Daybreak
Page 17
I was a little embarrassed. It was the first time I had seen him since the separation. He must have picked up on it immediately so he invited me for coffee. After making some small talk I asked him how Paolo was doing.
“He’s doing better now. It wasn’t easy for him, but in the end, he’s doing great.”
“I’m happy to hear that, really. Maybe it’s hard to believe but I really felt sorry about what happened between us.”
“I think that in the end you gave him a gift.”
“I’ve thought about our marriage for a long time, and now I know that at certain points I must have been truly unbearable.”
“I don’t doubt it, but being with him wasn’t that easy, either. I’ve always thought it was true, but now that he lives with me, I’m certain of it.”
“He’s staying with you?”
“Temporarily.”
“You didn’t seem to be very close.”
“We’ve become a lot closer. After the separation he stayed at your old place for a bit, but then he’d say that every corner of it held a painful memory, and so what did the genius decide to do? He moved in with our mother. One Sunday I packed his bag, dragged him out of there, put him in the car, and took him home with me. It was pretty much a kidnapping. She’s still mad at me. She says I’ll be his downfall.”
“Well, she’s right, from her point of view.”
Simone laughed. “The first few days were very difficult. I had to use all the patience I had, we would fight every single day … Now we’re getting along okay. Do you think I’ll go to heaven after all my charity work?”
“I’m sure you will.”
“You see? In the end I’ve found myself living with someone, and I’ve started thinking that if I can make it work with my brother I can also make it work with a woman.”
“Well, it’s not exactly the same thing, but it’s a step forward nevertheless. There was a time when you didn’t care about anyone.”
“There’s only so much I can take—I couldn’t leave him with our mother, she would have found a way to keep him there as long as she lives. I must admit that I’m glad I did it; we’re happy together. We talk a lot, not only about the two of you, but also about our childhood, our dad, even about our mother and life in general. He says he has finally realized a lot of things, about the mistakes he made, and I also might have understood some of mine.”
“I’m sure you’ll give him a lot of good advice.”
“No, no, I rarely speak, I mostly listen. In a few months he’ll be back on his feet.”
I was happy to know that Paolo was better and that Simone was taking care of him. Before saying good-bye, he thanked me.
“What are you thanking me for?” I asked him.
“Because thanks to you I had a chance to reconnect with my brother and he’s not that bad after all.”
A little bit after that coffee with Simone, Paolo called me on the phone. The realtor who was supposed to sell our house had received an offer. I hadn’t heard from him in months and that phone call made me very nervous. He was ironic and funny. I didn’t know if it was because he was trying to hide his embarrassment. At a certain point he told me: “I know you don’t care anymore but there has been a great change in my life … My mother doesn’t buy my underwear anymore.”
We both laughed.
We said we would see each other soon to talk about the offer on the house and maybe go out for coffee. Before hanging up he told me: “I still care a lot about you, Elena.”
It was deeply moving.
“Me too, Paolo.”
Yesterday the hard part of the move was over: the kitchen. Packing up the breakables took a lot of time and attention.
Even though I had asked Carla to let me do it alone, she came by to say hello with a bottle of wine and, as we were chatting, she helped me with the last few glasses. She was in Milan looking at apartments because she was finally ready to come back.
“How were the places you saw today?”
“Some of them were horrible. I wonder where they find the gall to show them. One of the others, though, was very cute. It has an attic, low windows, and a wood-beam ceiling. It’s a bit dark, but it has a balcony. They’ve already received an offer and they’ll accept mine only if the other people withdraw theirs. Monday I’m going to see another one close to here; if you want you can tag along. I was thinking about going around lunchtime.”
“I’d love to.”
“I hope you know that I won’t do as you did and will be asking you to help me with the move. So don’t wear yourself out. Too bad, this house would have been perfect for me …”
“I know. Unfortunately the other day, when I was talking to the owner, she told me she wants to fix it up and sell it. Let me get some grissini and some parmigiano—if we drink on an empty stomach I won’t be able to finish packing. Come on, help me eat these last few things. I don’t like wasting food.”
“I thought you were being nice, but you’re clearly using me as a garbage disposal.”
“You’re lucky I’m not opening the two cans of tuna I have left.” As I was grabbing a plate for the cheese from one of the boxes she noticed my leg.
“What did you do? You have a huge blister.”
“The other day we took a ride on his bike, and when I got off my calf brushed against the tail pipe.”
“It must hurt a lot. A similar thing happened to a friend of mine and she still has the scar.”
“I almost cried from the pain.”
“And what did he do?”
“He told me: ‘Now that I’ve branded you, you’re my personal property, which means we can never break up, unless I decide to sell you.’ ”
We laughed.
“How he’s doing?”
“He’s good, he says he’s happy I’m moving in with him because, with the excuse of making room for me, he got rid of a bunch of things he didn’t need anymore.”
A cell phone rang.
“Is it mine or yours?” she asked me.
“Yours.”
I watched her as she leaned out the window talking and laughing with a friend. I could see she was happy, and she was as radiant as she used to be, maybe a bit more.
I waited for her to finish her conversation and then I told her: “You know, you look really beautiful today. That dress looks good on you.”
“Thanks, I got it last week. I fell in love with it as soon as I saw it. If I could wear it every day, I would.”
I’m happy Carla’s coming back to live in Milan, that she has overcome the crisis she was in, that she is taking care of herself again, that she’s taking pride in her appearance.
“Come with me into the other room.” We walked into my bedroom. “I put some of the things I’m not taking with me on the bed. See if you want anything for yourself.”
“My favorite dress! Are you sure you don’t want it anymore?”
“Positive. I left it out especially for you.”
“You remembered I liked it?”
“It would have been hard to forget—you kept telling me every time I wore it.”
“I know, I’ve been courting it for a long time. Look, I won’t give it back if you change your mind.”
“Check to see if there’s anything else you like—there are some shoes, some shirts, dresses, sweaters, bags, belts, and everything else.” Carla started opening the plastic bags. “Put the things you want in this box. I’ll bring it to your new place once you’re moved in.”
“You don’t want this bag either? Are you sure? It’s beautiful.”
“To tell you the truth, I’ve been debating that for a while. I’ve taken it out of the box at least three times, but in the end I left it there. Put it away quickly before I change my mind.”
“You should keep this one—it’s really you.”
I couldn’t really find the words to express my happiness at the thought that Carla was coming back to live in Milan. I was excited by the idea of how much time we’d spend together
and all the things we’d do. Her return was a beautiful gift.
“The other day I was thinking that we haven’t been to the movies together in a very long time.”
“In forever,” she answered me, looking at the dress that was now hers.
We hugged.
When Carla left I finished a few things; then I collapsed. I didn’t feel like moving all those clothes on the bed, so I decided to sleep on the couch. I think I’ll do the same tonight.
This morning my phone rang unexpectedly and woke me up.
“Were you sleeping?”
“Yes, on the couch.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s good you called, I still have a bunch of things to do. What time is it?”
“Eight twenty.”
“What are you doing up so early on a Sunday?”
“I woke up early to make even more room for you and your things—I keep dilating my life in order for you to get in more comfortably.”
“I don’t have that much stuff!”
“If you feel like it, I’ll take you to breakfast in a hour.”
“Sounds good. I’ll be waiting for you.”
March 28th
I remember very well the moment in which I finally realized I really liked Nicola. We had been dating for a few months. One Friday evening, after we had had dinner together, I spent the night at his place. In the morning I heard him come back; the sound he made as he put down his keys woke me up. Those were all sounds I was getting to know. He came straight into the bedroom, and for a moment I was tempted to pretend I was asleep to see what he would have done if he had found me sleeping. I couldn’t do it, so I waited for him with a disheveled smile. He looked at me, showing his version of it. He had gone out to buy newspapers and a few croissants for breakfast. As he was talking to me, he came closer and sat down on the side of the bed, brushed my hair out of my face, and kissed me, first on the forehead, then on the lips. Sometimes we’re silent for minutes, looking into each other eyes, right after we’ve made love, before we fall asleep, or as we’re just waking up, with both our heads lying on the pillow. Every time it happens I have the feeling that, in that silence, a deep part of us takes a step closer toward the other. I often think that words are useful only when they’re used to build those silences.
As he walked to the kitchen he told me: “I’ll let you do your thing. When you want some breakfast, let me know and I’ll get it started.”
I stretched out a bit and stayed in bed, under the white comforter. I looked around, checking out his clothes, his books, glasses, lamp, a tie. I don’t know how long that tracking shot over his things lasted. I only know that it felt good, that it felt like I was in the right place. At that precise moment I realized I was in love with him.
Nicola doesn’t look like anyone I’ve ever known before. He’s a proud man, comfortable in his own skin, he smiles with his eyes, and most importantly, he makes me laugh. He has a gift for adding some levity to certain situations; he knows how to diffuse tension with a word or smile. He’s ironic and, through his jokes, he allows me to see how unimportant the things I get mad about are. I would often smile when I thought of him, like when right after our first encounter, the doorman kept delivering letters, flowers, or notes that Nicola had left for me. We’re very different in many respects, and at first I thought that this was going to prevent us from really becoming intimate, from getting truly close. I was wrong. The differences between us not only didn’t keep us apart, but actually became the strength of our relationship: they gave us the opportunity to see things from different perspectives.
I’m not moving in with him because I think that ours will be an eternal love. I’m moving in with him because now he’s the person with whom I’d like to fall asleep at night and wake up in the morning.
A few days ago, as I was thinking about my life, I wondered how many men it took to prepare me for today’s man. Actually, I realized that the question was wrong—how many women did I have to wear in order to prepare myself for today’s man?
I place the journal in a box and close it. I sit on the couch, I look around, I say good-bye to the house. I remain still, staring at the wall in front of me. Then a little noise catches my attention: a fly buzzing against a closed window. It doesn’t realize the glass is there and continues to try; it must be wondering why it can’t get out. I get up, I open the window to let it out, but it keeps on bumping against the glass. It can’t see the way out, it should move a bit to the side, freedom is close. It keeps doing the same thing over and over, so I wave my hand to get it to move. It flies away from the window, then it turns in the right direction, and finally, it’s out.
After a shower I put on a flowery dress and pull my hair up. I want to be beautiful when he gets here. I want to see the expression on his face when he looks at me and makes me understand he’s crazy about me. I put some earrings on and let a strand of hair down, making it look as if it happened by chance. I receive a text on my phone: “Be there in five minutes.”
I go outside and wait for him on the doorstep. There’s no one around, the sun is soft, the sky is clear, and I hear birds chirping in the one tree that’s left. On this spring morning the fresh air pinches my face and naked arms. My hair’s still a bit wet. I cherish my emotions as my dearest possessions. At this precise moment I feel blissful and blessed. This is one of those feelings that simply happens, like gifts, attention, and touches. Slowly, I gaze at everything around me, as if it were all brand new. It’s as if the whole world were budding. I can feel that something inside me recognizes everything. Instinctively.
A car pulls up. It’s Nicola. He smiles and sits down next to me.
“You don’t look like someone who’s moving out of her apartment.”
“I’m taking a break.”
He leans close to my neck and kisses it.
“I woke up wanting to smell you.”
He opens the paper bag he’s holding in his hands and the smell of warm croissants immediately fills my nostrils.
“Blueberry jam, chocolate, cream.”
I pick one.
“Which one did you choose?”
“I don’t know, I’ll find out as I eat.”
I smile and take a bite.
About the Author
Fabio Volo was born near Brecia, Italy in 1972. He is a writer, actor, and host of popular radio and television shows. He has published Esco a fare due passi (2001), È una vita che ti aspetto (2003), Un posto nel mondo (2006), Il giorno in più (2007), Il tempo che vorrei (2009), and Le prime luci del mattino (2011).
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Originally published in Italy as Le prime luci del mattino © 2011 Arnoldo Mondadori Editore S.p.A., Milan, Italy.
Translated from Italian by Gianluca Rizzo and Dominic Siracusa
Copyright © 2013 Arnoldo Mondadori Editore S.p.A., Milan, Italy
Cover design by Nadia Morelli
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