by Marco Vichi
He tried to imagine what he would do if Eleonora phoned to invite him to dinner that same evening. Would he accept? Would he make up an excuse to cancel his date with Adele? Or would he tell Eleonora he already had an engagement? If Aladdin’s genie appeared before him, he would ask it to make a double of him, so he could dine with both women at once …
He laughed to himself, but not without a twinge of bitterness. He was fantasising uncontrollably, chasing daydreams just for pleasure, so he could feel like an interesting person … Not only would Eleonora not seek him out, but Adele probably wanted nothing more than to spend a pleasant evening with an old friend … But it was nice to dream just the same; it was good for one’s health … And so he continued to do so …
The morning went by quickly. After lunch he went out for a short walk with the dog, to digest. After many days of sun, the sky now looked like a dirty mattress. But it didn’t feel like rain.
His mood kept changing. It swung from melancholy to sudden bursts of adolescent euphoria, from indifference towards everything to a kind of ill-defined hope. It must be spring. He went into the woods, following Blisk’s wanderings through the trees. When he was a little boy, there were moments in springtime when voices took on a sort of echoing sound, as when one breathes very deeply, and he would get these sorts of shudders in his belly. The new, late-March light would put him in a state of exhilaration that he couldn’t understand. Adolescence was a difficult, painful time for him, his first frightened plunge into solitude. He discovered his own uniqueness and aloneness, and while this condition would later become a strong point, at that moment it only made him feel lost … Why was he thinking about these things? Perhaps because he felt now the way he did then? Unable to steer the ship?
He was back at home by mid-afternoon, and making an effort of will he decided to repair one shutter that didn’t close properly. Blisk followed his labours with a questioning air. It took him little more than half an hour, and gave him great satisfaction. Living in the country also meant knowing how to use one’s hands. As his father would have said, he’d just now saved the two or three thousand lire he would have paid to the carpenter …
He lit a fire and sat down in the armchair with a book in his hand. It was now Bulgakov’s turn. He enjoyed reading more and more, perhaps because he had more time now. Since finishing Notes from the Underground he hadn’t felt like the same person. Though he couldn’t exactly say how or why, his view of things had changed. Sensation was more pleasurable. Nothing kept still for ever; change always lurked round the corner … After a while he realised he was counting the minutes till his dinner with Adele … Was Adele also a change? Was he going out to meet his destiny that evening? He kept thinking about Eleonora as well, remembering the best moments he’d spent with her … And in spite of everything he kept right on reading, getting lost in the story, experiencing the characters’ feelings from within his own skin …
‘Were you really so in love with me?’ Adele asked with a hint of a smile, as Bordelli poured her a third glass of wine. They’d opted for a small restaurant on a narrow street in the centre of town and were lucky to grab the last available table. Fortunately no one was talking too loudly, and the general buzz merely lent their conversation a more intimate tone.
‘Are you asking just to make sport of me, as you did then?’ asked Bordelli.
‘I never laughed at you.’
‘Your nose just grew longer …’
‘You want to know the truth?’ said Adele, feeling a little euphoric from the wine.
‘I’m ready.’
‘You scared me …’
‘Scared you?’
‘I was almost twenty years old, but I was still a little girl … I didn’t … Actually, I … I hadn’t yet had sex with anyone.’
‘Ah …’ said Bordelli, feeling embarrassed.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting such frankness.’
‘What’s wrong with that?’
‘Nothing. On the contrary …’ He didn’t have the courage to tell her he felt slightly shocked.
‘So, anyway, I was really afraid of you … I saw you as a man … You were my father’s age …’
‘I still am, as far as that goes.’
‘You know perfectly well that it’s not the same thing now,’ said Adele, smiling. She had a beautiful smile.
‘At any rate, you certainly didn’t seem like a frightened girl,’ said Bordelli, remembering how awkward he felt in the face of her carefree, natural manner.
‘I swear I was terrified.’
He could see in her eyes that she wasn’t lying. The waiter approached the table, and as he was taking their plates away he asked whether they wanted any dessert. Bordelli raised a hand.
‘Not for me, thanks.’
‘What have you got?’ asked Adele, in a flirtatious manner that made Bordelli feel jealous. The waiter began to enumerate the desserts, while unsheathing an odious Don Juanesque look in his eye. He was in fact a good-looking lad and may even have thought that he was dealing with a father and his beautiful daughter. Bordelli would have gladly arrested him at that moment.
‘I’ll have the torta della nonna,’ said Adele, and Don Juan finally left.
‘If you keep acting that way, you’ll kill him,’ Bordelli muttered, forcing a smile.
‘Oh, he’ll survive,’ said Adele, pleased with the compliment.
‘There’s no guarantee …’
‘You’re such a sweetheart, you want me to feel pretty.’
‘You know perfectly well you’re very pretty, I can see it in your eyes.’
At that moment it suddenly occurred to him that there were only three days left before his ‘appointment’ with Beccaroni the lawyer. Who knew what Adele would think if she had any idea that on Monday …
‘Well, you’re pretty handsome yourself … And don’t make that face. I mean it. And if you really want to know, you look younger now than you did back then.’
‘No kidding …’ said Bordelli.
The waiter reappeared, smiling, and delicately laid a slice of tart in front of the old man’s beautiful daughter. She returned the smile, and the lad walked away with a gunslinger’s swagger.
‘He’s cute …’ she said, still looking at him.
‘You wouldn’t like him, I’m sure of it.’
‘I know. I only said he was cute … Are you jealous?’ she said, sketching a Mona Lisa smile on her lips.
‘I admit I am, but it’s just vanity,’ said Bordelli, charmed by Adele’s smile.
‘For me to like somebody, it’s not enough for them just to be cute,’ she said, and, putting a piece of tart in her mouth, she closed her eyes and moaned with pleasure.
‘Now you’re killing me …’
‘Why? What did I do?’
‘Nothing …’
‘It’s just delicious … Want a taste?’
She brought the spoon to his mouth, and he let himself be fed like a baby. The tart really was good, but that wasn’t the important thing. She had no problem letting him eat from her spoon. Maybe she would even settle for brushing her teeth with his toothbrush …
Adele finished her dessert, and after two small glasses of vin santo, Bordelli asked for the bill. He left a nice tip for the ‘cute’ waiter, happy to leave him behind. After helping her with her overcoat, he led her out of the restaurant with nineteenth-century chivalry.
‘Shall we have a little walk?’ she suggested.
‘I couldn’t ask for more …’
On the streets in the centre of town they saw some couples walking hand in hand, a few solitary old men smoking, noisy groups of university students …
‘I can’t stay out very late,’ Adele said with a note of sadness.
‘Cinderella’s will be done.’
‘I like talking to you. I feel free.’
‘That makes me happy.’
‘I feel I could tell you everything about me, even the most intimate th
ings.’
‘You shouldn’t trust strangers …’
They carried on chatting on the razor’s edge, smiles on their lips. They walked close to each other, with their elbows occasionally touching. And what if they crossed paths with Eleonora? Bordelli prayed this wouldn’t happen …
Round about midnight Adele said that her evening, unfortunately, was over. They walked back to the Beetle, and Bordelli drove her slowly home.
‘I’ve had a wonderful evening,’ she said, looking him in the eye.
‘Me, too,’ he said. How original.
‘And now you’ll drop me off and go to see another woman …’
‘Actually I’ve got three waiting for me … A dog, my bed and a book,’ Bordelli said disconsolately.
They got out of the car together, and Bordelli escorted her to the door. She already had her keys in her hand. Time to say goodbye. Bordelli drew near, took her face in his hands and grazed her lips with the lightest of kisses. It came very naturally to both, with no embarrassment at all … As if deep down it really meant nothing.
‘Sleep well, young mother …’ he whispered.
‘Pleasant dreams,’ Adele said with a smile, more beautiful than ever, before vanishing behind the great door. Only then did Bordelli notice all the traffic on the boulevard. Getting back into the Beetle, he lit his first cigarette of the evening. As he drove home he felt handsome, even young … Only women could perform miracles like that …
He was coming down the Imprunetana, headed for Florence with Blisk asleep on the back seat. The sun had returned at last. At noon he’d phoned Rosa to invite her to the seashore, and she’d shrieked for joy.
He’d woken up early with a feeling of disgust that he knew well, a sort of rejection of Adele, which meant that he really did like her a lot. This always happened, when he first started falling in love. And yet if anyone had asked him whether he was still in love with Eleonora, he would have had no trouble answering yes. It was the first time anything like this had happened to him, except, of course, during the confusion of his youth …
He drove through the centre of town and parked in Via dei Neri, just outside Rosa’s building. He rang the buzzer three times, so she would know it was him. While waiting he let the dog out of the car, so he could leave his mark on the world. Who knew whether the white bear liked the sea …
He thought of Botta. He hadn’t thanked him yet for the little pots of herbs he’d brought him. He tried to imagine him all dressed up, in suit and tie … Had he bought a sports car yet? Maybe even a motorcycle? Would he move to a penthouse apartment somewhere in the centre of town? Would he eat out in posh restaurants with one woman after another? Perhaps one evening he would end up dining at a table next to one of the judges who had sentenced him in the past, and he would acknowledge him with a smile …
Rosa came down five minutes early with respect to her usual half-hour lateness, confidently striding on her spiked heels, dressed in rosemary-flower blue, her blond hair fluttering in waves around her heavily made-up face, with lipstick so red it seemed to radiate light. Upon seeing the dog she opened her mouth in surprised delight, like a little girl seeing her first elephant.
‘He’s gorgeous! … Is he yours?’
‘Actually, I’m his.’
‘How sweet …’
She bent down and took Blisk’s enormous head in her hands, and in gratitude the dog licked her face.
‘Now you have to make yourself up all over again,’ said Bordelli.
‘He’s so cute … He likes me … Right, Meatball?’
‘His name is Blisk.’
‘What kind of name is that? … No, his name is Meatball … Right, Meatball?’
The dog wagged its tail, rubbing against Rosa with such force he nearly knocked her to the ground.
‘We’d better get going, it’s almost noon,’ said Bordelli.
‘Are you taking me to that nice friend of yours’ restaurant?’
‘He’s married, you know …’
‘Oh, there are plenty of married men in my life,’ said Rosa, chuckling. The three of them got into the car and drove off.
On the motorway Rosa took her shoes off and put her feet up on the dashboard. She started singing a song by Mina, butchering it as only she could. Every now and then she turned round to pat Meatball, and the bear returned the affection by licking her hand.
‘I smell a woman,’ she said suddenly.
‘What are you talking about?’
‘I know you too well, monkey. When you have that eternally lovesick look on your face, it means you’re thinking of a woman.’
‘You’re wrong …’
‘I’m never wrong, you ought to know that by now.’
‘This time you’re wrong … I’m thinking of two women …’ Bordelli blurted out.
‘You’re such a pig!’
‘It’s not what you think …’
‘You men always say that, even when you’re caught in your lover’s arms … Or between her legs …’ she said, laughing.
‘No legs, for now. Just thoughts.’
‘Come on, let’s hear about it … Who are the unlucky girls?’
‘Some other time, Rosa …’ He already regretted saying too much.
‘No, no, no, you’re going to tell me everything, now.’
‘I wouldn’t know what to tell you. I’m a little confused.’
‘You’re always confused … Because you’re always in love …’
‘Don’t exaggerate.’
‘All you ever think of is women …’
‘Are there other things in the world?’
‘Women aren’t things …’
‘Prove to me otherwise.’
They kept goading each other like silly children until they reached Migliarino. Along the seaside promenade Rosa opened her window and sang another song with the wind blowing in her hair. She was so off key that she created new melodies.
They got to Marina di Massa, where Bordelli had spent his summers as a child, adolescent and young adult. Every villa, every area of pines, every street brought back some memory. He knew the silhouette of the Apuan Alps by heart, and had often gone walking along their trails …
The holiday season was still a long way away, and the beaches were empty, with no umbrellas or cabins. You could see the sea from the beach … But Bordelli saw only women on deckchairs, in striped bathing suits that came down to the knee … children playing at the water’s edge, under the watchful eyes of their parents … groups of boys and girls frolicking in the water … and him there, with his frowning face, among those kids, trying to have fun like the others but not succeeding …
‘What’s with the long face?’ said Rosa.
‘Sorry, I was a little distracted.’
‘The sea’s so beautiful … Right, Meatball?’
Bordelli parked amid a great many other cars in the car park beside the trattoria run by his friend Nessuno. It was a Saturday, so naturally the place was packed. Meatball reluctantly got out, promptly raised a hind leg at a pot of plants, and then trotted behind them. Before going in, Rosa pointed to the sign.
‘Riccà means Riccardo, I guess …’
‘Rosa, you’re a genius.’
‘Oh, stuff it. It wasn’t a question,’ she said, elbowing him.
The restaurant was full of hungry customers, the room echoing with shouts and laughter. At first glance there seemed to be no free tables. Bordelli poked his head into the kitchen, and upon seeing him Riccà shouted in greeting. Turning his pans over to a fellow cook, he wiped his hands on his apron and came over to welcome his old friend. He was a big ox of a man, wider than he was tall, with penetrating blue eyes and two demonic eyebrows, though his gaze was as gentle as a fawn’s.
‘Long time no see …’ he said in dialect, crushing Bordelli’s hand in a handshake.
‘You’ll be seeing me more often now. I quit the police force.’
‘I can’t see you retired and feeding chickens …’ He greeted Ro
sa and crushed her hand as well. ‘A beautiful woman … What’s she doing with this guy here?’
‘They’re going to make me a saint,’ Rosa chuckled, coquettish as ever.
‘Well, you’d better be careful with this one here … he’s dangerous …’ said Riccà, winking. His wife emerged from the smoke of the kitchen and, after a hasty welcome, she went back to the stove. It was a hellish moment, with waiters ceaselessly rushing back and forth.
‘Today there are three of us,’ Bordelli informed him, indicating Meatball.
‘Here, everyone eats!’ said Riccà, stroking the bear’s head.
‘It looks to me like you’re all full … Should we come back a little later?’
‘Give me just a minute and I’ll take care of you.’
Riccà made his way round the room, greeting customers, and noticed a table that was about to become available. He went back to Bordelli and told him they had to wait only a few minutes.
‘I’m going into the kitchen, and as soon as you’re seated I’ll come to you.’
‘See you soon,’ said Rosa, waving her blindingly red fingernails in the air.
They went over into a corner to be out of the way, and the dog plopped on to the floor with such force that everyone laughed. As soon as the table was available, they went and sat down, without waiting for the waiter to clear it. The dog waddled between them and lay down half under the table. Bordelli was quite hungry, peeking at the plates on the table next to theirs with a touch of envy. There was a delicious scent of fish in the air, puncuated every so often by the smell of cigarette smoke.
‘I could eat a horse,’ said Rosa, eyes smiling.
‘Sorry, they only serve fish here.’
‘Silly …’
‘The last person who said that to me is now resting under three feet of cold earth,’ said Bordelli, trying to look tough.
‘You couldn’t frighten even a chicken …’
‘The last chicken that dared say that to me was forced to change its mind, and now it no longer lays eggs.’
