‘Do what?’
‘Print.’
‘Bollocks,’ I curse, before realizing I’m in the presence of a lady. But luckily the old woman didn’t hear a thing and is still looking at us with a moronic smile on her face.
‘Do you know how to do it?’ Marino asks me.
‘No, my relationship with technology stops with the remote control.’
‘Then we’ll just have to wait for my grandson Orazio. I’ll call him tonight and tell him to come back.’
I snort. It’s taking us days to write and deliver a letter, while out there things are taking just a few hours to go to the bad.
I take my leave of the gang and go upstairs.
There’s a bag hanging from the door handle. I open it and find a tablecloth inside.
I go into my flat and read the note that accompanies the gift. It’s from Emma.
So that next time you listen to what I have to tell you instead of looking for the tablecloth! PS thank you.
I turn the note around in my hands and discover that I’m very moved. As ever, it just takes a woman to bring me down.
Chapter Fifteen
Hamburger with Provolone
As far as I remember, the last time I had any kind of date I still had my driving licence. For two days now, I’ve been trying in vain to come up with a valid excuse, but my new sincerity doesn’t help me; it seems to me that nothing counts for anything compared to the disappointment in my lover’s voice. Lying to Rossana doesn’t seem like a great idea to me. If she decided not to see me any more, I’d be stuffed. I’d have to find myself another lover, although she wouldn’t behave like a lover and let me sleep beside her or make myself an omelette in her kitchen. And anyway I’m not sure it would be that easy.
Now I find myself waiting outside the block, like a schoolboy on his first date. Although I think a schoolboy would feel much more at ease. I have a problem: I’ve never socialized with Rossana outside of our lubricious encounters; I don’t know how she usually dresses; if she wears heels, a hat, fur; if she puts on make-up. She might turn up wearing dungarees, or a leopard-skin cape and fishnets. If that were so, I’d pretend I didn’t know her and disappear down the first dark alley.
I didn’t have to ask her out – our relationship has worked just fine for two years – but now things are getting complicated. The truth is that I know her body by heart and nothing whatsoever about her character. Or at least, only one version of it. And I’m worried about discovering that I’m not going to like the other variations.
Now I’m trying to distract myself and dedicate myself to the empty road that snakes up the hill. I exhale and light myself a cigarette. This is another of the things I’d forgotten when you see a woman: all that waiting. And, well, patience isn’t one of my many virtues. I hate waiting: it makes me nervous, I chain-smoke and my legs start hurting. It was one of the reasons I used to row with Caterina. I would have been ready for ages while she was still putting on her skirt, so I’d go down to the doorway and light myself a cigarette, which would turn into two or three, depending on the length of the delay. When she turned up at last, my good humour had more or less evaporated, so I would always find some reason to provoke her at the first opportunity. Often she didn’t even answer, but when she decided to fight back we would argue and it spoiled the date. I ruined quite a lot of evenings for my wife. Thinking about it, I ruined them for me too. Once, the year before she died, she asked me to take her to Starita, a famous pizzeria in Materdei. The problem was that there were already dozens of people chatting as they waited for a table, and to get in you had to wait for at least forty-five minutes, more than I could spare. So I said I absolutely refused to stay under any circumstances and strode huffily away. She came breathlessly after me with a long face, and for the rest of the evening (spent in a lousy dive not far away, where we consumed a lousy pizza), she didn’t address a word to me.
I look at my watch: I’ve been down here for fifteen minutes, and my rage is starting to become uncontrollable. There isn’t much to be done about this – I don’t often emerge victorious from the battle with myself to become a bit less crabby. I’m almost sure that by the time Rossana shows up, I won’t be able to hide my fury and will ruin the evening.
And then she steps out of the front door and she’s absolutely beautiful, impeccable, with a nice long coat that covers her legs and the heels on her shoes aren’t too high. I look at her, enchanted, and I feel as if I’m seeing her for the first time. She’s another Rossana, different from the one I had got to know.
I walk towards her with a hint of a smile and become aware that I’m not the only one who’s embarrassed. And yet we’re adults, we’re grown-ups; we should be more self-assured. The fact is that we’ve done everything backwards – we went first to bed, then to dinner – and at our age it’s hard to accept that some things are simply common sense. For some reason I don’t usually think about Rossana’s job, but this evening I don’t think I can forget it.
‘How are you?’ she says.
‘Fine, thank you. Shall we take a taxi?’
‘Is it far?’
‘Twenty minutes’ walk.’
‘Then let’s walk, so you can tell me something about yourself.’
Her new role hasn’t made her shake off her usual candour. A point in her favour.
‘Why? Don’t you know me well enough? You know more about me than my kids do.’
She looks at me smugly and slips her arm under mine. Now we really look like an old couple who have decided to go out to boost a rotten marriage.
‘You know me better than anyone.’
‘Your best customer,’ I observe with a half-smile.
She grows serious. ‘No, I don’t go to dinner with my customers,’ she replies eventually.
‘So what am I?’ I want to ask her, but I’m scared of what the answer might be.
‘I managed to get the name of my son’s employer and the address of the shop,’ she says after a moment’s silence.
‘Well done. I’ll jot them both down later, so we can go and have a word with this “gentleman”.’
Her face brightens. She’s happy, and she isn’t trying to hide it. If only inviting a woman to dinner was enough to make you feel right. But I’m under no illusions: you might be smiling, joking, speaking impeccable Italian, rounding the evening off brilliantly, but it doesn’t erase the sense of inadequacy that you carry around with you. Rossana is one of those people who need an excuse to live, as if their mere existence might be irritating somebody.
We walk slowly, and every now and again she peers into the windows of the closed shops. I can’t help thinking it might have been a good idea to take a taxi, not least because a motorbike behind us honks its horn. I turn instinctively and find myself facing two young lads with Mohicans, cigarettes dangling from their lips and necks covered with tattoos. They look at me with a rude expression that clashes with their youthful faces. They want some room on the pavement. The problem is that I have no desire to comply, so I don’t move. Then one of them says, ‘Let me past, grandpa. Shift your arse!’
Rossana grips my arm in a pointless bid to make me keep my temper.
‘Apart from the fact that I’m not your grandpa, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but this is a pavement!’
But they don’t even answer, and slip the nose of the motorcycle into the only available gap between me and my companion. A moment later they have disappeared into the many labyrinths of the Spanish Quarter behind us. A shame – I was anticipating their gaping jaws when they heard the speech I was going to give them. I was planning on being the retired cop this time.
‘Are you determined to get beaten up?’ Rossana asks me.
‘They wouldn’t have done that. And anyway, I can’t keep my mouth shut.’
‘It’s not a good idea to act the hero in this city. Haven’t you worked that one out yet?’
‘And yet this is the place where they really need heroes, not in Milan or Turin.’
She smil
es bitterly and says, ‘And yet they didn’t really think you were one.’
‘It’s true, but if I only ever opened my mouth when I was sure someone was listening, I’d be mute for the rest of my days.’
Rossana giggles and slips her arm into mine again. ‘How was your son’s exhibition?’ she asks, determined to return to our evening together.
‘Great. He was happy with it.’
‘What about you? Were you OK?’
‘Well, the canapés weren’t bad.’
‘Idiot. I meant, did you spend some time with your children?’
‘With Sveva, yes. Dante was busy tending to his beloved collectors.’
‘Don’t talk like that.’
‘It’s the truth.’
‘How’s your daughter?’ she asks.
‘Neurotic.’
She stops and stares at me. ‘Cesare, can you say anything nice about your family?’
Well, in fact, I find it really hard. A father doesn’t usually notice a child’s shortcomings, whereas those are all I notice.
‘The truth is that she really gets on my nerves. She’s an unhappy woman who doesn’t realize that she is.’
‘It isn’t easy. Perhaps she just needs some help.’
‘As if ! Like my neighbour who’s getting beaten up by her husband.’
Rossana looks at me with eyes made enormous by mascara, then replies, ‘And what do you know about it?’
‘I hear them, and I’ve met her. I’ve also told her I want to help her, but she’s not having it.’
‘Sorry, what does this have to do with Sveva?’
‘It does have something to do with her. No one can be saved if they don’t want to be. And Sveva doesn’t.’
Rossana snorts. ‘You spend too much time on your own,’ she observes after a while.
‘Why? What makes you think that?’
‘Because you’re a bit too direct.’
I laugh. Caterina used to say pretty much the same thing.
‘And here’s where my daughter works,’ I say, pointing to the door of Sveva’s office.
Rossana looks at the building and observes, ‘She must be an important lawyer to have an office bang in the middle of town. You should be proud of her.’
‘I am,’ I say, noticing a detail that captures my attention from the corner of my eye, ‘but not so much because of her work as because she earns respect. In some ways she resembles me.’
‘Then she’s got a horrible personality,’ Rossana jokes, but I’m not even listening – I’m still focused on the detail I’ve just noticed.
I wonder whether it’s time to turn back, but then decide not to ruin my companion’s evening and I change the subject.
‘So, why are you here with me?’ I ask.
‘In what sense?’
‘What do you really think of me? You’ve never told me.’
Rossana pauses for a moment before continuing. ‘I think you’re a beautiful person who’s doing everything he can to seem ugly.’
That’s why I go out with Rossana, why I take her to dinner and spend more time with her than I do with my grandson: she throws the truth in my face without too many qualms.
‘Well, let’s just say that that’s how people who are fond of me prefer to see things.’
‘And who says I’m fond of you?’ she asks ironically.
‘It’s obvious. Otherwise you wouldn’t have come to bed with me,’ I whisper. ‘My appearance isn’t exactly my strong point!’
She laughs.
I think that however hard I try, I still can’t get that detail that I noticed outside Sveva’s office out of my head.
‘Listen,’ I say at last, ‘I’ve got to go back and check something. Do you mind? It’ll only take five minutes.’
‘What is it?’ she says.
‘Just a stupid thing. But if I don’t go and see, it’s going to gnaw away at me.’
Rossana lets me drag her back without putting up too much resistance. When we’re back below my daughter’s office, the detail is still there.
‘You see that car?’ I turn to Rossana, pointing at an SUV in front of me.
‘Which one?’
‘The big dark one parked below Sveva’s office.’
‘Yes,’ she says hesitantly.
‘I may be mistaken, but it looks to me like the same car I spotted her in the other day, with a man.’
Rossana stares at me for a second or two, while I dedicate myself to the SUV without taking my eyes off it, like a cat, neck craned and ears pricked, barely moving. I’ve always been impressed by the way animals can concentrate for minutes at a time, waiting for a single movement, however small. While sometimes you can’t even attract the attention of a human being with a slap in the face.
‘And do you see the light on up there? That’s Sveva’s office.’
‘So?’ she asks, after what seems to me like an endless pause.
‘So that might be the same car and he might be up there with her.’
Rossana laughs. It doesn’t seem to me that there’s anything amusing about my hypothesis.
‘This is a part of you I didn’t know. You’re paranoid.’
Do you know how many other parts of me you haven’t known? Under the sheets, you only discover a man’s minor defects.
‘I prefer to say that I’m far-sighted. My daughter is having an extramarital affair!’
‘Because she was in a car with a guy?’
‘There’s also the fact that the phantom guy rested his hand on her thigh when he was saying goodbye to her. I don’t think that if you give a colleague or a friend a lift you get to touch their leg as a reward. Otherwise the whole city would be full of perverts offering women lifts.’
Rossana is still amused; my words seem to put her in a good mood. While I am extremely serious, and take my phone and call Sveva.
‘What on earth are you doing?’ Rossana asks.
I don’t reply, not least because the phone is already ringing.
‘Dad.’
‘Hi, Sveva. How are you?’
‘I’m well, why?’
She sounds breathless.
Rossana comes over to my ear to listen.
‘So, I wanted to know everything was all right.’
She says nothing for a moment, then replies uneasily, ‘Of course, everything’s fine.’
‘You sound strange, agitated.’
‘What do you mean? I’m not used to you calling and asking me questions all the time, the way you’ve been doing over the past few days.’
I’m actually behaving like a demented old fool who no longer has a life of his own and is trying to nose his way into his children’s lives.
‘I just wanted to say hello. Where are you? At home?’
‘What? Yes, I’m at home.’
Her voice betrays her insecurity. I know my daughter. I know that she’s not easily overwhelmed, but when it happens she doesn’t know how to defend herself and surrenders to the enemy, like a vulnerable puppy with the leader of the pack. But I’m not going to have pity on her – I want to go all the way.
‘Pass me Federico. I’d like to say hello.’
Silence again.
‘Dad, this isn’t the time. He has to have a bath and go to bed. I’ll call you tomorrow, sorry.’ And she hangs up before I can say anything.
I turn towards Rossana, who is looking at me curiously.
‘My daughter is feeding me a pack of lies,’ I observe, and slip the phone back into my jacket.
‘That’s normal. All children do that,’ she says, trying to soften the blow.
‘I’m sure she’s up there with her lover.’
‘And what if she is? What can you do about it? It’s her life.’
It’s exactly what I would have said to a friend – to Marino, for example, who has the terrible habit of poking his nose into his daughter’s life. Just as I’m doing now.
The light in the room goes out.
I grab Rossana’s arm, while she g
oes on dispensing advice that I’m not listening to, and drag her behind a van. She looks at me as if I’m crazy. I’m not crazy, dear Rossana. I’m a quick-change artist, I told you. Now I’m playing the part of detective.
‘Cesare, I don’t want to go along with this. Spying on your daughter just seems out of order!’
If only you knew how many other things I do every day that are out of order, my dear Rossana. Even continuing to leave money on your bedside table seems a bit out of order to both of us, and yet you don’t have anything to say about that.
‘One moment, and then we’ll be on our way,’ I reply, careful not to take my eyes off the entrance to the building.
‘It’s getting late…’ she tries to counter.
The electric hum of the door precedes Sveva’s exit. I open my eyes wide. By her side there is a distinguished man in his sixties, with white hair and a belly pressing against his shirt. They look cautiously around before climbing into the SUV, which opens with a beep.
I hear Rossana beside me, whispering, ‘You were right…’
The car reverses and sets off.
All of a sudden I couldn’t care less about dinner, about Rossana and the fact that I’m not going to make love ever again in my lifetime. I grip my companion by the arm and run to the taxi rank at the end of the street.
‘What are you doing?’ she wails, clutching her handbag.
‘We’ve got to follow them!’
‘You’re crazy!’
Yes, I’m crazy, but you should have noticed that before. You’ve had two years to notice, my girl, and now it’s too late, and if you don’t shift your arse we’ll lose the SUV and we can kiss the pursuit goodbye.
I stop a taxi and tell the driver to tail the car. We get in.
I’m breathless, and can barely speak, but I’ve still got to apologize to Rossana: ‘I’m sorry for ruining your evening, but I need to know what my daughter’s up to.’
She doesn’t reply, so I turn to the taxi driver to ask him to go faster. The man mutters something and accelerates very slightly. Our car chase clearly doesn’t mean anything to him. At a red light he stops a moment before the SUV gets away.
I lean forward and shout, ‘What are you doing? Go on, keep going!’
He turns round and shoots back rudely: ‘Listen, I don’t care what you’re up to, but I’m not getting a fine!’
The Temptation to Be Happy Page 9