by Martin Rua
But who was she, and what did she want from me?
I arrived at the Églantine – my antique shop – with that question echoing around my brain and with such a frown on my face that Bruno, my partner, gave me a perplexed look while he was in the middle of negotiations for the sale of a valuable Louis XVI console table.
After about fifteen minutes, Bruno ambled into the small office that we had in the back of the gallery with a dazzling smile.
“Good morning Lorenzo. Apparently I’ve just set a new record for sales. I only opened half an hour ago, and I’ve already sold Doctor Ciliento that console. Look – the first cheque!”
“Well done, congratulations.”
“What’s the matter with you? When you came in you looked thoughtful. Is everything all right?”
“Yes… Well, actually, something very strange happened to me.”
I told Bruno about the incident but without mentioning the note. I didn’t want to give too much importance to the story and something told me that it was better for me to keep that detail to myself.
My partner assumed a serious and worried air, then, with a little laugh, shrugged. “Lorenzo, you must have seen that girl somewhere, maybe around the neighbourhood, and you just dreamed about her.”
“Ok, but how do you explain the behaviour of the newsagent?”
“Well… he can’t have seen the girl because he was busy getting your newspaper. Come on, there’s nothing mysterious about the matter! In fact, let’s talk about something serious. Let’s do a cross-check of the pieces we’ve sold, bought, and are interested in.”
I spread my arms in despair, groaning, “But we did it yesterday.”
“Yesterday, we had not sold the Riesener.”
*
Bruno’s umpteenth cross-check – as he called them – lasted longer than expected, while I grew gradually more and more agitated as the hour of the appointment approached. I hadn’t yet decided whether to go or not when at some point the phone rang and Bruno answered immediately, as always.
Something clicked inside me. I don’t know why I did it, but I got mechanically to my feet and headed for the exit. A surprised Bruno followed me with his eyes and I brought my thumb and forefinger up to my lips to indicate that I was going to get a coffee. I grabbed my coat and left hurriedly to pre-empt him asking me too many questions.
I walked to the Cafe Riviera which was about a kilometre from the Églantine. When I was about thirty metres from the entrance, I recognized the slim figure of the girl in the doorway. She was tall – very tall. Her blonde hair was once again in a ponytail, and she had the same black hat pulled down over eyes still hidden by the same sunglasses.
Upon seeing me, she stiffened and, unexpectedly, walked quickly towards me, then, without stopping put a finger to her lips and walked past me, nodding toward the alley adjacent to the bar towards which she was heading
. I stood there for a moment, dazed, then set off after her. This little game was starting to get on my nerves, but at that point I was determined to go through with it.
I continued along the busy Via Santa Maria in Portico, into which the girl had turned, but at some point I lost sight of her as completely as if she had evaporated. I passed a few shops and a doorway, and then, as I reached the second building, I felt somebody grab my coat and pull me inside the atrium.
“What the fuck—?!”
My exclamation was cut off by a hand pressed over my mouth. It was her. She held up before my eyes a cell phone. Upon its screen there was a message.
Go up the stairs, undress completely and put on the clothes in this bag. I will make sure no one comes. There isn’t much time, they are already looking for you. I only want to help you. Do not speak for any reason.
That was the last straw. A lunatic was telling me to undress on the stairs of a building in a working-class area of Naples, and in late December to boot. I frowned and tried to free myself from the hand still pressed on my mouth. She lowered her glasses, revealing once again those two shards of sky which were her eyes, gave me a pleading look and muttered an almost inaudible “Please.”
I hesitated a moment, then took the bag and headed for the stairs. Luckily nobody went up or down in the two minutes that, shivering with cold, it took me to change, and so I returned to her, dressed like a teenager in a baseball cap and dark glasses. The girl immediately took the bag in which I had put my clothes and we left the building.
We walked over to a scooter which was parked outside. She put the bag in the small box behind the saddle then set off towards the church of Santa Maria in Portico which was located at the end of the street of the same name, beckoning me to follow her. We entered, traversed the aisle and sat in the front pew in front of Vaccaro’s beautiful altar.
“Now that you’re out of those clothes you were wearing, we can talk – these are not bugged,” she said, removing her glasses and hat.
Her perfect face was at once sweet and determined, and her beautiful blue eyes were almost aquamarine.
After a moment of confusion I snapped out of it and got straight to the point. “Bugged? Miss, do you realise what you’ve made me do and what you are telling me?”
“You don’t remember me, do you?”
“Of course I remember you! Thanks to you, I made a total fool of myself this morning with the newsagent near my house.”
“I don’t mean this morning.”
I looked at her dumbfounded.
“You don’t remember the accident yesterday? Our meeting in the garage of the Parker’s, what I said?”
“Accident? Appointment? What are you talking about?”
“And you obviously don’t remember anything about the day before yesterday, when we met in the park of Villa Floridiana before you went home.”
“Listen, if this is a joke, it’s not a very good one. And if you’re trying to get money out of me, just get to the point. Anything else and I’m not interested. I’m a married man and I love my wife and although she is—”
“Right, let’s talk about your wife,” she interrupted me very calmly.
“What about my wife?”
“Mr Aragona, the woman you believe to be your wife is actually an actress.”
“Oh, for God’s sake—”
“Let me finish – we don’t have much time, your partner was already suspicious. We have already met, Mr Aragona, and each time I’ve told you exactly the same story. But the next day you have forgotten everything and I have to start all over again. All this will go on until you find a way to break out of this hypnotic state.”
I sat there staring at her for a few seconds. “You seriously want me to believe that my memory lasts one day and then resets itself? Like in a movie? What is this, the Matrix comes to Naples?”
“Exactly.”
I chuckled at the absurd idea, then without another word stood up to leave.
“Don’t you want to hear the rest of the story?”
“Please, give me back my clothes and let’s call it a day,” I said calmly.
“Mr Aragona, I’m not kidding. You don’t remember anything about what happened yesterday.”
I snorted in annoyance and sat back down beside her. “Ok, if you really want to play this game, I’ll grant you a few more minutes. So, what is it that’s wrong with me, eh? Some disease that I am unaware of? Who are you? How do you know me?”
A bitter smile appeared on her face. “It’s unbelievable – this is the fifth time that we’ve met. My name is Anna Nikitovna Glyz. I’m Russian. I speak Italian because I studied in Rome. The same thing is happening to you that happened to me, that’s why I know so much about it.”
“What do you know, for example?”
“Your job, your partner, your life: it’s all a sham. Your days are probably all the same because that is what they want.”
“Wait a minute… They want? Who are you talking about?”
“I don’t know yet, but what is happening has nothing to do with any disease that wipes y
our long-term memory. You’re being drugged.”
I stood looking at her for a moment longer, then leaned back, shook my head and smiled again. “You really are quite the joker. And I have to admit, your imagination is remarkable.”
“Mr Aragona, please, listen to me. When you get home this evening, observe your wife’s behaviour very closely. Try to work out if she is lying about anything or does anything unusual. And then, from tonight on, try not to eat or drink anything at home. That will make your wife suspicious, of course, but it is the only way to stop the administration of the drugs, because we don’t know where they are putting them. Say that you’re not feeling well, that you’d rather not eat. In a word, stop taking the substance.”
As she spoke, I was staring at the altar, trying to reconstruct in my mind some anomaly that I might have noticed that morning in my wife’s attitude. A gesture, a word, a look that was out of place: nothing at all, everything seemed perfectly normal. My wife was just as loving and kind as ever, even when…
The thread of my thoughts stopped in front of a seemingly insignificant image, and two words emerged from my lips.
“The pills—”
“Sorry, excuse me?”
“Every morning I take… pills. Because I’ve been having some problems. I have very vivid dreams and—”
Shaken, I turned to look at her. “I… I even dreamed about you last night… Anna.”
“That was not a dream. It was a memory, because we’ve already met, as I told you.”
Anna took out her phone and showed me a photograph of herself with me. “I took this two days ago, in secret.”
I couldn’t believe my eyes.
“Your mind is fighting against the drugs every night, but then each morning succumbs again,” continued Anna. “When you wake up, you don’t remember anything except what they want you to remember.”
“No, this is impossible. Àrtemis would never do such a thing.”
“You don’t understand – that is not Àrtemis! Prepare yourself for a shock when the veil falls away from your eyes, because that woman’s real face may not be as attractive as you imagine.”
Undecided, I scratched my forehead for a moment, then looked at her coldly. “No, I’m sorry, I can’t believe you. It’s simply not possible.”
Anna sighed. “All right. I’ve done everything I can. I can’t help you anymore, I’ve already run too many risks, and you can be of no help to me unless you break out of it. You must believe me and find the strength to fight this. But you have to start this evening: you told me that you take the pills in the morning, but whatever that is it must be to control you during the daytime. The main drug is certainly being administered at night, or before going to bed, so as to erase the memory of what you have done during the day. Break the chain and maybe we’ll meet again. Now go and get your clothes from that scooter and get changed. We’d better not be seen together again. Good luck.”
Anna stood up and turned to leave.
“Wait a minute – how do I find you if… I mean if I were to break out of it?”
“If that happens, don’t worry – you’ll have no problem finding me. My advice is to stay calm when the fog before your eyes starts to dissipate. The world will seem horrible, and your life profoundly different. It might be painful, as though you were suffering from withdrawal symptoms. But continue to pretend everything’s fine until we meet again. Even at home, don’t do anything strange, try and be as natural as possible. You are being constantly watched, your home has a thousand eyes. Take care – your life depends upon it.” She handed me some keys. “Put your own clothes back on and leave the keys under the seat of the scooter.”
I shook my head in disbelief. “If what you say is true, I should doubt everything at this point. Even my identity.”
Anna smiled. “That is the only certainty upon which you can rely. You are Lorenzo Aragona,” she added before leaving.
*
Outside the church, I looked around warily and, perhaps thanks to the absurdity of the whole situation, it seemed to me that more than one person was observing my movements. I pretended not to notice, went back to the scooter to get my clothes, put them back on, then returned to the Églantine with terrible doubts. Anna’s story was absurd, and a voice inside me kept repeating that it would be better to forget everything and continue to lead my quiet life. And that was exactly what I would have liked to do.
But I’ve always had a talent for getting myself into trouble, so I decided that day that I would at least try to keep a close eye on some details that perhaps I had never given much importance to. I could begin with Bruno.
I found him still sitting at his desk. When he saw me come in, he stopped what he was doing and stared at me for a moment, before asking, “Where have you been?”
“I went to get a coffee – didn’t you see the gesture I made before I went out?”
“That was quite a long coffee! You’ve been gone nearly three-quarters of an hour. And we have a fantastic coffee machine right here!”
“What, are you keeping tabs on me?”
“Who, me? Of course not. It’s just that it’s cold and—”
“I needed some air. Anyway, never mind. Any customers?”
Bruno looked surprised, as though he hadn’t expected a question about work.
Rather curious.
“Oh, yes, erm… De Paolis called, he’s interested in that eighteenth century clock you picked up recently in Vienna.”
I remembered nothing about it, but shot out a random name.
“Ah, the Marie-Antoinette Breguet?”
“Exactly.”
“Great. When is he coming to discuss the details of the sale?”
“Maybe tomorrow.”
“Perfect.”
*
At one o’clock I went to eat with Àrtemis in my favourite restaurant. We often went there for lunch, even though it was quite a long way from both our workplaces, but I loved the place, so Àrtemis would do me the favour of going with me when she could.
On the way there, though, I couldn’t stop thinking about the conversation I had just had with Bruno. My almost unintentional provocation had been unexpectedly successful, and had fuelled my doubts enormously. Bruno was an excellent, authoritative antiquarian, and would have at least had to smile at my joke, knowing that there are only two Marie-Antoinette Breguets in the world: the original from the nineteenth century and a faithful copy, made in 2005. Two precious clocks, never put on the market but only exhibited in museums. No antiquarian, unless they had stolen them for resale on the black market, could ever own a Marie-Antoinette Breguet. It would be like having Goya’s Vestida Maja on display in the window of your shop. And that could only mean only one thing – one frightening thing: Bruno was not Bruno, or if he was, he was playing a part. But why?
“Mr Aragona, today we have pasta and beans, chickpea soup and meat ragù?” said Teresa, who ran the osteria together with her parents.
“I’ll have the chickpea soup,” said Àrtemis.
I hesitated a moment, undecided whether to eat or not. At that point I felt as though everything was conspiring to keep my mind clouded, including whatever I ate at the restaurant. I looked at Teresa. Her face was as friendly and cheerful as ever. I tried to work out if what I was looking at was her real face or whether some drug was altering my vision. But how could I distinguish reality from imagination?
“You know, I don’t think I’ll have anything, Teresa,” I said, without thinking.
“Sorry?” she asked, her eyes wide.
I looked at her in surprise and then smiled. “I’m not very hungry – is it a problem?”
Teresa shook her head uncertainly, and, before going to the kitchen, glanced at Àrtemis.
“No, no, Mr Aragona, it’s fine.”
Àrt was staring at me with an expression that was a mixture of disbelief and disappointment. “You shouldn’t skip lunch, you know –- it’s not good for you.”
I returned her gaze
, keeping a straight face. “I’m just feeling a bit nauseous, but it’s fine.”
Àrt didn’t reply, and changed the subject. “How’s everything down at the shop?”
“Oh, everything’s fine,” I said without thinking, before adding, “Bruno has almost sold the Marie Antoinette Breguet.”
“Wow. You really ought to thank him, you know. He’s so organised – not like you, always leaving piles of old junk on your desk.”
“Yeah, I’ll have to sort them out sooner or later.”
While Àrtemis ate, I occasionally peered over at her without letting her notice. Her answer was even more shocking than Bruno’s: after visiting an exhibition where the two Breguets were on show, it had been she who had given me the catalogue. Àrtemis ought to know even better than Bruno what I was talking about. But I didn’t want to reach the obvious, disturbing conclusion. Not yet.
*
I went back to work, and for the rest of the afternoon I stared numbly at the computer screen or wandered amongst the furniture on display. Bruno, intent on his accounts, seemed to pay me no attention, even though a couple of times I caught a glimpse of his tense eyes following my movements. Twice he left the shop without saying anything, returning after about fifteen minutes each time. There was definitely something strange going on, but I tried to behave as normally as possible until the end of the day.
At around seven, I left the Églantine and set off towards home. The streets, the people, even the traffic lights where I happened to stop looked as though they had been put there expressly for my benefit, to make me follow a predetermined path. It was clear, though, that it was just an impression – things were as they should be, like always.
*
At home I found my wife busily preparing dinner. “Hello darling, I’m home.”
“Hi!” she answered from the kitchen as I took off my overcoat in the hall.
Anna’s words rang in my ears like a horrifying nursery rhyme. I absolutely did not want to believe what she had told me, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it.
I went into the kitchen and tried to act as naturally as possible. I kissed Àrtemis, and pulled a pained expression.
