Happened in Tuscany
Page 12
"Ifeelmoreatease."Ilaugh.
"How’sIsabella?"
"Notreallygood."
"Have you spoken?" She asks, with the same nervousness of a moment ago that confuses me.
"Yes."
She stares at me, pensive and still with signs of confusion that may be due to the awakening.Sheseemstowanttotellmesomething,butshejustsmiles;thenoutoftheblueshe entersthebathroomtotakeashower.
ALICE
Damnit,shedidnottellhimanything.Shehasn´ttellhimanything!AndI'msureshe'sso calm, while I rub my skin excessively to remove the remains of Angelo's caresses, which continues to sleep in bed. "Calm down, calm down ... take a deep breath ... that's it. Take a deepbreath...."Thedooropens.Angeloentersnakedandlooksatmeimpudentlythroughthe indiscreetshowerscreen.
"Angelo,getoutofhere,please."
"Youdon´twant...Amorningone?"
"Mark'shome.
"Shit."
She runs out of the bathroom and gets back into the room. "Please, it’s not like dad just came"Ithinkamused,rememberingthetimemyfathercaughtmewithJack.Hecameforthe firsttimetomyparents'houseforaweekendandwetriedtocomplywiththefirstruleofthe Morgans:tosleepinseparateroomsundertheroofofDadandMom.Atoneinthemorning, Jackcameupwiththefunnyideaofsneakingintomybedroomandatone-thirty,myfather,who isverycleverandalwayshastoknoweverythingentered,knowingthathewouldn’tlike,what hewouldsee.MyfatherhasneverlikedJack.Sincewebrokeup,Iknewwhy.Hewasn´tthe man who would make me happy, and I suppose these are things that parents feel from the beginning.Ihavetogovisitmyfather,hefeelsverylonelysinceMomdied.
AsIgobackintothebedroom,IfindAngelosittingontheedgeofthebedlookingatthe floor.Ilookatthewayhefastenedthebuttonsoftheshirt,andIunderstandthathehasdressed hastily.
"You'dbettergo.Lastnightitwasn´tanythingandit'snotgoingtohappenagain,unlessI feellikeit"Isayseriously.
"Seewhatareyoudoingtome?Whatalldo."
"How?"Iasksurprised.
"Neitherthegoodguysarethatgoodnorthebadguyssobad,Alice.Womenwantmenlike me to hang out with, not to fall in love, because you fear that the next day we will go with others.Butwehavenochoice,ifyouputitthatway.Whyshouldn´tIfallinlovewithyou?Did notyouseeanythingspecialaboutmeatfirst?"
"HowamIgoingtotrustyou,ifthedayaftermakinglovewithme,youwereflirtingwith thefirsttouristwhostoodbeforeyou?"
"IremindyouthatyouwerewithMarkthatday."
"WejustwentforawalkinMontepulcianoandhaveadrink"Idefend.
"Thesametome..."
"Youdon´tevenrememberhername."
"No,butitdoesn´tmatter.Irememberyours,Ithinkofyou,that'swhatmatters."
"Nevermind,Angelo.BecauseintwoweeksI'llbeinNewYorkandthiswillonlyhave beenafunchapterinmylife.Nothingelse.Chancesare,Iwillnotgobacktothisplaceand youandIwillnotseeeachotheragain."
"Youneverknow,Alice.Lifeisalongwalk."
"Butnoteveryonetakesthosewalkswithyou."
"Andwhowouldyouliketotakethemwith?"Heaskswithasmile.
Againsilenceasananswer.Isitontheedgeofthebednexttohimandkisshimonthelips.
"Someday, there will be a woman who will want to take a thousand walks with you, Angelo.Notforentertainmentorforfun.Notbecauseofyoursimpleprettyfacadeorforyour dazzlingsmile.Someday,thatwomanwillknowtoseeinyouwhatIthoughtIsawatfirstand shewillnotsuspectit,norwillshehavedoubts...shesimplytrustyouandyoumustdowhat ispossibletomakeitso.
"Isthisafarewell,Alice?"
"Atleastit’saprettyfarewell,don´tyouthink?"
"Thankyou."
"Thankyoutoo."
"Thankme?"Helaughs.
"Well,ifIhadnotmetyou,Imightnothavebeenabletostartmynovel.AndImustsaythat myagenthaslovedthemaleprotagonistbasedonyou"Iexplain,winking.
"Acharacterbasedonme?"
"I'llsendyouthenovelwhenitwillbeonsale.Yourmotherwouldhavelikedit."
"That'sforsure."
Afteranaccomplicelook,wefusedinahugthatcomfortsmeandmakesmefeelgood.Just a few millimetres from me, Angelo caresses my cheeks and gives me a friendly kiss on the forehead.
"Behavewell,AliceMorgan."
"Thesameforyou,AngeloCravioto."
WewalkdownthestairsinsilenceandwithoutMarkrealizing,Angeloleavesthehouse, walkingdownthepath.Ileanonthethresholdofthegreatentrancedoor,watchingmy"summer love"driftaway.Ismilesatisfiedwiththefarewellthatcouldbelongperfectlywelltoanyof the romantic novels I have written over the years and silently, wish the best to the Italian conqueror.
"Whathappenedupthere,miss?"Markasks,approachingmewithtwocupsofcoffeeinhis hand.
"ThesamethathashappenedinIsabella'sbedroom,Mr.Hope.
"Well...Coffee?"
"Thankyou."
MARK
AlicelookssadsinceAngelohasgone.Idon´tknowtowhatextent,thatguywhowas my childhood friend, is important to her. I pretended that did not realize when they were comingdownthestairssoasnottointerruptthem,butIknowthatatleastAngelohasn´ttreated Alicebad.Afterall,maybehehasfeelingsforher.Idon´tknow,I'drathernotthinkaboutit.
AliceandIdrinkourowncoffeesinsilence,asifkeepingunmentionablesecretsbetween us.Tobreaktheice,Idecidetotellheraboutthetelevisionproposalandsheseemstorejoice forme.
"It's what you need, it'll do you good." It will give you ideas and a push after the bad review"shesayssolemnly.
"Howisitgoingwiththenovel?I'minterestedtoknow.
"Yoursisterisreallysatisfiedwithit."
"Thisisreallygood,isn´tit?
"Yes,itis."
"Idon´tunderstandhowsomeonelikeyoucanbefriendswithmysister."
"Whydoyousaythis?"
"Youlookniceandverynice,Alice.Cindyisaharpy."
"Harpy? She laughs. Well, a little yes ... but we get on very well and at the professional levelweareagreatteam."
"Cindy'salwaystalkedtomeaboutyou.Whyhaven´twemetbefore?"
"Untilayearago,Ihadamonotonouslifeasamarriedwomanwithateenagedaughter.I barelywentout,andonlyforpromotions,presentations,eventsandthingslikethat...Avery boringlife"sheexplains,withafunnygrin.
"Isitmoreinterestingnow?"
"NowthatIamsingle?"
"Areyou?"
"Whatdoyouwanttoknow?WhathappenedwithAngelo?Inod."Wehadanicefarewell.
Iwishhimwell."
"Howgood.I'mglad."
"Why?Becausewesaidgoodbye?"Why?Sheasksme.
"No,well..."
Iwanttotellherwhat'sbestforher.ThataguylikeAngelodoesn´tsuither,wouldn´tmake herhappy.Ido.Iampreparedtomakeherhappy,togiveherafirstkiss,toknowwhatitfeels liketocaressherskinandatthesametime,IfeelunabletodoallthatbecauseIsabellastill exists.Ican´texplainallthattoher,becausehercellphoneisringing.Alicefrowns,looksat meworriedandpicksupthephone.
ALICE
" What'sthematter,Amy?"
Dammit. Dammit. Amy's voice sounds muffled, she can barely speak, and I can hardly understand her. I know something bad has happened and that Isabella will not have the opportunitytoconfessthetruthtoMark.
"Amy,calmdown.What'swrong?"
<
br /> Mark looks at me seriously, expectantly; he knows as well as I do, that in a matter of secondswewillhavetogorunning.
"Isabelladoesn´tbreathe...shehasfallendownthestairsandshedoesn´tbreathe...Mom
..."
"We'recomingoverthere."
Markscreamsandinafitofrage,hedropsthecupwithcoffee.Itrytoreassurehimwitha hugandIrealizeimmediatelythatthesleeveofmyshirtgotsoakedbyhistears.Withreddened eyesandallthepainofhisheartvisibleintheexpressiononhisface,heclingstomeasifIam allhehasinlife.
"Mark,listentome.Everythingwillbefine.Everythingwillbefine"Irepeat,strokingthe backofhisneck.
Wetakethecar,Idrive.Marktellsmetogofaster,butthedirtroadsarenotmadetogo veryfast.IcontinuetoreassurehimwithuselesswordsthatIknowhedoesn´thear,andbefore hecanstopthecarinfrontofIsabella'shouse,Markrunsoffinside.
Secondslater,Ienter.Amyisstandingwithherarmrestingontherailing,withhermessy blondhairanddarkcirclesthattellmethenighthasbeenlong.Isabellaislyingonthefloor withhereyeshalfopen.Shebreathesinandout.Alessandro,withhisfacefloodedwithtears, holdsherbythehead.Markparalyzedinshock.IapproachthemabitwhileMarkwithouteven noticingme,kneelsnexttoIsabellaandstartstalking.
"Breathe,Isabella.Breathe.Donotgoyet,please...notyet..."Markshouts.
Isabellalooksathimsweetly.It'sthefirsttimeIcanseedeathinsomeone'seyes.Ican´t helpbeingselfishandwonderingwhatmydeathwillbelike.Whowillbepresent?Whowill bethelastpersontosee?WhatwillIsay?
Isabellaseemstowanttotalk. Comeon,Isabella...drawstrength,drawstrengthtotell thetruth.Youcan´tleavelikethis,theyhavetoknowthattheyarebrothers...don´tleaveme withthisburden,Isabella,Ithink.
"It'snotscary,youknow.Dying...isn´tscary."
IsabellalooksawayfromMarkandstaresatAlessandro.Henods,smilessadly,andasif anangelhadpassedbyher,shetakesalastbreathandleaves.So,withoutfurtherado.Asifit weresoeasy...Isabellastopsbreathingandleaves.
Alessandroscreamstogetridofthepainthatconsumeshim,narrowingtheinertbodyof hismotheragainsthischest.AmylooksawaywithtearfuleyesandMark,paralyzed,watches thedespairfromAlessandrośeyes.
It'sthesaddestandmostdepressingsceneI'veeverseen.Ifinditstrangeandunreal,asifI wereasimplestatue,andallIcandoiscontemplatedeathclosely.Butyoucan´ttouchit,you can´tevenfeelit.Italsocan´thurtoralteryourlife.Duringsomeseconds,Idisappearfrom
thatroomfloodedwithpain,andtransportforamomentnexttomyfather.Twodaysaftermy mother's funeral, I watched my father silently from the doorway of his bedroom. Grimly, he tookMom'sdressesfromtheclosetandfoldedthemonthebedwithgreatcare,asiftheymight break.OrasifMomhadtoputthemonandscoldhimfortheslightestwrinkle.Onthebedside table, the first photo taken together; When they were young and full of life. Life. Weather.
Hours.Happiness.Death.Astatue.Astatuethattriestofindsomepeaceinthememories.
"Mom...Mom...""Amyhasbeenbymysidewithoutmenoticingher.Sherestsherhead onmyshoulderandcriessilently.
"Honey...comeon,let'sgooutside."
Amyhugsmeaswhenshewasachild.Shecriesdesperately,likewhenshehurtherselfor neededmyarmstofeelprotected.
"Thiswasn´ttheidyllicvacationwewereexpecting,wasit?"Itellher.
"It'slife,Mom.It'sbullshit."
"Shhh...Iknow,honey.Iknow.That'swhywehavetolive.Aslongaswearealive,we havetolive.Doyouunderstand?"
"Iloveyoumom."
"Iloveyoutoo.Butdon´tbesicklysweet,okay?"
"FromnowonIwillbe.Always.IamsorryaboutallthecrapI'vealwaystoldyou,Mom.
I'mreallysorry,I..."
"Donotyouknowthatwemothersforgiveeverything?Wehavethatpower."
MARK
"Sometimeswedon´tneedsomeoneto
fixus
Sometimes,wejustneedsomeonetoloveus,
whilewefixourselves"
J.Cortázar
Ifsomeoneeveraskedmesomethinglike:"Whatisthemomentofyourlifethatyoucannever erase?"Isurelywouldsaythis.ThisdifficultscenethatIamlivingasifIwereasecondary characterinsideamovie,isoneofthemomentsofmylifethatwithtotalcertainty,Iwillnever be able to erase. And at the same time, I am living it as if it were a dream. As if I wasn´t present before such a tragedy and none of this was happening. As if at any moment, Isabella wasgoingtoopenherprettyeyesthesamecolorasthecoffee,shewouldsmileatusalland tellusthatitwasapracticaljoke.
Alessandroisstillinhisworld.AworldthatIcan´treach,inwhichheandhismotherare alone.Adeadmother,alifelessbodywhosesoulhasflownawayfarfromhere.Iwouldliketo approachhimandtellhimwhatAlicehastoldmebefore;Thatallwillbewell.Butthetruthis thatIcan´ttellhimthis,becauseIdon´tknow.Idon´tknowifeverythingwillgowell,after beingaloneintheworldwithastrangerthathismotherthought,beforeshedied,thathewould beagoodtravelingcompanion.Agoodfather.Agoodsubstitute.
"Inthefirstdrawerofthebedsidetableontheleftside,thereisaletter.Canyougogetit, Mark?"Alessandroasks,stillwithhismother'sbodyclosetohis.
Inodanddragmyfeettothebedroom.Itstillsmellslikeanintensevanillascent.Thebed in which I loved her body for the last time, is still undone. A lot of memories bombard my mind, riddling it with unbearable echoes that tell me she will not return. And yet, I still feel her.Notlikethewomanwhocametomyhouseafewdaysago,entrustingmewiththegreat responsibility of taking care with her son when she confessed to me that she was dying; But likethatyoungwomanwithintenseeyesofthesamecolorascoffee,whofellinlovewithan Americanteenager,awonderfulsummerofmanyyears,inacornerofTuscany.Iopenthefirst drawer of the bedside table on the left side as Alessandro told me, and I take the sealed envelopefrominside.IgodownthestairsandIgiveittoAlessandro,wholeavesIsabella's body on the floor with much care and affection. I don´t want to look at her. I don´t want to rememberherlikethat.Alessandrogetsup,goestothekitchenandIfollowhimwithhiseyes fixedonthefloor.Theyoungmandrieshistearsandwithacoldnessandmaturitythatsurprise me, opens the envelope and gives me the letter. In it, I read Isabellaś will written in her handwriting.Shewantstobeincineratedandtothrowherashesintothedepthsoftheforest.I knowtheplaceandthereisnoneedforhertowriteit,Iknowtheexactpointwheretodoit.
Next to the tree whose bark still retains our initials, written twenty-eight years ago, by two youngmenwhothoughtthatlovewouldlastalleternity.Inod.Alessandroapproachesmeand givesmeahug.
"Itwillbeallright,Alessandro.Ipromiseyou"Ifinallymanagetosay.
CHAPTER12
ALICE
"Whenyouthinkyouknowalltheanswers,
Theuniversearrives
andchangesallyourquestions"
When a writer puts down the word END in his novel, he feels the satisfaction of having concludedachapterofhisownlife;Butatthesametime,astrangefeelingofnostalgiatakes possession,havingtoletgoofahistoryandcharacterstowhomhehasgivenlife.Thepenalty ofsayinggoodbyeandlettingthemflytootherminds,whowillapplaudorrejectaworldover whichyouhavehadfullpower.
It's been a week since Isabella died. At her specific wish, they incinerated her, and although Amy and I went to the intimate ceremony in the Church of
San Biagio in Montepulciano, only Mark and Alessandro were the only ones to penetrate the depths of the forest and throw her ashes. It is as if life had spent a practical joke and although Amy and I livethissituationwithmuchrespectandsadness,itistheywhowillcarryaheavyburdenon theirbacksthroughouttheirlives.WehavelivedverycloselythedeathofIsabella,andAmy seemstohaveagreaterrespectforthelifeandthepeoplethatsurrounditsincethen;Butwe havestayedinthebackground.Asifithadnotaffectedus,asifwewerestillthosestatuesthat observe,butdon´thavethecapacitytofeel.
MarkandAlessandroaregettingtoknoweachotherandspendmostoftheirtimetogether, especially in the kitchen. They spend their time making delicious dishes and they often talk about Isabella. I think Mark has met a new Isabella through Alessandro's words. I think he's stillinlovewiththememoryofherorwhoknows...maybesomethingelse.
Amyhaspleasantlysurprisedme.Herbehaviorisn´tthatofanimmaturelittlegirl,butthat of a young woman who has been able to understand the situation perfectly, and supports her
"newboy"withoutsmotheringhim.Despitethecircumstances,heseemstomakeherhappy.
AndasfarasI'mconcerned,Ihaven´tseenAngeloagain,althoughIthinkofhimoftenand ofourlastconversation;whoispartofmynewlyfinishednovel.
IhavebarelyseenMarkrecently.Ifinditimpossibletostareintohiseyes.Andallbecause of the secret that I keep locked up, since Isabella confessed it to me, the same afternoon in whichshemetme.Thatiswhy,throughoutthislongweek,Ihavebeenlockedinmybedroom writing.Hidingthisinformationiskillingme,butfortunatelyIhavehadaprojecttoworkat nightanddayandthus,tothinkalittlelessaboutwhatIshoulddo.IknowwhatIshoulddo,of courseIknow.ButI'mnotreadytodoit.Whydidshetellme?Whydidsheleavemewiththis responsibility?WhydidnotshetellMark?MarkandAlessandroarebrothers...Brothers.And nowthatI'vewrittentheword"End"onthelastpageofmynovelandI'mabouttosenditto Cindy,it'stimetogetbacktoreality.Inolongerhaveexcusestobelockedinmyself,although itwouldbeeasytoextenditjustonemoreweek.However,Iknowthetimehascometoleave