‘Yes. But …’ Aren’t we happy here? She kept the rest to herself.
‘But what?’
‘Nothing.’ She realised that her voice had hardened. ‘And what about Fluffy?’
Pietro slapped his forehead. ‘I hadn’t thought of that … We’ll put him in the sidecar with Astor!’
‘It’s nowhere near big enough.’ Anna picked up a screwdriver and made a face. ‘I’m going home.’
‘I’m going to stay a bit longer. I’ve got to clean the engine.’
Astor clung to his sister’s arm. ‘I’m hungry.’
*
Anna was furious.
What a bastard …
He didn’t want to stay in Cefalù any longer. He wanted to go away because he was tired of her.
Astor ran along beside her, panting. ‘Slow down. Why are you angry?’
‘I’m not angry. Hurry up.’
The mere thought of Pietro wanting to leave her was terrifying. She couldn’t imagine being alone again. What was happening to her? She had never needed anyone, and now she depended on that bullshitter. Her mood fell in with his. If he was happy, she was happy; if he was too quiet, she’d become gloomy. And he only had to call her Annina for her to melt away like an idiot. If she found a mirror, she’d stand in front of it; she no longer liked her nose, and she loathed the little mole on her cheek. She laughed without opening her lips to hide her chipped canine, and she spent hours trying on clothes. She was so exhausted by her own feelings that sometimes, in order to let off steam, she’d snap at Pietro and then regret it immediately. Or she’d try to run away, but an invisible elastic cord would pull her back.
It was a hellish situation, which nothing in the world would ever change. Her life had been broken down into minutes and every minute she spent by Pietro’s side was a gift. Boredom had disappeared. That idiot made her laugh; he showed her the world through eyes less serious and anxious than her own. What’s more – she had to admit it – he was very good-looking. During those months his nose, eyes, mouth and chin had found their correct proportions. Now they were perfect.
But one thing, more than any other, drove her to distraction: she still didn’t know if she was his girlfriend. She’d have liked to slam him back against a wall and ask him: ‘Listen, are we a couple or aren’t we?’
Only she was afraid of the answer.
*
Wandering around the village, the four of them had found a flat at the top of an old building which overlooked the small harbour. A dimly lit staircase ended in a little door which opened onto a sitting room with a terracotta floor. Three white sofas formed a ‘U’ around a glass table and a long window gave onto a terrace full of plants. Many had withered, but others, such as the lemon trees and the sago palms, had continued to grow and were bursting out of their pots. In the middle was a wrought-iron table with a majolica top and on either side of it a row of camp beds with wooden slats. To the left there was a view of the new village that had spread around the bay. Below the building, framed by a small concrete quay, was a small beach of firm sand on which a couple of boats had survived. The sea was so clear it hardly seemed to be there. From the sitting room you passed through an arch into a kitchen with red lacquered units. The cutlery was tidily arranged in the drawers, and the glasses and dishes on the shelves. In the hall cupboard the sheets were neatly folded.
Nothing, however, compared with the bedroom, with its four-poster bed veiled by curtains as thin as gauze. On the polished ceramic floor there was a carpet embroidered with an image of a tiger emerging from some long grass. Fluffy had made that his bed. When you lay on the mattress you could see the vaulted ceiling, which was painted blue, with hundreds of little gold stars. The airtight windows and doors had kept the flat in immaculate condition, free of dust, insects or patches of damp. The owners certainly hadn’t lived there during the epidemic. Everything in there, apart from the electricity, water and gas, was in perfect working order, and Anna tried to keep it like that. But with those three pigs it was impossible.
That filthy beast Fluffy hadn’t learned to pee outside and, when he needed to go, would simply raise a leg and do it on the sofas. Once he’d even crapped on the coffee table. Astor, by contrast, loved doing it in the toilet ‘like the Grown-ups’; unfortunately there was no water in the flush, so the toilet had been declared out of bounds. Pietro wasn’t much better; but at least he did it in the flat below, and took off his shoes before going to bed.
*
Pietro came home and found Anna and Astor sitting on the sofas.
‘What are you doing?’ he asked them.
The little boy jumped to his feet. ‘We were waiting for you.’ He ran over to the drinks cabinet and took out a bottle of bilberry liqueur. ‘We’ve got to drink it all – we’ve seen the octopus.’
‘Quite right!’ Pietro never said no to a drink. Sometimes he got so plastered he couldn’t even stand up, so Anna would put a blanket over him and leave him to sleep on the sofa.
They started passing the bottle round and within ten minutes they were all drunk. Conversation was halting and interrupted by yawns, while the wind outside pressed against the windowpanes.
Anna looked at Pietro, sunk deep in the cushions, with his legs stretched out on the coffee table. He was wearing his windproof jacket, a shirt, long trousers and socks.
He never took off his clothes, never came to the beach. Always had something else to do. Anna suspected he was trying to hide the blotches, but preferred not to think about it. Since they’d left the hotel, the subject of the virus had been put to one side. Both of them, in an unspoken agreement, had pretended it didn’t exist. As the days passed, the Red Fever had become background noise, like the sound of the sea which seeped through closed windows, and which you only heard if you concentrated. But the slightest thing was enough for the raven to start beating his wings again, obliterating all happiness.
Suddenly Pietro jumped to his feet and clapped his hands. ‘Aren’t we going to have supper? It’ll be dark soon.’ He shook Astor, who had gone to sleep.
In a daze, Anna rubbed her eyes and went into the kitchen, took out the cutlery and put it on the table, then picked up the candlestick covered with melted wax and placed it in the middle.
Pietro stepped forward with three tins. ‘No chickpeas this evening.’
Anna turned them over in her hands, incredulous. ‘Chicken soup … Where did you find this?’
He raised his hand, nodded his head with a knowing smile and pulled out a dark bottle with gold foil on its cork. ‘Champagne. The very best. The brand my father used to drink when he won races.’
Astor grabbed at one of the tins, but was stopped by Pietro. ‘Wait. First you’ve both got to answer a question.’
Astor’s put his forehead on the table. ‘I’m hungry …’
‘What day is it today?’
Anna shrugged her shoulders. ‘I’ve no idea.’
‘The 8th of July.’ For Astor it was always the 8th of July.
Pietro shook his head. ‘Today, while you two were lounging about on the beach, I went for a walk and I came across Cammarata the jeweller’s. There was a big watch in the window with a notice beside it, explaining that it was a Solar Quantus, the solar-powered watch used by explorers. The numbers moved, and it showed the date too.’ He gazed at the brother and sister as if trying to hypnotise them.
‘And?’ Astor was all agog.
Pietro took a watch with a black rubber strap out of his pocket. ‘What day of the year were you born, Anna?’
She was beginning to suspect where all this was leading. ‘On the 12th of March,’ she stammered.
Pietro clapped his hands. ‘Happy Birthday, Anna.’ And he started levering at the champagne cork.
Astor jumped up onto his chair. ‘It’s your birthday! It’s your birthday! It’s my sister’s birthday!’
Fluffy, excited by the noise, started howling. The cork shot out with a bang, and champagne frothed out onto the table.
/> Anna’s hands were over her mouth. She wanted to say thank you, but felt a lump in her throat. She mumbled something incomprehensible, then bowed her head and swallowed.
Pietro passed her the bottle. ‘Have a drink. It’s your party.’
She sniffed and gazed at him. ‘How did you know?’
‘You told me. In Palermo.’
‘And you remembered?’
‘Of course I did. How old does that make you?’
She looked at him uncertainly. ‘Thirteen, I think. Or maybe fourteen. I don’t know …’
‘Never mind, it doesn’t matter.’ Pietro put his hand in his pocket. ‘The important thing is that today’s your day.’ He pulled a gold necklace out of his pocket. The pendant was a little starfish decorated with blue enamel. ‘Happy birthday.’ He strung the necklace round her neck.
Anna clapped her hands over her eyes, staggered out into the hall and locked herself in the bathroom. Resting her forehead against the door, she let the tears come.
Pietro called out from the other side of the door. ‘Anna! Anna! What’s going on? Open the door.’
‘Open the door! Are you cross?’ Astor joined in, peering through the keyhole. ‘You’ll suffocate in there. It’s full of my shit.’
‘I’ll come in a minute. You start eating,’ Anna managed to stammer.
‘No, we’ll wait for you,’ said Pietro.
‘Not for long, though,’ Astor added.
*
When she returned to the table, Anna had regained her composure, but her eyes were swollen. The starfish hung on her chest.
She sniffed as she ate, while the two boys wolfed down their food, pouring out champagne and burping at each other.
Pietro raised his glass. ‘Today Anna is queen and can do whatever she likes. We’re her slaves.’
‘We’re always her slaves,’ said Astor.
‘Don’t argue,’ the older boy silenced him. ‘Those are my Aunt Celeste’s rules for birthdays.’
‘What have we got to do, then?’ asked Astor.
Anna was at a loss for ideas. She looked around and her gaze fell on Fluffy, who was sitting beside the table, licking out a tin of chickpeas. ‘We’ll play the animal game.’
Astor jumped around the room like a monkey. Pietro mimed a mayfly which sounded very much like a motorbike.
When it was her turn, Anna lay down on the floor waving her arms and legs about, then hid under the table.
Her brother was baffled. ‘What is it?’
‘A spider?’ Pietro suggested.
She shook her head.
‘A snake with arms?’ said Astor.
‘A drunken sheep?’ said Pietro.
Anna kept writhing about, opening and shutting her mouth.
Astor burst out laughing. ‘Is it a toad that’s eaten a drunken sheep?’
‘No. It’s a snake with arms that’s eaten a toad that’s eaten a drunken sheep,’ Pietro went on.
Astor couldn’t help himself: he collapsed on the sofa, roaring with laughter.
‘And that’s trying to imitate Anna,’ Pietro concluded, sitting down beside him with tears in his eyes.
Anna put her hands on her hips, offended. ‘It’s an octopus.’
Astor burst out laughing, pointing his finger at her. ‘An octopus. Yes, a drunken octopus.’
The two boys pushed each other, helpless with laughter.
‘So much for me being the queen,’ said Anna sharply.
Astor rolled on the floor, clutching his stomach.
Anna told them to go to hell and went into the kitchen to tidy up, clattering with the dishes. She heard them talking in low voices in the other room.
‘Is she cross?’ said Astor.
Pietro couldn’t keep a straight face. ‘Yes, I’m afraid she is.’
‘Why?’
‘Oh, women are like that. She’ll get over it.’
‘Women are like what?’
‘Temperamental.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘It means they get cross if you tease them. My father was a bit of a Casanova and he used to say there’s nothing worse than an angry woman.’
‘What’s a Casanova?’
‘A man who has lots of women. And he used to say that if you want to have lots of women, you have to give them presents.’
‘Is that why you gave my sister the necklace?’
‘Of course.’
Anna smashed a jar on the floor and came back into the living room, as wild as a lioness. ‘Oh, so you gave me the necklace because you want to have lots of women, did you?’
Pietro gulped, at a loss for an answer. Astor sat beside him, gnawing his fist.
Anna pointed her chin at Pietro. ‘Well? Say something!’
‘No. Not me. That was the way my father behaved. I don’t want lots of women. You’re enough for me. I gave you the necklace because it’s your birthday.’
She glowered at him, trying to make out if he was telling the truth. ‘Admit it: you want to be a Casanova.’
Pietro put his hand on his heart. ‘No, I swear I don’t.’
‘Nor do I,’ Astor assured her.
Anna pointed towards the kitchen. ‘All right then, since I’m the queen, get down on your knees, slaves, and beg for forgiveness. Then go and clean up in there.’
*
With one puff the candle went out and darkness as black as liquorice filled the room. Not a star, not a sliver of moon, not a small light in the distance, only the sound of the waves breaking against the quay.
Anna rearranged her pillow and pushed away Astor, who was sleeping up against her, with her bottom. Pietro was lying on his back to her right, and Fluffy was snoring under the bed.
Although she was tired, she couldn’t get to sleep. Her hand was around the starfish. She turned on one side, her hipbone sinking into the latex mattress. She heard Pietro breathe in, hold the air and breathe out again.
‘Are you awake?’ she whispered.
‘Yes.’
‘Can’t you sleep?’
‘No. What about you?’
‘I can’t either.’
She shifted so she was lying next to his shoulder. ‘What are you thinking about?’
‘Dogs. And the fact that they never live beyond the age of fourteen.’ He remained silent for a few seconds. ‘Like us.’
Anna pushed at Pietro’s calf with her foot. ‘Yes, that’s true …’
‘In fourteen years they do everything. They’re born, they grow up and die.’ She heard him sniff. ‘In the end, what’s important is not how long your life is, but how you live it. If you live it well – to the full – a short life is just as good as a long one. Don’t you think so?’
Anna’s hand slid under the blanket and sought Pietro’s. She squeezed it, stroking his fingers with her thumb.
*
Anna opened her eyelids in a flood of light. Pietro and Astor were asleep, one with his head under the pillow, the other wrapped in blankets at the edge of the mattress.
She got out of bed, stretched her back and shuffled into the living room. Picking up the book on apnea fishing, she yawned and went out onto the terrace.
Another windless day, the sun pulsing in a blue sky, with a few white patches here and there. The sea was calm, and even more transparent than the day before, if that were possible. Fluffy came out, head drooping, tail wagging listlessly, and rubbed against her.
Anna turned the pages, lying on the camp bed. One chapter explained the technique of compensation, whereby you compensate for the pressure of the water on the ear, so it’s not painful when you dive down underwater. The trick was simple: just hold your nose and breathe out through your mouth.
‘Shall we go?’ she said to the dog. He wagged his tail happily.
She went down the road to the beach, escorted by the Maremma, who found himself face to face with a black cat behind a car. Contrary to every law of physics, the cat shot up the front wall of a house and took refuge on a balcony. The dog whi
ned in frustration, paws against the wall.
Anna walked along the promenade, singing a song she’d often heard in the car when her mother drove her to school: ‘You come round to my place when you like, usually at night. First you sleep here, then you leave, do what the hell you like. You know you can always have me, if you want, for a night.’ She started jumping up and down. ‘Na na naaaaa.’
She felt carefree, ready to catch a whale. Bubbling with happiness: everything seemed beautiful – the crushed boats, the crumbling ruins of the restaurants, the cars half-buried in sand, the rows of seagulls motionless on the shore. She shut her eyes and tried to imagine what Cefalù must have been like a few years earlier. Tourists stepping out of coaches with cameras, tables laid with checked tablecloths, waiters with napkins over their arms carrying steak with salad, bands playing on the promenade near black men laying out handbags on the paving. Pedalos down at the shoreline. Teenagers playing volleyball on the sand.
She spread out her arms as though to embrace it all. Now things are so much better. Cefalù is all mine. Which of those tourists, those waiters, those teenagers could have said the same? Or even imagined it? She turned towards the old village. The sun shone on the terrace outside their flat, glinting in the window of the room where Astor and Pietro slept.
‘Well? Are you coming for a swim with me?’ she asked Fluffy. But as soon as he understood what she meant, he retreated to the other end of the beach and sat down to watch her.
Taking off her T-shirt and shorts, she put the mask over her forehead and lay down on the surfboard in her two-piece. Then she started paddling with her arms towards the concrete cube. It took her a while to find it. Finally it came into view behind a shoal of small fish. The octopus had gone, but after coming all this way she was determined to try out the technique explained in the book. With a grimace she jumped into the icy water. She filled her lungs and went under. As soon as she felt a pain in her ears, she held her nostrils between her fingers and breathed out through her mouth. It felt as if air was coming out of her eyes, then a small explosion in her eardrums removed the pain. She swam on down into the blue water, while the cold stripped all the warmth out of her body. Around her the sun formed bands of light linking the sea bed to the surface. Freed of the force of gravity, she flew. With slow movements, almost without realising it, she reached the bottom. Here it was even colder. She looked up and felt a kind of vertigo. The sea’s surface was a silvery mirror in which the surfboard was floating. Pity Astor wasn’t there, he’d have been proud of her. The pressure had stuck the mask to her face, and her ears began to hurt again. She was running out of breath. She repeated the compensation exercise and quickly grabbed a small seaweed-covered stone as a souvenir. Then she crouched down, and was about to push herself upwards with her legs when she saw the octopus’s two yellow eyes peering at her from under a rock which lay against the concrete block. For a moment she hesitated, thinking of her brother. She put her hand under the rock. The octopus, quicker than her, backed into his den. Anna put half her arm into the hole, feeling the octopus’s cold slimy flesh with her fingers. She tried to grasp hold of it, but it seemed stuck to the rock.
Anna Page 17
