About Time

by Simona Sparaco

  I’m outside the building in half an hour, real time, which in my time is only fifteen minutes, more or less. Antonio is waiting for me at the wheel, surprised that I kept him waiting so long and that I’m in such a tearing hurry now. I have to control myself, the situation is critical, but I can do it, I keep telling myself.

  My diary is chock-a-block with appointments I can’t afford to miss. I have to keep everything in order, I mustn’t get all the documents mixed up. I have to run, yes, but I have to do it intelligently. I have to be faster than You, I tell myself, but at the same time try to keep control. During the ride I count to five—one, two, three, four, five, one, two, three, four, five—never taking my eyes off the street, because if I get distracted, You’ll swallow the ride. But then I take a second glance at my diary and when I look up I see Antonio looking at me uneasily, wondering why I’m waiting to get out of the car. We’ve already pulled up outside the office and according to my watch it’s 10.30.

  Once inside, too, I’m greeted by puzzled faces. Starting with Paola, the switchboard operator, whom in my hurry I barely acknowledge. Running to my office, I almost collide with Elena and all her papers.

  “Good morning,” she says, with a sigh.

  “I’m sorry… Good morning, Elena,” I reply, breathlessly.

  “Did you forget?”

  “What?”

  “That you had an appointment with Righini at nine this morning. We tried to call you, but your phone was off.”

  I take it out of my pocket and realize I haven’t recharged it. I haven’t had time.

  “Shit!” I cry, which isn’t my style at all. How could I have forgotten? Then I try to regain my composure. “I guess the director’s been looking for me, too.”

  “Yes, I had to tell him that Righini was waiting for you, and he asked me to take him to his office.”

  “Has he already left?”

  “They talked for about an hour, no more than that. Then they stopped waiting for you, I don’t know if they rescheduled the meeting.”

  I grab my papers, trying not just to stuff them in my briefcase, then leave my office and rush to the director’s office as quickly as I can.

  Things are at a delicate stage, the director warned me not to miss that appointment. It was a false move, and it’s unforgivable. I hope it isn’t the first in a long series.

  “Good morning, Caterina,” I stammer to the director’s secretary. “Can you tell him I’m here?”

  “Of course, Signor Romano.”

  She opens the door and motions me to go in.

  “Please, sit down.”

  I feel the blood freeze in my veins, I haven’t yet thought of a plausible excuse for my behaviour.

  “Romano, Romano… I can’t believe what happened this morning! Not even a phone call to warn me…”

  That’s how he begins as he comes towards me, breathing hard, his voice booming. Then he stops and just stands there, looking at me solemnly.

  He isn’t tall, but with his bullet-like head and sparse, well-groomed grey hair, he conveys a powerful sense of authority and always carries himself like someone who expects to be treated with the greatest deference. “I’m not interested in your excuses,” he says, although I haven’t even had time to breathe. “Do we at least have a draft contract?”

  “I have it with me,” I try to say, but he silences me with a stern look.

  “You know how important this acquisition is for us. We could probably have closed the deal today. You know as well as I do, time is money.”

  “You’re right, I have no excuse.”

  By the time he sits down at his desk he’s calmed down a bit. He looks at me again, almost regretfully, but I don’t think I’ve really disappointed him, because he assumes there are valid reasons for my behaviour. Except that he’s not interested in hearing them. “Time is money, old friend,” he repeats.

  “I know, I know that better than you think.”

  He opens the silver box where he keeps his cigars, and takes one out. “The one unfailing duty we have to ourselves, Svevo, is never to forget who we are and where we’re going.”

  All at once, from behind a cloud of smoke, he calls his secretary and orders her to come and take away a glass. It’s a crystal glass, perfectly clean, but he sees a smudge on it and it bothers him. He instructs Caterina to check them carefully, one by one, nobody must be allowed to use his glasses. When Caterina leaves the room, he takes a disinfectant wipe from his drawer, rubs his hands with it and says, “You can go now. Keep me up to date with developments. Remember I gave you this assignment, knowing how delicate it was, and I don’t like regretting the decisions I make.”

  Once I’m out in the corridor, I’m tormented by a new anxiety: what if I’ve lost his trust? I wouldn’t like to be forced to hand in my resignation before the end of the year.

  “I’m going to lunch, Signor Romano,” Elena tells me when I get back to my office. “I left a list of telephone numbers on your desk, it’s been impossible to get hold of you today.”

  “What do you mean, lunch? What time is it?”

  “1.30. Do you mind if I go now?”

  I think I must have turned pale, because Elena continues to stare at me questioningly.

  “No… no, I don’t mind,” I say, making an effort to seem convincing. “I’ll see you in half an hour, not a minute more, we have a lot to do this afternoon.”

  Elena walks away, deeply puzzled. I think she’s guessed that something isn’t right, all this urgency isn’t like me, but there’s no way she can imagine the kind of absurdity that has me in its grip, or how much I need her on my side.

  “Oh, I forgot,” she says as she’s about to leave the room. “Your father phoned, it sounded important.”

  That’s the last thing I need right now. “If he calls again, tell him I don’t have time.”

  When I sit down at the desk, the running starts again. The desk is overflowing with sheets, documents, deadlines, I have to check my calls, the appointments I’ve missed, and as if that wasn’t enough my mobile phone doesn’t stop ringing. I need to exploit every minute, even invent others if necessary, but I have to get back on the rails as soon as possible.

  If there’s one thing I’m not good at, it’s apologizing. Especially when I’ve kept Engineer Baldi, a well-known entrepreneur, waiting for twenty minutes in the café of a hotel. It’s hardly surprising that he goes off the deep end when I phone him. As he’s giving me a dressing down, I check my e-mails. If I don’t want to be overtaken by events, I have to learn to do two or three things at the same time.

  We fix another appointment for tomorrow morning at nine. “Don’t mess me about,” Baldi says threateningly before hanging up. And as if that wasn’t enough, almost simultaneously, a text message comes from Federico: What are we doing tonight?

  I don’t have time for his bullshit, not even to tell him to fuck off, which is what I ought to do. I’m in a car that’s travelling at three hundred kilometres an hour, I can’t allow myself any distraction, if I even just touch the wheel distractedly the race will be over. It’s pointless to mull over the past, or the feeling of disappointment it’s left me with, the bitter taste that’s gradually fading. Right now I have more important things to think about.

  “Signor Romano, Righini on the phone.”

  It’s Elena on speakerphone.

  “You were quick.”

  “I’m really sorry I was late, but it isn’t easy to eat in less than half an hour.”

  My God, I’d meant it as a joke, and it wasn’t.

  “Put him through, thanks. Righini, hello.”

  “Hello, Romano, you pulled a nasty stunt on me this morning.”

  “I tried to call you earlier to apologize. I’m really, really sorry.”

  “I know, your secretary updated me. Unfortunately I don’t have much time now, I’m in the middle of a working lunch. I just called to tell you I’m leaving for Hong Kong on Thursday and I’ll be there for about three weeks, I think I
told you, didn’t I?”

  “Yes, of course… But weren’t you supposed to leave about the end of the month?”

  “I had to bring it forward.”

  “So I suppose fixing another meeting in three days’ time is out of the question?”

  “Unfortunately, yes. I couldn’t tell your director about it this morning, because I only heard about it at midday myself. As soon as I get back I’ll be sure to phone you.”

  “In that case, all I can do is wish you a safe journey.”

  “Thank you, we’ll speak when I get back.”

  I shouldn’t have missed that appointment this morning, it’s obvious Righini is only trying to gain time, maybe he’s rethinking the conditions of the sale, maybe he’s under pressure from another buyer. The deal might go belly up, and all because of what? Because one morning I opened my eyes and before I could even get out of bed an hour had already passed. Now the problem will be to tell the director. Shit, shit, shit.

  “Try to find out what’s going on,” the director tells me. “Do some research, talk to people, and pray to the Lord that Righini doesn’t have second thoughts.”

  His message is unambiguous: the consequences of this mess are all on my shoulders.

  “Signor Romano?”

  Elena has put her head in through the door.

  “Yes?”

  “Is it all right if I go?”

  “Where?”

  “What do you mean, where?” Her eyes open wide in surprise. “It’s nearly eight, we always go home now. Usually even earlier when you go to the gym. Not going today? Tired after your weekend?”

  I’m more scared than I was this morning. You don’t get used to a thing like this.

  No gym, no lunch, no phone calls or any of the many other things I should have done. I have to go home and get something in my belly as soon as possible.

  I’ve never before skipped gym on a Monday, or got back earlier than nine. Antonio hasn’t asked any questions, but I know he doesn’t like sudden changes in the programme, and we’re going to end up paying him a fortune in overtime. I only hope this condition isn’t degenerative and that tomorrow won’t be worse than today.

  I get back very late. I drop my things on the sofa and glance at the dinner my housekeeper always leaves me on the kitchen table. Usually it’s warm, tonight it’s cold.

  I stick it in the microwave and set the timer for one minute, keeping my eyes fixed on the control panel.

  There it is, that minute, one second after the other. This way it won’t escape me. The trick is not to be distracted, you just have to turn your head for a moment and the clock runs ahead. That means I have to live without ever taking my eyes off a watch or clock of some kind. It doesn’t strike me as a very reasonable solution.

  Instead of relaxing on the sofa, as I would have done any other evening I spent at home, I try to get ahead of myself, organizing my diary, setting the alarm on my mobile phone for my nine o’clock appointment with Baldi—making sure I increase the volume so that I don’t miss its ringing—preparing my papers, getting my clothes ready for tomorrow. Finally, I collapse onto the bed without even looking at my watch. There’s no point knowing how much time I have left to sleep, I just have to sleep and that’s it.

  6

  AN INTERMITTENT WHISTLING SOUND. Five seconds, then silence for another ten, and so on, three or four times in succession. In my sleep, it becomes the whistle of a train about to depart.

  In my dream I’m standing on a platform. The station is ultra-modern, but the train in front of me is a nineteenth-century one, impatiently belching steam. I’m waiting for Gaëlle, she’s supposed to be bringing me my luggage, but she’s taking too long and the ticket inspector is gesturing to me to hurry up.

  The loudspeaker announces the departure, and people rush past me, anxious to get seats. I stand there motionless, waiting for her, but inside I can feel myself exploding with anger.

  All at once, I see her emerge from among the crowd and run towards me. She’s wearing a tight-fitting bright-red tracksuit, like the ones those devils wore in the club in Paris. Her hair blows in the wind, and she’s more beautiful than ever, but there’s no sign of my case. She looks at me with her usual wicked smile, then slows down, and when we’re just a short distance from each other she says, “Svevo, you don’t have anything to take with you and you can’t leave like this. Stay with me, when it comes down to it you’re not capable of going anywhere.”

  “What are you saying, Gaëlle? The train’s about to leave.”

  “I see that. But without you.”

  “Give me my case.”

  “That’s not the problem.”

  Another whistle.

  “Give me my case!”

  “There is no case, Svevo. There was nothing in your case.”

  Yet another whistle, this time more insistent.

  “Stop it, Gaëlle! Bring me my case!” I continue to shout until, groping between the sheets, I realize the whistle is the buzzing of the entryphone, the doorman must be pressing the button again and again.

  I drag myself to the door, my eyes still gummy with sleep. “Who is it?”

  “Antonio’s here, waiting for you, Signor Romano. Is everything all right? Do you need any help?”

  Apparently I didn’t hear the alarm clock today either.

  “What time is it?”

  “A quarter past nine.”

  Shit! The appointment with Baldi.

  “I’ll be down in a quarter of an hour, tell him to wait.”

  If I was able to get dressed in five minutes, I’d get to the front door in a fraction of real time, but that doesn’t take unexpected factors into account, like the fact that they forgot to close the lift door and as I’m running down the stairs my briefcase opens and a myriad of papers spills onto the steps. Then in the hall I knock straight into the doorman’s wife, who’s cleaning the floor, and she ends up practically in my arms. More time wasted apologizing and saying goodbye.

  At last I get to the car. Impatiently, I order Antonio to drive as fast as he can, and he obeys, with the same grimace of disgust he had last night. I’m indecently late, and I’m trying to find an excuse to give Baldi, but I barely have time to go through all the possible justifications, because we’ve already arrived at the hotel. Baldi is on his second espresso, and he’s crimson with rage.

  “I really don’t know how to apologize.”

  “Another minute and I’d have gone.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Do you think you can just keep people waiting like this?”

  “Please forget this unfortunate incident.”

  “And the one yesterday? Should I forget yesterday’s incident, too?”

  A moment’s silence, then, fortunately, his face again takes on a more natural colour, and a more indulgent expression. He signals to the waiter. “Let’s get down to business,” he says. “I have a lot of work to get on with this afternoon.”

  “Of course,” I reply, taking out the papers. “In the meantime can I offer you something to drink?”

  “Another espresso would do me fine.”

  “Good. Two espressos please, and make mine a double.”

  Baldi immediately gets to the point, but I have difficulty following him. I don’t seem to be able to concentrate any more, my mind seems to be elsewhere. I’m sure the things he’s saying—the figures, the names, the projections—are perfectly clear and logical, he’s a highly competent businessman after all, and yet more than once I ask him to repeat what he just said. Trying to stay calm, he does as I ask. I discover that if I keep my eyes firmly on my watch it’s easier to follow what he’s saying, but eventually he loses patience. “Do you want me to explain it again? Do you think I’m wasting your time? Do you think your behaviour is acceptable?” Now he’s the one glancing at his watch. “I have to go,” he says irritably. “Have your director call me.”

  It hits below the belt, but in his place I’d have done the same. He says goodbye coldly a
nd goes.

  No sooner have I switched my mobile on again than it starts ringing.

  It’s Elena. “It’s nearly midday,” she says. “Signora Campi is waiting for you in the meeting, don’t you remember?”

  I feel a sharp pain in my spleen, and my face twists into a grimace. The waiter is looking at me. “Are you all right?”

  I leave the money on the table and run away.

  Barbara Campi is waiting for me in the doorway of the conference room with her arms crossed. “Six people from the marketing department have been waiting for you for an hour and a half.”

  “I’m sorry…” That seems to be the only thing I can say today.

  She raises her eyebrows, then gives a sardonic sneer. No, I’m not mistaken, it really is a sneer. It’s almost as if she’s saying, “You see, you male chauvinist, you’re not so infallible. And you still have the nerve to attack us for our miniskirts, our laddered stockings, and the children always waiting for us to pick them up from school.”

  I rub my face with my hands, I must look terrible.

  “Do you have any idea of the time you’ve made us waste?”

  “Believe me,” I reply with a bitter smile, “nobody knows that more than I do.”

  She stares at me. “Are you kidding me?” she says. “You never even answered my e-mail, I have to know what you think about the plans for the new promotional campaign…”

  I have no intention of putting up with another incomprehensible monologue. “Barbara, please…”

  Her eyes open wide. I can’t bear that expression of hers, she’s like the class swot, if we were at school she’d raise her hand to tell the teacher I’d made lots of mistakes. “Are you feeling all right? I just found out you missed the appointment with Righini. God knows when you’ll be able to see him again. You look distracted, I’m worried about you.”