there, behind that electric-powered car window.
They maintained eye contact for a little while longer, with their old memories and with a new, added sadness. Then Babi vanished into the apartment building.
He remained there, walking slowly toward his motorcycle, thinking as he went. He couldn’t say what it was he was feeling. Babi was there, close to him, in that home where they’d spent afternoons and clandestine nights when her folks were out. But now that other guy was beside her. Who the fuck was he? What did he have to do with her life? Why?
He sat down on his motorcycle. He’d wait for him. He remembered everything Babi had always told him. “I hate violence. So if you continue doing whatever you want, we won’t be together much longer, I swear it.”
He’d accepted her demands. “All right, I’ll change.”
Like that time at Club Classico. A guy had bothered her—he’d asked someone else to tell him her name, and then he’d called out to her from his table: “Babi! Come on over here. Sit with us.” He was acting the clown with his friends, the idiot.
Step hadn’t batted an eye. He’d stood beside her, calm and smiling. He’d finished his beer in silence.
At that point, Babi had leaned toward him and whispered in his ear, “I love you! Shall we go to my house?” Instead they’d gotten no further than making out for a while outside the front door downstairs. Unfortunately, her folks had come back early.
Babi had complimented him. “There, that’s the way I like you. You were so good, you didn’t fight with that idiot. You’ve changed. You seem like another person.”
He’d smiled at her and walked her upstairs to her apartment door. He’d waited for it to shut behind her, and then he’d hurled himself down the stairs, leaped onto his motorcycle, and raced to Club Classico.
The idiot never even knew where that fist came from. He’d found himself outside the club, over by the drinking fountain with his friends, but now with a broken nose, laid open like a grapefruit. He was sobbing. He no longer felt so much like being a smart-ass now.
Step had driven home and gone to bed. He couldn’t have gotten a wink of sleep with the thought of that guy having so much fun acting the fool with his girlfriend, but now that buffoon had paid the price, so Step fell asleep peacefully. He didn’t like being that other person. And Babi would never know about it. As far as she knew, he’d changed, and he was no longer a violent thug.
But now it was the state of things that had changed. They were no longer together. He had no reason to hide anymore. He no longer needed to be someone else. He could be himself, whenever and however he wished. He was free now. Violent and alone. Again.
The Lancia Thema was exiting the building. It waited for the gate arm to rise and then drove out onto the street.
Step started his motorcycle and put it in first. He drove fast off the sidewalk and followed the car. The guy was alone, and he was driving fast. Step poured on the gas. At the stop sign, he’ll have to stop.
Before Via Jacini there was traffic, cars in line, brake lights. The Lancia Thema stopped. Step smiled and pulled up next to the car. He started to get off the motorcycle but just then he understood. What good would it do to smash his face in, see his blood, hear his moans of pain? What good would it do to kick him across the pavement and shatter his car windows, ramming his head through the glass? Could that possibly bring him new happy days with Babi, bring back her loving eyes, her wild enthusiasm? All it would do is help him to sleep with some satisfaction that night. And maybe not even that…
He already thought he could hear her words. “You see? I was right about you. You’re just a violent thug. You’ll never change!”
And so, without even looking inside, Step revved the engine and passed the car calmly, a free man on his motorcycle, weaving in and out of traffic on this major holiday. Alone, without curiosity, without anger.
He continued accelerating, feeling the cold wind on his face and the night air slip under his jacket.
You see, Babi, it’s not the way you think. I have changed. And anyway, as we know, everyone’s a little kinder at Christmas.
Chapter 35
Step walked into the apartment and crossed the living room. Then suddenly he stopped. From the next room came the cheerful sound of someone singing. He opened the kitchen door, and there was Paolo, standing at the stove, busy with the pots and pans.
When he saw Step, he smiled at him. “Hey, nice to see you. I was afraid you’d never come back! Are you ready for this fabulous Christmas banquet?”
Step was in no mood for joking around, but he was also happy to see that his brother had forgiven their quarrel from the night before.
“What are you doing here? Weren’t you supposed to have dinner with Manuela?”
“I put that commitment off. I’d prefer to spend the night with my brother. But let’s have an understanding. Even if the meal isn’t any good, you leave my glasses alone.”
Paolo reached into his jacket breast pocket and pulled out a pair of brand-new eyeglasses. “I won’t tell you how much these cost, otherwise you’ll say that I only ever think about money. Anyway, it’s really true, before Christmas the shopkeepers really gouge you on the prices.”
Paolo set down an enormous bowl of salad with arugula, Parmesan cheese, and bits of light-colored mushrooms. “Et voilà! French cuisine!”
Step noticed that Paolo was wearing a normal white apron. The flowered apron that Babi had given him was hanging up next to the sink. He wondered what his brother had thought about that.
“All kidding aside, why aren’t you having dinner with Manuela?”
“What is this tonight, the third degree? It’s Christmas, we ought to be happy. Let’s talk about something else. It’s not a happy subject.”
“Sorry to hear that.” Step picked up a piece of cheese from the salad bowl with his fingers and popped it in his mouth.
“Yes, thanks for that. But try not to finish off the whole bowl of salad, okay? Listen, why don’t you go in the other room and set the table? The tablecloth is down there.”
Step stood up, opened the drawer, and pulled out a random tablecloth.
“No, use the red one. It’s cleaner, and after all, it’s Christmas. By the way, Papà and Mamma called…They wanted to wish you Merry Christmas. Why don’t you call them back?”
“I tried. The line was busy.” Step went into the living room.
“Why don’t you try again now?”
Step decided not to answer that question.
“Do as you think best…I told you to call.” Paolo burned a finger trying to see if the pasta was done. He decided not to insist.
Later, they were sitting across from each other. A small Christmas tree was blinking on a piece of furniture nearby. The television was turned on, but with the sound off, and Christmas presenters were talking over the cheerful music on
the stereo.
“Jesus, Paolo, this pasta is incredible. For real.”
“It needs a little more salt.”
“No, if you ask me, it’s perfect like this.” In an instant, Step turned into a prisoner of his thoughts and memories again. Babi always put a little extra salt on everything. He’d make fun of her because she always did it, indiscriminately, with every dish, no matter what, even before tasting it.
“Why don’t you try it first?” he would ask her. “Maybe it’s already super salty.”
“No, you don’t understand,” Babi said. “The part I like is actually salting the food, putting it on…” Sweet and stubborn. No, he didn’t understand. He couldn’t understand. How had the breakup happened? How could their relationship have simply ceased to exist? How could she be with another guy? He imagined them together in an embrace.
Step was a masochist for love, eager and willing to suffer. He could never love her the way I loved her. He won’t be able to adore her the same way. He won’t know how to appreciate all her tiny movements, those fleeting signals on her face. It was as if he, and only he, had been given the right to see, to understand the true flavor of her kisses, the real color of her eyes, that sweet awakening as they opened with fluttering eyelids. No other man will ever be able to see what I saw. He least of all.
He imagined him like that, incapable of loving her, of truly seeing her, understanding her, respecting her. He wouldn’t be amused by her sweet caprices. He wouldn’t love her little hand, the gnawed fingernails, her slightly pudgy feet, that tiny hidden flaw, though not all that well concealed. Perhaps he’d seen her tattoo, a terrible thought, but he’d never be capable of loving it. Not as much as Step had when he’d first kissed it and now just at the memory of it. Sadness filled his eyes.
Paolo looked at him, worried now. “The pasta’s disgusting, isn’t it? If you don’t want any more, just leave it. There’s a fabulous main course.”
Step looked up at his brother and shook his head, trying to smile.
“No, Pa, it was great, seriously.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” Paolo asked.
“No, it really is a sad story.”
“Sadder than mine?”
Step nodded. They smiled at each other. A brotherly gaze in the true meaning of the word, perhaps for the first time, only now.
Then, suddenly, the doorbell rang, a long, determined sound that split the air, bringing with it joy and hope. Step ran to the door and pulled it open.
“Ciao, Step.”
“Oh, ciao, Pallina.” He tried to hide his disappointment. “Hey, come on in why don’t you?”
“No thanks. I just came by to wish you Merry Christmas. I brought you this.” She gave him a small package.
“Should I open it now?”
Pallina nodded.
Step turned it over in his hands until he found the top side and then quickly unwrapped it. It was a wooden picture frame and, in it, the best gift he could ever have hoped for. It was a picture of him and Pollo on his motorcycle, arms around each other, short hair, legs up, laughter in the wind. Something hurt inside him.
“Pallina, it’s beautiful. Thanks.”
“God, Step, I miss him.”
“So do I.” Only then did he notice how Pallina was dressed. How many times had he seen that jean jacket behind him on his motorcycle, how many times he’d slapped it, with friendship, with force, with glee. They smiled at each other.
“Step, can I ask you to do something for me?”
“Name it.”
“Give me a hug,” Pallina said.
Step moved closer to her awkwardly, opening his arms and enveloping her in a bear hug, thinking about his old friend and how in love with him she’d been.
“Hug me tight, harder. The way he used to do. You know, he always used to say…‘This way you won’t be able to get away from me. You’ll stay with me forever.’” Pallina put her head on his shoulder. “But instead, he ran away from me.”
She started crying. “You remind me of him so much, Step. He adored you. He always said that you were the only one who got him, that the two of you were identical.”
Step looked into the middle distance. The door was slightly out of focus. He hugged her tight and then even tighter. “It’s not true, Pallina. He was much better than me.”
“Yes, that’s true.” She smiled as she sniffed loudly. Pallina pulled away from Step. “Well, I’m going home now.”
“Do you want me to drive you?”
“No, thanks. Dema’s downstairs waiting for me.”
“Give him my regards.”
“Merry Christmas, Step.”
“Merry Christmas.”
He watched Pallina enter the elevator. She smiled at him one last time, shut the doors, and pushed the G button for the ground floor. As she was riding down, she reached into her jacket and pulled out her pack of Camel Lights. She lit her last cigarette, the one that was upside down. But she smoked it sadly, hopelessly. She knew that her one true desire, her only wish, could never come true.
Step went into his bedroom and put the photo on his nightstand and then went back to the table. Next to his place was a giftwrapped package. “Hey, what’s this?”
“Your Christmas present.” Paolo smiled at him. “Haven’t you heard that people give each other presents at Christmas?”
Step started to unwrap the package while Paolo watched him in some amusement. “I saw that yesterday you burned all your panels, and I thought that now you wouldn’t have anything left to read.”
Step finished unwrapping the present. He practically had to laugh. Il mio nome è Tex. Tex Willer. The comic book series he hated most.
“If you don’t like it, you can always return it.”
“Are you kidding? Paolo, thanks. I seriously didn’t have this one. Hold on a second, I have something for you too.”
A short while later, Step came back from his bedroom with a small case. He’d bought it that afternoon while he was waiting downstairs from Babi’s house. Before he saw her. He preferred not to think about that too carefully.
“Here.”
Paolo took the gift and opened it. A pair of Ray-Ban Balorama sunglasses appeared in his hands.
“They’re just like mine. They’re tough as nails, they’ll never break. Even if someone knocks them onto the floor.” Step smiled at him. “Oh, by the way, you can’t exchange these.”
Paolo put them on. “How do I look?”
“Great! Fuck, you look like a tough guy. You’re almost scaring me.”
Then it suddenly popped into his mind, clear, perfect, and amusing.
“Listen, Pa, I have an idea, but you can’t say no to me the way you usually do. Today’s Christmas, so you can’t turn me down!”
* * *
The cold wind was messing up Paolo’s hair.
“Could you slow down, Step?”
“I’m only going fifty.”
“In the city, you’re not supposed to go faster than thirty.”
“Cut it out. I know you like it.” Step accelerated.
Paolo held on tight, clinging closer. The motorcycle was running fast through the streets of the city, crossing intersections, whipping through yellow stoplights, silently and deftly. The two brothers rode along in a fraternal embrace. Paolo’s tie broke loose of his jacket and fluttered cheerfully in the night, flaunting its argyle pattern. Above the tie, behind his new sunglasses, Paolo was watching the road in sheer terror, ready to pick up on any impending danger.
In front of him, Step was driving confidently, unruffled. The wind was caressing his Baloramas.
There were people hastily double-parking in front of a church. Christmas prayers weighed down by the flavor of panettone. For a moment, he, too, was tempted to go in, to ask for something, to pray.
But then he wondered how God could ever care about someone like him. He looked up, into the sky. The stars appeared crystal clear, sparkling and glowing in their thousands. Suddenly that midni
ght blue seemed so far away, farther than ever, unattainable. He accelerated, and the wind stung his face as his eyes slowly began to glisten, and not only because of the chill.
He felt Paolo clinging tight to him. “Come on, Step. Don’t go so fast. I’m scared!”
I’m scared, too, Paolo. I’m scared of the days to come, that I won’t be able to keep it up. I’m scared of what I’ve lost, of what is going to be blown away by the winds of time.
Step let up on the gas a little and gently downshifted. For a moment, he thought he heard Pollo’s laugh. That powerful, giddy laugh. He saw his face again and heard his fond voice.
“Fuck, Step, we’re having fun, aren’t we?” And more beer, and more late nights, always together, always giddy, with an overwhelming lust for life, for fighting, sharing a cigarette and so many dreams.
So he twisted the throttle all at once, sharply. Paolo screamed while the motorcycle’s front wheel reared up. Step continued like that, accelerating on a single wheel, popping a wheelie just like in the old days.
* * *
Far away, much farther away, on a sofa in an elegant home, two nude bodies were caressing each other.
“You’re so beautiful.”
Babi smiled, shy, ashamed, still slightly absent.
“But what’s this?”
A hint of embarrassment. “Nothing, just a tattoo.”
“It’s an eagle, isn’t it?”
“Yes, I got it with a girlfriend.” A bitter lie.
A sense of sadness filled her heart. And fate clearly had it in for her, as if to punish her, when “Through the Barricades” came on the radio. Their old song. Babi started crying.
“Why are you crying?”
“I don’t know.”
She couldn’t come up with any answers. Maybe because there really were none.
* * *
Slowly the wheel lowered back to the pavement, just as smoothly as it had reared up.
Paolo started breathing again. Step slowed down and smiled.
Very slowly, the motorcycle leaned into the curve. It was time to go home now. It was time to start over, little by little, without thinking about it too much. With just one thought. Will I ever go back up there, in that place that is so difficult to reach? Three meters above the sky, where everything seems so much finer, so beautiful.
One Step to You Page 28
