Naturally, it all ended tragically. A. S. Roma had lost, a few S. S. Lazio fans had started making mocking comments, and there had been the beginnings of a brawl. Step had been forced to kick them all out. Disagreements, differences, difficulties.
He’d tried to make it up to Babi. They went to a masquerade party. They’d dressed up as Tom and Jerry, and then it turned out that Pollo and the others showed up at the same party. A mere case of the mockery of fate? Or more simply a tip from Pallina? They’d all pretended not to recognize him. They’d said hello to Babi, that little blue-eyed Jerry, and they’d ignored Tom, laughing every time that big old cat with bulging muscles walked past.
The next day, in the piazza, Pollo, Schello, Hook, and a few others came over to him with somber expressions. “Step, there’s something we need to tell you. You know, last night, we were at a party, and Babi was there.”
Step had looked at them, acting nonchalant. “So what?”
“Well, here’s the thing. She was dressed as a mouse, and there was this big tomcat that was coming on to her…like a pig. The guy in the costume seemed pretty big, too, like he was a hitter. If you want a hand, we can help you take care of him. Just say the word. You know, it’s a real problem. There are big cats that have certain…”
Pollo didn’t even get a chance to finish his sentence. Step jumped on him, getting his neck in a headlock, scrubbing the back of his neck with his hard knuckles. To the laughter of his friends, to Pollo’s laughter, to his own laughter. What friends he had!
Suddenly he felt sad. That night. Why had he gone to that party instead of going to the races? Babi had really insisted. All the things he’d done for her. Maybe it wouldn’t have happened. Maybe.
The intercom started ringing crazily. The lady of the house went running through the living room to open the door. Pallina, her face white as a sheet, shaking, appeared in the doorway. Her eyes were sad, glistening with tears and suffering. As Step walked toward her, she looked at him, struggling to choke back that first sob.
“Pollo is dead.” Then she’d hugged him, seeking in him what she could no longer find anywhere else. His friend and her boyfriend, that laughter, so loud and robust.
They’d raced out to the Greenhouse with Babi in the Autobianchi Y10 that her parents had recently bought for her. All three of them together, with the new car smell now tinged with sorrow and silence.
Then he’d seen it. Blinking emergency lights around that one point. His friend’s motorcycle. Police uniforms and squad cars massed around Pollo, flat on the pavement, with no more strength, no more laughter, no more jokes, no more mockery, no more streams of mindless bullshit.
One man was holding a tape measure and taking measurements of something. A few other young men stood watching. But no one could see or measure everything that had just vanished within him.
Step bent over him in silence and touched his good friend’s face. That gesture of love that they’d never once exchanged in all their years of friendship, that he’d never dared to express. Then, weeping, he’d whispered, “I’ll miss you.” God only knows he’d meant it.
* * *
Babi looked at the gift she’d bought for Pallina. There it was, on her worktable, in red giftwrap with a gold ribbon. She’d chosen it with care—she’d even like one for herself—and it hadn’t been cheap. And yet, here it still was. She hadn’t called her; they hadn’t talked.
How many things had changed with Pallina. She wasn’t the same anymore. They didn’t get along. Maybe in part because their paths had diverged so sharply after school. Babi studying business and finance and Pallina studying at a school of graphic design. She’d always loved to draw. Babi was reminded of all the notes Pallina had sent her during their hours in class. Caricatures, funny phrases, comments, the faces of friends. Guess who this is? She was so good at it that it never took Babi long. A quick glance at the drawing and Babi would look up, and there the subject was, in front of her. That classmate with the strong chin, the prominent ears, the beaming smile. And they’d laugh from a distance, ordinary classmates, great close friends.
Then came that tragic evening and the days that followed and the month after that. Extended silences and crying jags. Pollo was gone, and Pallina couldn’t reconcile herself to that fact. Until the day that Pallina’s mother had called Babi. She had rushed over to Pallina’s house and found her there, sprawled on her bed, throwing up. She’d drained a half bottle of whiskey and swallowed a small bottle of valerian root tablets. The Poor Man’s Suicide is what Babi had called it when Pallina finally seemed capable of understanding spoken words. Pallina had started laughing, only to burst into tears in her arms. Pallina’s mother had left the two of them alone, not really knowing what else to do.
Babi stroked her hair. “Come on, Pallina, don’t be like this. We all go through terrible moments. We’ve all thought about ending it at least once, felt like life wasn’t worth living. But don’t forget pastries from Mondi, pizza from Baffetto, or gelato from Giovanni’s.”
Pallina had smiled, wiping away her tears with the back of her wrist, sniffing loudly, and Babi gave her a Kleenex to dry her eyes. Still, though, after that day, something had started to change, something was broken. They spoke less and less frequently, and even when they did, it never seemed like they had much to talk about.
Maybe it was because letting a friend who’s doing better see us in our moment of weakness is so uncomfortable. Or perhaps because we always think that our own pain is unique, impenetrable, like everything that concerns us.
No one else can love the way that we love, no one else can suffer the way that we suffer. Maybe Pallina never forgave her for going to that party with Step. If Step had been at the races that night, he never would have let Pollo race. Step would have saved him, he wouldn’t have let him die; Step was his guardian angel.
Babi stared at her gift. Maybe there were other reasons, hidden ones, difficult to understand. She really ought to call Pallina. At Christmas, everyone’s a little kinder.
“Babi!” It was Raffaella’s voice.
She’d have to call Pallina later. “Yes, Mamma?”
“Could you come here for a second?”
Babi went into the other room. Raffaella was smiling at her. “Guess who’s here?”
Alfredo was there, standing in the doorway. “Ciao.”
Babi turned a little red. She hadn’t changed, at least not where blushing was concerned. As she walked forward to greet him, she realized, maybe she never would change.
Alfredo tried to put her at ease. “It’s warm in here.”
Babi smiled. “Yes.”
Her mother left them alone.
“Would you care to go see the nativity scene at Piazza del Popolo?”
“Yes, hold on. Let me put on something warm. It’s nice and toasty in here, but I bet it’s chilly outside.”
They exchanged a smile, and Alfredo clasped her hand. She looked at him with complicity. Then she went back to her room. How strange, they’d lived in the same apartment building for all these years, and they’d never met.
“You know, I’ve mostly been studying lately. I was doing my thesis, and then I broke up with my girlfriend.”
“Same here,” Babi said.
“Are you doing your thesis?” He’d smiled at her.
“No, but I did break up with my boyfriend.”
Actually, Step didn’t know that yet, but she’d already made up her mind. A difficult decision, the product of fights, arguments, problems with her folks, and now also the matter of Alfredo.
Babi was putting on her overcoat and walking down the hallway when the phone rang. She stopped for a second and looked at it. One ring, then two.
Raffaella went to answer it. “Hello?”
Babi stayed close to her, looking at her quizzically.
Raffaella gently shook her head and covered the receiver with her hand. “It’s for me…”
Babi said goodbye, relieved. “I’ll be back later.”
Raffaella watch
ed her leave and responded to Alfredo’s polite farewell with a smile.
The door shut.
“No, I’m sorry. Babi is out. No, I don’t know when she’ll be back.”
* * *
Step hung up the telephone. He wondered if Babi really had gone out. If she would even have told him so. Alone, on that sofa, remembering, next to a silent telephone. Happy days of the past, smiles, days of sunshine and love. Slowly he imagined her closer to him, in his arms, right on that sofa, the way it had been.
A momentary illusion, then arguments of passion, and now, a solitary vigil. Afterward, he felt even more alone, without even his pride.
Later, leaving the apartment to walk anonymously through the crowded streets of Rome, he saw cars with happy loving couples inside, in the holiday traffic, the car seats piled high with presents. He smiled. It’s hard to drive when a woman has her hands all over you, when she absolutely insists on shifting gears but doesn’t know how, when you only have one hand to steer with, but at the same time, you need that hand to express your love.
He continued walking through a stream of fake Father Christmases and the scent of chestnuts roasting on an open fire. Traffic cops whistling and people loaded down with packages and shopping bags. Looking for Babi’s hair, her perfume, mistaking another woman for her and then being forced to stop and try to still his disappointed heart.
Someone bumped into him, and he didn’t even notice that it was a good-looking young woman. Wherever he looked, he saw memories. The T-shirts that they’d bought, identical, an extra large for him, a sweet little medium for Babi.
Summer. The beauty pageant at Monte Argentario. Babi had entered the competition as a joke really, and he’d taken a comment some guy had made far too seriously—Oh, would you just look at the fabulous ass on that girl—creating an instant brawl.
Step smiled. He’d been promptly tossed out of the disco and hadn’t been able to watch Babi win. But all the times he’d made love with Miss Argentario. By night at Villa Glori, under the cross to the fallen, on a bench hidden behind a hedge, high above the city. Their sighs kissed by moonlight.
In a car, that time that the police had interrupted their surreptitious kisses, and she, exasperated, had had to provide her ID to prove her age. Step had bidden farewell to the policemen, once he was at a safe distance, with an amused “Jealous bastards!”
They say that you see all the most significant moments of your life flash before your eyes when you die. So Step tried to push away those memories, those thoughts, that sweet suffering. Then, all at once, it became clear to him. It was pointless. It was all over.
He continued walking for a while after that. Almost by chance, he found himself looking at his motorcycle. He decided to go to Schello’s house. His friends were all there, celebrating Christmas.
His friends. When the door swung open, he had a strange sensation.
“Hey, ciao, Step! Fuck, I haven’t seen you in forever. Merry Christmas. We’re playing horsie. You know how to play?”
“Yes, but I’d rather just watch. Is there any beer?”
The Sicilian handed him one, already open. They exchanged a smile. Water under the bridge.
He took a sip as he sat down on a low step. The television was on. Against a festive background, competitors with colorful ribbons were playing some idiotic game. An even stupider host took far too long to explain the rules of the game, so he lost interest. He noticed music was coming from a stereo hidden somewhere. The beer was cold but it soon grew warm.
He looked around. His friends. They were all dressed up nice, or had at least made the effort. Lots of oversized navy-blue blazers over pairs of jeans. This was them in fancy outfits. A few of them wore suits; another guy wore a pair of too-tight corduroy trousers.
Suddenly he remembered Pollo’s funeral. They’d all been there, and plenty of others as well. Better dressed, with a more serious look to them. Now they were laughing, joking around, tossing fresh figs and colored paper, burping, eating huge slices of Christmas panettone.
That day, at the funeral, they’d all had tears in their eyes. A farewell to a real friend, a sincere, sorrowful goodbye from the bottoms of their hearts. He saw his friends again in that church, their muscles aching, in shirts that were too tight, with serious faces as they listened to the priest’s sermon, and then walking out in silence. In the background, girls who had skipped school to be there were weeping. Friends of Pallina, companions for nights out or midnight escapades or just beers at the local stand.
That day, everyone had really mourned. Every tear shed had been heartfelt. Concealed behind Ray-Ban Baloramas or Wayfarers, mirrored sunglasses or dark Persols, their gazes had all glistened as they looked at that wreath of pink chrysanthemums spelling out Ciao Pollo. Signed Your Friends. God how he missed him.
His gaze turned clear for an instant, and he recognized a smile. It was Madda. She was in a corner, her arms around a guy that Step had seen regularly at the gym. She smiled at Step but then looked away.
Step drank another slug of beer. He missed Pollo so bad. That time in front of Club Gilda when, pretending to be valet parkers, they’d made off with a Maserati with an onboard telephone. They’d driven around all night, calling everyone, phoning friends in America, women they barely even knew, and cursing out relatives who were still half-asleep.
When they went to return the dog to Signora Giacci, Pollo didn’t want to give it back. “Fuck, I’m just too crazy about Arnold. This dog is a legend. Why do I have to give him back? I’m certain that, if Arnold had any say in the matter, he’d stay with me. Fuck, that dog has never had so much fun in his life. He sleeps in my bed, he eats like a king, what more could he want from life?”
“Yes, but you never could train him to fetch…”
“Another week and he would have had it down cold. I’m sure of it.”
Step had laughed and then buzzed Signora Giacci’s apartment. They left the dog for her fastened to the front gate with a rope around his neck. Then they’d hidden nearby, behind a car. They’d spotted Signora Giacci come running out the front entrance, free the dog, and hug him tenderly. She stood there, sobbing, clutching Pepito to her chest.
Then the unbelievable happened. Signora Giacci had taken the makeshift leash off the dog and thrown it as far as she could. And that’s when it happened. Pepito bounded out of her arms and took off at a furious run, barking like a nut. A short while later, he had returned to Signora Giacci with the rope in his mouth, tail wagging, proud of his perfect fetch.
Pollo couldn’t contain himself. He’d leaped out from behind the car shouting with joy. “I knew it! Fuck, I knew it! He mastered it!”
Pollo had wanted to take Pepito back but Step hauled his friend onto the motorcycle, pulling him by the arm. And then they were off, escaping at top speed, shouting like a thousand other times. By day, by night without headlights, shouting at the tops of their lungs, bold and brazen, the masters of all they beheld, the heroes of their lives. They felt immortal.
“How are you?”
Step turned around. It was Madda. Her smile was hidden behind the rim of a glass full of bubbly, her hair as wild as her eyes.
“What are you doing tonight? Where are you having dinner?” She stepped a little closer.
“I don’t know yet. I haven’t decided.”
“Why don’t you stay here? All of us together. Like in the old days. Come on!”
Step stared at her for a minute. Then he saw a young man in the distance looking at him curiously, wondering whether he needed to intervene. And he saw a young woman even farther away, somewhere in that city, in a car, at a party, with some other man at her side. He wondered how that could be. And yet it was all there, in his heart.
Step ran his hand through Madda’s hair but shook his head and smiled at her.
She shrugged her shoulders. “Too bad.”
Madda went over to the guy with the hard look in his eyes. When she turned around, Step wasn’t there anymore. Where he had
been sitting, there was just an empty can of beer.
Outside it was cold now. Step zipped his leather jacket nice and snug and pulled up the lapels, covering his neck.
Then, almost without meaning to, he started his motorcycle. By the time he switched it back off, he was in front of Babi’s apartment building.
He stayed there, sitting on his Honda, watching the people going by, hurrying along, loaded down with packages. A woman stopping to satisfy her curiosity, looking at the shop windows. A young man and woman holding hands pretended they were interested in something behind a plate glass window. Their gifts were certainly at home, already wrapped. They laughed, both certain that they’d chosen the right thing, and then walked away, leaving the window to a mother with her daughter, with the same noses but different ages.
The doorman came out of his booth, took a few steps in front of the gate, and nodded hello to Step. Then, without a word, he went back to his warm perch inside. Step wondered if he knew. What a fool, he thought to himself. Doormen always know everything. He must have seen Babi’s new boyfriend, no doubt. He must know the person that I’ve only heard about over the phone.
“Hello?”
“Ciao.”
He’d remained silent for a moment, uncertain what to say, giving his heart room to run wild. It hadn’t pounded like this in more than two months. Then, the most banal question imaginable: “How are you?”
Then a thousand other questions, full of enthusiasm. Then, that enthusiasm had slowly subsided in the face of her pointless words, full of local news, old developments in her life, once considered interesting, at least by him. Why had she phoned? He listened to her pointless chatter, asking himself that same question over and over. Then, suddenly, he knew.
“Step…I’m seeing another guy.”
He’d remained silent, struck harder than ever before in his life, a life that had suffered thousands of punches, injuries, falls, headbutts to the face, bites, and hanks of hair ripped out of his scalp. At last, struggling, he’d managed to summon his voice. He’d found it there, at the bottom of his heart, and he’d forced it to come out, gaining some modicum of self-control.
One Step to You Page 27