Every single day of this long repentance, Sal had phoned Toma’s house, and each time someone had picked up the receiver, he had hung up. He had been playing like that for hours on end, listening to curses and threats, sometimes to the occupied tone and sometimes to hysterical shrieks. Then he had extended these phone calls to his friends. Harry had even asked once, exasperated, in a conspiratorial whisper: ‘Sal, is that you?’
He was stubbornly trying to understand how all these brave young men, whom he saw and heard daily, had behaved like the lowest of cowards.
The boys stood motionless without uttering a word. Sal himself was stone-still in his hiding place, but he was determined not to move an inch before he saw which of them would break the silence. The one who would break the silence was the traitor. But the thought of it made him laugh. This worked for detective novels, not for them – because in their case, each and every one of them was the traitor and they all knew it. And he also knew that, had they been together, Toma himself would have laughed at this nonsense. He would utter the strangest words in the most inadequate situations, as if he wanted to release the moment’s overload of pressure.
An hour had passed and nobody had made any move. Sal was overcome by boredom and despair; he was impatient and overexcited. Time passed, and with each elapsed second their resources for finding something to say to each other diminished. Actually, he wished at least one of them had started; he wished the bravest of them had broken the ice, for then he would have climbed down from his hiding place and would have been able to disappear into their clamour. He had hidden behind a tree growing next to the brewery’s fence and had nestled there, squeezing his shoulders and crossing his fists under his chin.
After the long wait, he saw Harry make a couple of steps backward. The boys all looked down, pretending not to notice his movements. From a distance, they looked like performers in a ballet show. At first Sal thought that Harry wanted to stretch his legs a bit but, after a few seconds of hesitation, Harry turned his back and left without a word. Then, one by one, they all scattered back to their own houses. As far as Sal could tell, they left much more relaxed. They considered that, after making the effort to come there, after waiting in vain for so many minutes, they had atoned for their sin.
Now, at Harry’s house, Toma was pottering about over the scattered parts of what had been a portable radio, his eyeglasses fastened at the back with a coloured elastic band from which all sort of brass crucifixes, pendants, paper clips and safety pins were hanging. He looked like a tamed savage. Only his meek face betrayed him.
‘Do you remember when you got beaten up by those guys?’
Harry frowned and looked up at him. ‘What’s wrong with you, man? Have you blown a fuse?’
But Sal didn’t give in. ‘Do you remember when they beat up this guy here, and we carried him to the door and then abandoned him on the doormat? Do you remember, man?’
Toma’s fingers, which had been moving up until then, had stopped in midair. He was still looking at the scattered parts on the table. Harry gestured to Sal, but then lowered his hand as if with fatigue.
‘Say what you want to say. It sucks, anyway.’
Sal settled down on the rug and, after a moment of silence, he went on. ‘I keep remembering, ever since I found out that I was leaving. What, you mean to say that you never thought about it, even if none of us ever mentioned it?’
He was talking to Harry as if Toma had vanished from the room, but Harry didn’t seem to hear him. He calmly replaced the headphones that had been hanging around his neck and started to hum something out of tune, his eyes staring at an imaginary spot.
‘And when are you leaving?’ Toma had woken up and was watching him from behind his lenses, half turned toward him.
‘In a month…’
Sal felt sorry that he had to lie to him.
‘Apparently, I should be leaving in a month.’
But he changed his mind. Any weakness could turn against them.
‘That’s if everything goes as my parents planned. But I wouldn’t worry – you know how they are. They never miss a thing.’
‘I will miss you.’
And, after saying the words, Toma mechanically turned back to the machinery with its exposed innards.
‘I didn’t mean to annoy you earlier. I only wanted to let you know that I’m sorry for that incident.’
‘It’s okay; never mind. After all, it wasn’t your fault, was it?’
Were they talking about the same thing? Harry had put his headphones back on, while Toma was fiddling on, dull and confused. Maybe Toma had done it on purpose – maybe he was just testing him – but to Sal it was all the same. He had a hard day ahead of him tomorrow, and the boys, as far as he could see, had already silently agreed to speak no more of the old incident.
‘And now we’re even,’ Toma added.
Sal waited. They were certainly talking about the same thing. But he wasn’t as sure now that Toma had let go of the past. He was starting to foresee now that Toma wasn’t going to let him get away so easily and that, if he found out about Sal’s plans, he would be the first to give him away.
‘What do you mean?’
Toma smiled and shook his head, making the trinkets hanging on his eyeglasses’ elastic band tinkle.
‘Well, just like that…’ He stopped, seeming to concentrate upon the wires he was trying to knot together. Then he frowned, as if the revelation had confused him. ‘Do you remember when you cut your wrists in my father’s weapon cabinet? And they only found you half an hour later, fainted on the floor in a pool of blood?’
‘Yes…’ Sal pondered for a while. ‘But it wasn’t for half an hour, it was only for a few minutes. Emi ran for help immediately. If it had been half an hour, I would have died.’
Toma flashed a superior smile. He was staring at Sal, his look suggesting that he knew better what the truth was but was waiting for a question to say it.
‘You wouldn’t have died, Sal. You didn’t die, as you can see. And Emi had left long before. I mean, she left right after you rushed into the window with your fists like a jackass.’
‘How would you know?’
‘Because…’
‘Because what?’
The trinkets tinkled again, dimly. Toma was speaking with his eyes closed.
‘Because I was there, watching you.’
Sal grabbed his head with his hands. ‘Man, I really don’t get what you’re saying. You couldn’t have been watching us, because I would have seen you. We were alone in the room and Emi ran for help right away.’
‘Emi had left!’
Toma had cried out so loudly that his voice had sharpened. Then it had drowned in his chest.
‘All right, all right. What does this have to do with what we were talking about? What’s come over you?’
‘I always thought you were my best friend.’
Sal nodded.
‘I’m telling you this because I don’t want you to be upset. But I noticed that you wanted to speak about what happened, that you were sorry, and I would like you to leave with your heart at peace, without thinking about this anymore.’
‘But I am leaving with my heart at peace. And I don’t know why you insist on acting this way, now of all times. Seriously…’
Sal went silent and waited for Toma to go on. Even if he had a conciliatory voice, he wanted to show him that, against all appearances, he was capable of the same cruelty.
‘Emi was angry at you, so she left. She was angry because I think that she expected you to make a declaration. I think that she had listened to the story you told as if it had been about the two of you, and the fact that you deluded her in the end made her mad. That’s why she ran away and left you there.’
He took a break, watching Harry, who was lying on his back with his eyes closed. Only the tips of his toes, in their plush socks, were moving periodically to the rhythm of the tune playing enigmatically in his headphones.
‘Actually, she was rig
ht. A declaration was supposed to follow – otherwise why would you have told her what you did? You called her there to impress her. If you had told her what she wanted to hear, nothing would have happened anymore, right?’
Toma wasn’t expecting an answer: that much Sal was sure of. And even if he would have had to answer, he doubted he could have uttered a word. The sounds were stuck in his throat while his mind was looking for a way out. He felt obliged to find at least one clever, funny thing to say in order to defuse the atmosphere in the room. He could have dashed toward Harry and snatched the headphones off his head. But Toma seemed vigilant and his attention was sharp. He was following Sal’s every gesture and reaction. Besides – and maybe that was the most important part – he had brought Emi into their discussion, and he kept hinting at her, insinuating that she had left Sal there, to die, in revenge. And it would have been the worst idea to spring to her defence now: that was exactly what Toma was waiting for, and all the boys would have found out about their relationship after that. It was bad enough that there was one of them who suspected something. At least he found solace in the thought that the secret would be kept, even though the number of those who knew about it had grown.
‘I bet you’re anxious to find out where I know all the details from.’ Toma revealed his sparse set of teeth, thrust into his gums like squares of plastic. ‘And you’re perfectly right. If it hadn’t been for that unfortunate incident, I probably would have never found out. But I saw that you left after her. You’ve done this many times, and every time it amused me that you two were exchanging glances and imagining that nobody noticed. I was watching you. But it was only on that afternoon that I followed you. I think a day or two after that I also read the story of Tristan…’
‘And Isolde…’
Sal had said it in a whisper, barely able to hear himself, but Toma stopped. He was surprised because, although they had spoken simultaneously, Sal’s voice sounded as if he had to do justice to the woman whose name had been left out.
‘Yes, sure… Well, after I read it, I saw things more clearly. I was hidden in the other room waiting to see what was going to happen when I heard the sound of broken glass. She ran, and when I entered the room, I saw you lying on the floor. I was scared. I stayed like that a bit longer – I don’t remember exactly how long, but I know that I waited, believing that you would come to your senses. No – actually first I thought that you were pretending, to impress her, but after that I said to myself that she had left and you weren’t that stupid to put on that act and lie there for nothing. I was afraid you’d died.’
Sal was speechless. He was looking at Toma as if he were an apparition that had taken over his friend’s body, smirking and making wry faces from behind his glasses. He understood now what Toma was referring to. Silence had fallen in the room. Harry opened his eyes and rose up on his elbows. He took his headphones off one ear, looking at the other two as if he had just woken up.
‘What?’ He had asked Sal, but his eyes drifted to Toma. ‘Did you say something?’
Sal shook his head. Harry lay on his back again, put his headphones over his ears and sank back into his music.
‘After that, everybody said that you tried to kill yourself. Only I knew very well that it wasn’t like that, but I was ashamed to tell them. Do you understand now?’
‘I understand.’
‘Are you angry?’
‘No way!’
‘When you didn’t spring to my defence, you were in danger yourself. Those guys could have beaten you up as well. In my case, it’s different.’
‘You were scared.’
Toma sniffed. ‘That I was scared is not important! But to follow you and to eavesdrop on what you were talking about…’
‘Look, let’s bury the hatchet.’
‘Okay. But I didn’t want you to leave without knowing.’
‘Uh-huh.’
But upon seeing how he stayed staring, with his mouse-like face, Sal added, ‘Let’s never speak about this again.’
Toma was grateful. He nodded and turned to the radio on his desk. Sal gazed upon him with wisdom, but with a touch of sadness as well, just like one should regard anything in an uncertain situation.
‘And to nobody,’ Sal added, stressing his words. ‘There is no point in involving Emi in this old story.’
‘To nobody,’ Toma confirmed, changing his tone afterward, in a theatrical manner, to mark the end of the subject. ‘So you’re leaving…’
Sal poked Harry, but the latter remained with his eyes closed, swinging his legs and wriggling his body. He bent over him and took the headphones off his ears. Harry winced as if he had been lashed, protecting this precious tool that none of the boys had ever managed to touch before. ‘Hey!’
He jumped up suddenly and knocked his forehead against Sal’s jaw. They watched each other for a couple of seconds, in dismay.
‘What’s up, man? What do you want?’
Sal got up, slowly rubbing his jawbone. Toma was working scrupulously, holding a pair of pincers between the tip of his index finger and his thumb, concentrated like a surgeon in the midst of an operation. Although Toma wasn’t looking at him, he knew that Sal felt the need to extend the conversation. It would have helped him to clear his conscience and tickle his pride. But because Harry started to shriek with laughter, Sal laughed too: not about their accident, but about Toma. He laughed about him on the sly without watching him, seeing with the corner of his eye his satisfaction almost floating around the room, spreading like the smell of cooked food.
There was a knock on the door, followed by Mrs Demetrescu’s smiling head.
‘Everything fine, boys?’
They stopped with a grin imprinted on their faces.
‘Harry!’
The voice drowned in the roars of laughter that started again upon Harry’s mother’s appearance and grew vigorously, imperatively.
‘Hariton, come, please. The girls are leaving, and I want to see them to the bus stop. Lock the door behind me.’
‘Oh, come on, mum! What the hell?’
‘Please, I don’t want someone walking in on you.’
‘Who could walk in?’
‘Look, I asked you nicely. Don’t push me. Come on!’
Harry clumsily got to his feet, groaning and pressing his hand to his aching temple. From behind, he looked like a dwindling old man fighting against gravity. Sal got up too. His visit was over.
Harry disappeared out the door after Mrs Demetrescu.
‘I’m leaving, too.’
He had said it on a natural tone, wanting to test Toma’s attention as well; it seemed that from the moment they had put an end to their conversation, he had drawn a line, implicating that he wasn’t interested in what else was happening. He retreated two steps toward the door. Toma turned his head. ‘Are you leaving?’
‘Well, yeah – my mother’s waiting for me. And I promised Johnny that I would drop by.’
‘I see.’
Toma thought for a while. ‘When you leave, can I have the Metallica poster?’
‘You don’t like Metallica.’
‘I never said I did. If you don’t want to give it to me, it’s okay.’
Sal bristled. ‘I never said I didn’t want to. You can have it. It’s just that I was surprised, that’s all.’
‘Man, if you can’t, forget it.’
‘Oh, come on, man, don’t be a pussy. I told you that I could. Anyway, I wanted to give them all away. Just tell me if you want anything else.’
‘Okay. I mean no, nothing else. Just that one.’
‘Okay. I’ll bring it to you tomorrow.’
Toma smiled at him, comradely. Then he waved goodbye and resumed his work.
Watching from a distance without knowing them, one might have come to the conclusion that each of the three boys had something to hide, something that was a matter of life and death. In reality, just one of them bore a secret within him; another had wanted to get rid of his, while the last probably
didn’t even know it yet. The impact between Sal and Harry looked like the collision of two atoms: the crash had taken place in Mrs Demetrescu’s fourth-floor apartment, but its effects would show in a different place altogether. To Sal it seemed that the meeting with the boys had been pointless, but nevertheless he somehow felt that he had disentangled certain things while complicating others. He regarded it as an investment in their future – his and Emi’s – and smiled within, thinking that later, maybe after several years, he would be able to explain to his friends what had actually happened that afternoon.
VII
NAUTILUS
If you looked close, screwing up your eyes, you could see that a veil of salt had settled in the folds of her caramelised skin, as if a fine snow had fallen all over her body. It appeared to be a barren expanse of soil covered by sparse blades of grass left over from the autumn before, on which white frost had settled. That wasteland was the battlefield where he usually confronted his enemies. Uncertainty made him anticipate the potential foes. His gaze reached far away, scanning beyond the horizon, inferring and prefiguring situations. He was captain over an army consisting of one soldier, whom he nevertheless continuously suspected of treason.
He watched her lying on the linen sheet, one of her legs bent and shadowing a strip of her body, her hands outstretched, her eyes tightly closed, blinded by the strong light. Sitting like that, transformed by the burning sun, she seemed to be offering herself to the whole starving tribe. Whoever might have wanted her need only stretch their hand and tear off a piece. At first glance, she seemed to have a propensity for dissoluteness. But at the same time, she had stayed with him, had waited for him all that tormentingly slow-passing time. There was no way for him to put pressure on her or to enforce rules. Patience had been their watchword so far, but the truth was that neither of them knew what they were waiting for. They would secretly drag themselves along every morning amidst the sand dunes, their eyes hollowed from lack of sleep, slouching under the sun, isolated from the world. A couple of miles away, their drowsy families were lazing in between the sheets, without any shadow of doubt wafting above their eyelashes.
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