Fists

by Pietro Grossi

  It was frustrating. However hard Nico thought about it, he couldn’t remember when and where this thing about lies had started. All he knew was that overnight his witty, understanding, tolerant girlfriend had turned suspicious and started questioning everything he told her. She had convinced herself that he was lying to her. At first, Nico had thought it was a phase, maybe she was a little stressed out and just needed to let off steam. But then it had continued, so Nico had tried telling some real lies. It had worked.

  Today, though, he’d thought he’d be honest.

  “It’s that strange, brilliant friend of mine who’s been a painter, among other things.”

  “Oh, the one whose father died. The one who’s done all kinds of things?”

  “Yes, that’s right, that one. You see, you do remember.”

  “I’ve never been convinced about this friend of yours.”

  Nico lowered the receiver and held it against his thigh, glancing to one side in exasperation, as if someone was in the room with him. There were times when he found her suspicions, her incredulity, quite endearing, but this wasn’t one of them. Right now, all he really wanted to do was have a little laugh with his girlfriend about Piero who had started acting like a monkey, then hang up and run and catch the first train to his home town.

  “Listen, Giada, let’s not fuck around,” Nico said. “What’s eating you? To be honest, I’m not in the mood for games right now. Why do you have to come out with this crap?”

  “Because every time we’re supposed to be doing something nice to pick up the pieces of our relationship, something comes up that you can’t postpone.”

  “I didn’t know we were trying to pick up the pieces of our relationship.”

  “Then what were we going down to Naples for, can you tell me that?”

  “Maybe to have a weekend by the sea before it gets cold?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Oh. Obviously I missed something.”

  “I’m sorry, but hadn’t you noticed I’ve been particularly affectionate to you in the last few days?”

  “Actually, I had, and I wonder what happened to the woman who brought me coffee in bed this morning. Could you put her on? She must be there somewhere.”

  “Don’t be a bastard, Nico.”

  “Giada, I don’t follow you. I really don’t see the connection between this fit of temper of yours, Naples, your affectionate behaviour and the fact that we’re supposed to be mending our relationship.”

  “Nico, why do you think I’ve been so nice to you lately?”

  “I don’t suppose a simple answer like ‘just to be nice’ will do, will it?”

  “No, not really.”

  Nico screwed up his eyes. He felt tired. He would have liked to just drop the receiver on the armchair and go out without even closing the door. “So tell me, because I can’t figure it out,” he said with a sigh.

  “I’ve been especially nice to give a boost to our relationship.”

  Nico again tried to find a connection between the alleged crisis in their relationship, Giada’s affectionate behaviour, and their weekend in Naples, and for a moment he felt as though he was part of a show he hadn’t even known existed. He waited a few seconds, moving his fingers over his closed eyelids.

  “I’m sorry, Giada,” he said at last. “Isn’t there anything you women can do without all this mental masturbation?”

  “Go to hell, Nico.”

  For the second time in barely a handful of minutes, Nico heard the phone being slammed down on him. This time, though, he felt a hint of childish satisfaction.

  Nico put the receiver back calmly, then wondered again what he should think about this story of Piero, whether he should feel annoyed because it had already caused problems for him with both his agent and his girlfriend, or whether he should thank him for having brightened up his day from one moment to the next. He also wondered why Giada had got so hot under the collar about this story of the monkey and their weekend in Naples. He wondered if it might be the result of some hormonal upheaval, some typical women’s problem, like premature menopause.

  He turned, picked up his address book from the little table, leafed through it and, with the receiver wedged between his head and his shoulder, dialled another number.

  “Good afternoon, surgery.”

  “Could I speak to the doctor, please?”

  “Who shall I say is calling?”

  “Her ex.”

  “One moment, please.”

  For some reason, Nico felt pleased to have introduced himself as the doctor’s ex. After a few moments, someone came on the line.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Chiara, it’s Nico.”

  “Hi, Nico. Do you usually call people at work and introduce yourself as their ex?”

  “No, it’s the first time I’ve ever done that, but I like it. I think I’ll do it more often.”

  “There’s an idea. How are you?”

  “Not bad. Listen, Chiara, is it possible for a thirty-year-old woman to have an attack of premature menopause?”

  “Nico, to begin with, it’s not possible to have an attack of menopause, plus I think it’s rather unlikely at the age of thirty. Why?”

  “Just wondering. And listen, that time we went to Paris together, did we go because we needed to mend our relationship?”

  “No, we went because we wanted to visit Euro Disney.”

  “Was that all?”

  “Yes, that was all.”

  That was all. Nico seemed to hear a Rossini aria playing around those words. There still existed women who could say them.

  “Chiara,” Nico said, “how come you and I split up?”

  “You met someone else, Nico.”

  “Oh, so I did. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t worry. I met someone else, too.”

  “Oh, good. And how was it?”

  “Fine. Actually, we got married. We have two children now.”

  For a moment, Nico envied this man he didn’t know, and saw himself happily married with a family. Then part of him wondered if that was why he had gone and found someone else—though he couldn’t remember who.

  “Really?” Nico said. “That’s wonderful. I don’t suppose there’s any chance of us getting back together, then?”

  Chiara laughed. “No, I don’t think so. But if you want to come over for dinner, I’d like that.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  Silence.

  “Girlfriend problems?”

  “Yes, but that’s not the only thing. A friend of mine has started acting like a monkey.”

  “What?”

  “A friend of mine has started acting like a monkey.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “I mean he’s started grunting and acting like a monkey. Sounds to me as if he’s gone mad.”

  “Shit,” Chiara said. Nico heard her apologising to someone and asking them to wait another moment. Then she said, “I’m so sorry, Nico.”

  “Yes, I know, it’s really weird. But who knows, maybe it’s better this way.”

  “Yes, maybe,” Chiara said, sounding unconvinced.

  Nico and Chiara were silent for a moment.

  “Nico, I’m sorry, but I really have to go. I’m in the middle of a consultation.”

  “You mean, while we’ve been talking, you’ve been staring at a patient’s pussy?”

  “Yes.”

  “What a great job you have. Is it a nice one?”

  “Bye, Nico.”

  “Bye, Chiara, take care.”

  As he put down the receiver, Nico heard Chiara laugh. It was always a nice feeling, making a woman laugh.

  NICO SPENT MUCH OF THE TRAIN JOURNEY in the bar with a beer in front of him, staring out at the trees and hills and tunnels and roads parading past him. He was trying not to think of anything—not Angela, not the phone call he was expecting from Star Films, not how he would pay the bills and the rent if it didn’t come, not Giada, not the weekend in Na
ples, not the coffee she’d brought him in bed that morning, not that final “Go to hell”. Above all, he was trying not to think about Piero. He didn’t want to spoil that tangible, if weird, story—assuming it was all true—with some pointless fake image from his own imagination.

  When he reached his destination, he got in the first taxi he found and gave the driver the address of Piero’s house.

  “Is that your house?” the driver asked as they set off.

  Nico took his eyes off the stream of people outside and looked at the driver in the rear-view mirror. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

  “The address. Is that your house?”

  “No,” Nico said. “A friend of mine’s.”

  The driver nodded and glanced at Nico in the mirror. “A pity,” he said. “It’s a good address.”

  Nico gave a little laugh. “Yes, a pity,” he said. When you really got down to it, seeing how things had turned out, he wasn’t convinced it was such a pity, but there you were.

  “He’s started acting like a monkey,” Nico said.

  The driver looked at him again in the rear-view mirror. He had deep-set black eyes surrounded by dozens of lines. He must have laughed a lot in his life.

  “What do you mean?” the driver asked.

  “My friend. This summer he started acting like a monkey, and hasn’t stopped. I’m going to visit him, to see if he’s getting back to normal.”

  The driver looked at him again in the rear-view mirror. “They think of all sorts these days,” he said after a few seconds.

  Nico threw him a glance and wondered what he meant. He was almost on the verge of asking him, but then he told himself that some things are better left as they are, and anyway he didn’t much feel like talking. He looked out of the window again. The taxi had already left the centre of town and was starting to drive up into the hills, and the faded light of late afternoon gave everything the intense, vaguely melancholy air of a grand finale.

  When they reached the gate, the taxi driver asked Nico if he wanted to be taken all the way up to the house. No, there was no need, Nico said, and he paid, said thank you and got out. He stood there for a few moments watching the taxi turn and head back down along the tarred road lined by the stone walls of the gardens of villas.

  Nico turned to face the huge gate of Piero’s villa. He remembered, the first time he had gone through it, that wonderful feeling of entering an enchanted place, a place of legend.

  He walked up to the gate and pressed the small brass button next to the old nameplate without a name. After at least a minute, the entryphone crackled. “Yes?”

  Nico recognised Maria’s voice.

  “It’s Nico,” he said, lowering his head towards the entryphone. The childlike euphoria he had felt earlier seemed to have gradually been dissipating, and to have vanished completely the moment his index finger had touched the brass button.

  “Oh, great!” the entryphone crackled. “Come in!”

  The huge gate trembled and started to open. There’s always something magical, something grand, Nico thought, in seeing a big gate open onto a private drive.

  When Nico reached the top of the drive, Maria was already waiting for him in front of the big dark wooden door. It had been many months, possibly years, since he had last set foot in the villa, and he wondered how it was possible for it to look bigger each time he saw it.

  Maria was even more beautiful than Nico remembered. She was wearing a pair of dark linen trousers which would have looked overly large on anyone else, her feet were bare, and above the trousers she had on a simple white blouse knotted at the waist, with the sleeves rolled up. The top buttons of her blouse were undone, giving a glimpse of the curve of her breasts, and her dark hair was pulled back and loosely held.

  “Hi,” Nico said, pausing at the foot of the stone steps that led up to the front door.

  “Hi,” Maria replied, with what seemed to him for a moment like a knowing air.

  Nico wondered how it was that some people managed to appear elegant and charming even when they should have looked scruffy. He wondered if there were special courses for it, or if it was simply something in the genes.

  Nico climbed the steps and let Maria embrace him. He realised it could well be the first time this had happened. In the more than twenty years that he’d been friends with Piero, it was the first time his sister had come within a metre of him.

  “You’re looking good,” Maria said, freeing herself from the embrace and looking Nico up and down.

  “You, too,” Nico said, smiling. Maria smiled at him again with that odd hint of mischief and turned to go inside the house.

  “Thanks for coming so quickly. We’re really at the end of our tether. Who knows, maybe with you here …”

  “Don’t mention it,” Nico said. He would have liked to say something more intelligent, but he couldn’t think of anything at the moment. All he wanted was to be taken to Piero and finally see how things really were. “Where is he?” he asked.

  Maria turned and looked at him for a moment with an embarrassed smile. “He’s upstairs,” she said. “But mother said she’d like to see you first.”

  Nico had no wish to see Piero’s mother, especially now. “Of course,” he said. “Me, too.”

  Maria again gave an embarrassed smile and suddenly turned and tiptoed to the sitting room.

  Through the big French window, the reddish light of sunset flooded the huge frescoed room, full of colourful abstract paintings and leather sofas. The whole room had a thick orange-yellow colour which did not match the furnishings and gave it an awkward air. And there in the middle, sitting up against the armrest of one of the big sofas, was the tiny figure of Piero’s mother, busy embroidering something.

  “Mother,” Maria said, without expression.

  The little woman raised her head and looked at her daughter gravely, then shifted her eyes to Nico. After a couple of seconds, her face broadened in a big smile and she stood up. “Nicola, darling!” she cried, opening her arms wide. “What an absolute pleasure it is to have you here! Let me give you a kiss.”

  Nico smiled as best he could and walked towards her. “Hello, Miriam,” he said when they were close.

  Piero’s mother put her hands out and drew Nico’s face to her to kiss him. “What a lovely surprise!” she said, boring into his brain with eyes that were too wide. “Piero will be happy.”

  “I just happened to be in the area,” Nico said.

  Piero’s mother nodded, again smiling broadly. “You did absolutely the right thing! Now tell me about yourself. Are you still working in the theatre?”

  Nico had never worked in the theatre.

  “Yes, of course,” he said. “It’s tough work, but someone has to do it.” He had always dreamt of saying that sentence, but had never found the opportunity before. Now, though, seemed the perfect time.

  Piero’s mother burst out laughing and gave him a pinch on the cheek, then turned to Maria. “How sweet he is!” she said. Then she turned back to Nico. “And you’re still a …”

  “Lighting technician,” Nico said.

  “How nice! Did you hear that, Maria?”

  Nico nodded, pursing his lips. Maria looked at him and at her mother and frowned.

  Piero’s mother kept looking at Nico and smiling, Nico kept nodding, and Maria looked from one to the other a couple of times. Then Nico looked around the room.

  “Everything’s still the same, I see,” he said.

  “Yes!” Piero’s mother cried, her voice pitched too high. “Just like the old days!”

  Maria put a hand on her mother’s arm.

  “Such good times,” Miriam said, her voice trailing away.

  Nico wondered which time Miriam was thinking of most: the time she had thrown him out of the house, beating him with a broomstick as she did so, or the time she had categorically forbidden Piero to see him.

  “Yes,” Nico said. “Good times.”

  There were a few more seconds of silence.r />
  “Why don’t I go and see Piero?” Nico said, turning to Maria. “What do you think?”

  “But of course!” Miriam said. “Maria, will you go with him?” She turned back to Nico. “He’ll be so pleased to see you.”

  For a moment, it occurred to Nico that this was all a joke, and, as Maria walked ahead of him out of the room, he felt the impulse to look round for hidden cameras and fake mirrors.

  Maria led him back into the wide entrance hall and up the dark wooden staircase. After a few steps, she turned her head slightly to one side. “You know,” she said, “she still doesn’t know how to handle it.”

  Nico looked at her without a word for a couple of seconds, and suddenly wondered if inside that wonderful creature there was actually a person. “Obviously,” he said.

  At the top of the stairs, Maria turned right into a long corridor and stopped outside Piero’s room, the same room where Nico had slept dozens of times.

  “Here we are,” Maria said, and she placed her hand on the dark steel handle. For a moment Nico looked at Maria with a touch of embarrassed anxiety, and she gave a slight smile in response. Then Maria knocked lightly on the door and started to open it.

  “Piero?” she said softly. “You have a visitor. Come and see. Nico’s here.”

  The door, which still had a few Kiss and Depeche Mode stickers on it, opened to reveal the cream-coloured rugs, the single bed, the dark shelves full of discs, books and trinkets and the big window at the far end leading to the little terrace.

  And there, behind the bed, in front of the window, backlit by the rays of the sunset, was a crouching figure, fiddling with something on the floor. Piero turned to look at Nico and Maria. He stuck his lips out in an O, grunted two or three times, his head swaying, screwed up his face and slapped his forehead twice. Then he looked down at the floor again and his body rocked slightly from side to side.

  Nico stood there for a few seconds, looking gravely from a distance at what had once been his friend. “Hi,” he said at last.

  Maria looked at Nico, her eyes on the verge of tears, as he stepped forwards into the room.

  Nico walked past the bed and approached Piero. He was naked, crouching beside the bed, playing with a little pile of pistachio shells, just like a monkey. Piero looked up, and for a moment his mouth stretched, showing all his teeth, then he immediately looked down again, grunted and stuck two fingers in the little pile of shells.