When the Night

by Cristina Comencini

  Bianca cleans her daughter’s face.

  “Go play in your room; you’re a nuisance downstairs in the hall. Take care of the baby, now.”

  “Can we go outside?”

  “Can’t you see it’s raining?”

  “When will Christian and Gabriel be back?”

  “In a little while; there was a lot of shopping to do. Go play with Marco.”

  Silvia takes his hand and sighs.

  I reassure her: “Don’t worry, I’ll be there in fifteen minutes so he can take his nap.”

  They leave the room, hand in hand. Maybe I should have another child.

  “It must be easier to raise children when you have more than one.”

  “Yes, but it was hard at first. The two boys were born only eleven months apart.”

  “Eleven months! That must have been terrible.”

  “Later it was easier. They played together, and when Silvia was born, they helped me with her.”

  “You’ve done a good job.”

  “Marrying Albert or raising my children?”

  “Everything: raising your children, managing the lodge.”

  “There are days when I can’t stand being up here, not having a moment to myself. Sometimes, I’d like to just get up and go.”

  We stare at her.

  “I know everyone asks, Will Bianca be able to stand it? But if I left, I wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about them. Albert even more than the children. I think for the first ten years he almost expected me to leave; he practically willed it to happen. ‘It will happen to me, just like it happened to my father.’ Now I think he’s resigned to the idea that I’m going to stay.”

  “It happened to Manfred.”

  “Yes, he managed to push Luna away. Since she left with the kids, he seems calmer. He used to be nervous all the time, and he had attacks of rage. He never slept, and he would take it out on her and the children. He couldn’t get used to it.”

  “Attacks of rage?”

  Bianca goes quiet. She feels guilty for having spoken, and thinks of her husband.

  “He never hurt them, of course, but once in a while he would spend the night at Stefan’s, to cool down. He should never have married, that’s the truth.”

  “Were you and Luna friends?”

  “Yes. I miss her.”

  IT’S MORE HUMID in the city than in the mountains. It gets into your bones. The cars spray water when you cross the street and people’s umbrellas drip on your shoulders. By seven thirty, my father has already eaten and washed the dishes. That way he won’t ask me to stay for dinner; he’s a terrible cook. I’ll have a beer with him, and then I’ll go out for a pizza. Just to see how he’s doing. I haven’t seen him in two weeks. He calls me on Sundays.

  “How are you?”

  “Fine. How are you?”

  “Fine.”

  When I visit I don’t stay long. We never know what to say; sometimes we talk about the lodge. He’s afraid to ask Albert.

  “If I ask he gets offended. He thinks I’m keeping tabs.”

  I tell him about the tourists, the house, Albert’s three kids. He wants to hear about my children as well. Maybe this time his girlfriend will be there. Maybe he’ll marry her. He’s free to do it. After all, he already divided everything between his sons, he has nothing left. He’s a clever one. I ring the bell. The building where he lives is modern, depressing; the windows have no balconies.

  “Who is it?”

  “Manfred.”

  The stairwells are dark. I never take the elevator. Here he is, at the door. Already in his pajamas at eight o’clock.

  “Hello, Manfred.”

  “Hello, Dad.”

  “Why don’t you call before coming over?”

  He closes the door. Jackets and hats hang on hooks by the door, as they did up at the lodge. They were the first thing we saw when we came home from school.

  “Do you have visitors?” I look toward the living room.

  “Yes, of course.”

  The television is on.

  “I’ll turn it off, don’t worry.”

  I sit on the couch; he sits on the armchair. He shuts off the game show with the remote control.

  “Do they win money?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Do you enjoy it?”

  “What?”

  “Television.”

  “Not really. It keeps me company.”

  “Could I have a beer?”

  “Yes, just a minute.”

  The furniture is all new. The carpet was a gift from us: Luna and me. We left the kids with Bianca and spent two days in the city on our own.

  LUNA WAS EXCITED, she wanted to walk around the city. Suddenly she hugged me. Her eyes were shining. She wanted to buy clothes and toys. I waited outside. I couldn’t tell her how I felt. I didn’t even understand it myself. Rage toward her happiness. She came out of a shop and gave me a kiss.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  My silence drove her crazy.

  She stopped in front of a shop window with a display of carpets.

  “Let’s buy one for your father. His house is so cold.”

  “He doesn’t want a carpet.”

  “He’s different now that he lives in the city.”

  “Different how?”

  She smiled at me; she was even more beautiful now than when we had met, more mature, maternal, secure. Why did I feel such hatred?

  “He’s sweeter. At Christmas he even gave me a kiss.”

  THIS NEW MAN comes into the room with a beer.

  “Here you go, it’s nice and cold.”

  “Thank you.”

  He sits down and looks at me.

  “It’s raining. Let’s hope August is sunny. Otherwise there won’t be many tourists. How is Stefan doing?”

  “He wants to start selling sports gear, not only rent it. He went to talk to a supplier.”

  “That takes money. And then if it doesn’t sell, you’re stuck with the stuff. But it’s his business now. How about Albert?” He still cares about the lodge.

  “They have a good amount of guests for July. The lodge is almost full.”

  She’s there now. I kept the bloody tablecloth. This time I’ll get her.

  “How about the kids? And Bianca?”

  “Fine. I don’t talk to them much.”

  “And your kids?”

  “I talked to them yesterday.”

  “You should keep them with you longer, especially Simon. The little one is still young, and Luna is good with them.”

  I feel the rage flame up like a fire under my skin. “She’s good with them?”

  “She took them, she was wrong to do that, but she was a good wife, Manfred.”

  “Like yours.”

  In all those years, I had never mentioned it. Not even as a kid or as a young man. I never asked him about his wife, or wanted to see her shadow in his eyes. I was still satisfied with the story about the Snow Queen that he used to tell us in the snowcat.

  He smiles. “I’m glad to hear you talk about it. You’ve never done it before. I’ve talked about it with your brothers.”

  “I’m happy for you, but I don’t care.”

  He sits quietly, staring at his hands. I take one last sip of beer. I’m about to leave.

  “You were the most attached to her. She protected you, and it made me furious. You had that problem with your eyes, and she didn’t want you to suffer.”

  I get up and leave the beer glass on the table. “I’m going. It’s late. Albert wants to take you to the town fair. Do you want to come?”

  “Are you going?”

  “I’m taking some tourists.”

  “We’ll see.”

  “Good night.”

  “Good night, Manfred.”

  I RUN MY finger over the drawing on the wall: a small figure wearing glasses. It’s hidden between two flowers in the wallpaper; you can only see it if you’re lying in bed close to the wall.
One eye, the left one, rolls inward and he has three hairs standing up on top of his head. The ski poles are like two little wings on either side of his body, and he is wearing short skis. His mouth is open, a perfect little black circle. Is he screaming? I can’t tell.

  One of the three boys drew the figure on the wall, one night when he couldn’t sleep or some afternoon instead of doing his homework.

  The mouth is open but there’s no sound, like Marco when he suddenly stops crying. The sound stops, and then the light. I put my head under the pillow. The drawing reminds me of Marco when he’s angry. One day I’ll think about it, but not tonight. Tonight I’m happy. Another night. Why does this happen to me and not to other women? What do they have that I don’t have? Patience, love, stoicism?

  He falls asleep quickly, a minute after I put him to bed. He doesn’t need a song or a story. He’s happy here, maybe because everything is new and we’re not alone. He gazes at Christian and Gabriel as if they were two heroes, and follows them around everywhere. Gabriel, the younger one, picks him up in his arms and carries him on his bicycle.

  “Hold on tight!”

  Marco puts his arms around Gabriel’s waist, his face pressed against the boy’s back. He laughs when Gabriel goes fast. I’m afraid he’ll fall but I don’t intervene because he’s having too much fun. Gabriel likes to talk; he’s like Bianca.

  “I want a little brother like him, not a girl like Silvia.”

  Silvia shrugs, without looking at him.

  “It’s nice to have a sister. When you’re older, she’ll help you.”

  He doesn’t believe me.

  “She plays with dolls. She likes to play with Clara, but Clara went away.”

  “Is Clara Manfred’s daughter?”

  “Yes. She lives in the city, but a different one from where my grandfather lives.”

  Silvia interrupts. “She’s coming soon.”

  “Are you happy?”

  She nods. Then she reflects: “But Manfred doesn’t bring her here.”

  “Why not?”

  Gabriel answers first: “Yes he does, but just not every day or else she’ll get spoiled.”

  I laugh. “Who spoils her?”

  Silvia smiles. “Mamma.”

  Gabriel scolds her. “What are you saying?”

  Silvia speaks quickly, so she won’t be interrupted. “She gives her whatever she wants, cake and candy, and she lets her play with grown-up clothes. At night we talk in bed. But then when she goes home she whines and Manfred gets mad.”

  Gabriel laughs. “They put on my mother’s shoes.”

  “Shut up, idiot!”

  Marco watches them argue and laughs.

  The older brother, Christian, is more like his father: he doesn’t talk much.

  This morning I ran into Albert. He smiled at me. “How is it going?”

  “Very well.”

  “How is the boy?”

  “He loves playing with your kids.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.”

  He doesn’t speak any more than Manfred does, but the tone is friendlier. I can imagine the little girl who wanted to bring him a cake, and his reaction: I don’t want your stupid cake.

  TONIGHT BIANCA SAT next to me. The children were running around frantically before going to bed. She was drinking a tisane.

  “Are you tired?”

  “We’re almost full, and more people are coming for the fair.”

  “Do you need the room?”

  “No, we’re fine. Tomorrow another girl will come and help in the kitchen.”

  “I’m happy to help.”

  “Don’t you worry! You’re watching the little ones, and that’s already a big help.”

  “It’s easier when there are two. At home, Marco always wants to be near me or else he whines.”

  “You should have another one.”

  “I don’t know if I can take it. It was hard at the beginning.”

  Bianca is always busy. She doesn’t have time for sustained or precise thoughts. But now she pauses and looks at me. “You’re right. No one knows how hard it is with a newborn. Not even when you’ve seen your mother go through it. You still can’t imagine it.”

  If I lived here, Bianca and I would be friends.

  “That’s how it was for me. Already in the clinic, after he was born, I thought to myself, I’ll never manage. I don’t have milk, he’s so small, and he depends on me completely. Then he got bigger, and the days seemed endless. I wanted to go out, go to work. I’m almost embarrassed to say it.”

  I stop after this outpouring of words, thoughts I had never before expressed. Now she thinks ill of me. I need to learn to be quiet.

  “Please forgive me. I’ve never said this to anyone.”

  She sighs. “Now I’ll tell you something I’ve never told anyone. If it weren’t for Albert, I wouldn’t have had three.”

  “Did he help?”

  “He didn’t have time to help. There’s too much to do around here.” Now there are red spots on her neck. “I’m embarrassed to say it.”

  “What better person to tell something you’re ashamed of? I’m ashamed of so many things.”

  She takes a sip of her tisane. “One night I was in my room, breast-feeding. Albert came upstairs. The baby was pulling at the breast. My mind was elsewhere. The world could have come crashing down and I wouldn’t have noticed. For days, my breasts had been sore; the baby couldn’t finish all the milk. Albert stood in the doorway and watched for a while, in silence. Then he came over, picked up the baby, and put him in the crib. I looked at him without understanding what he was doing. He sat on the bed next to me. I thought, This is the boy who made me cry, who refused to talk to me. He touched my bare breast and said, ‘Does it hurt?’

  “ ‘Yes, there’s too much milk,’ I said. ‘If I can’t get rid of the milk it will get infected.’ He leaned over, put the nipple in his mouth, and sucked until there was no milk left. I’ve never felt anything like it. Even now, just remembering it, I get goose bumps; I still can’t believe it happened. Christian was two months old, and that night I got pregnant with Gabriel.”

  LYING IN BED, I stare at the boy with the lazy eye, skiing among the flowers. Her husband sucked at her breast. I think of Manfred and the brutal way in which he tried to force me to confess. He knows the truth; he’s the only one. I close my eyes. I see him in the doorway to his childhood room; he comes in, sits on the bed and undresses me, without a word. He touches my breast, puts the nipple in his mouth, and then his wet mouth penetrates mine. I remove his plaid shirt; he takes off his trousers and underwear. How often he has undressed in this room, in the cold of night or dawn.

  “Time to get up, boys.”

  I whisper into the darkness, “Come back to bed, Manfred. It’s nice and warm here next to me.”

  He surrenders and crawls under the covers. He’s so hard, and I’m all wet; he penetrates me slowly. Then we begin to fight the same battle.

  THE PIZZA WAS awful; I had to drink a lot of beer to wash it down. Stefan said the place was on the second street to the right. She’s expecting me. Better, that way I don’t have to talk. Her name is on the buzzer: Zara. She’s Romanian. Not too young, not too old, Stefan said. A happy voice answers.

  “Yes?”

  “Stefan sent me.”

  “Third floor.”

  I won’t be able to sleep tonight unless I have sex. She stands in the doorway, wearing a pink sweat suit. Not too skinny. Stefan knows what I like. Blond, youthful face, with a few wrinkles around the eyes.

  “Come in.”

  Better not to look at the room, just a few details. The pillow is clean.

  “Do you want a drink? No? OK.”

  She tries to remove my shirt, but I push her hand away. She undresses. Her underwear is pink, like her sweat suit. Not bad. I’m easily distracted. Her pubic hair is dark; she dyes her hair. She has large white breasts. She lies down on the bed, and her breasts hang on either side of her chest; she opens her legs
. I focus on her belly.

  After having two children, Luna’s belly was no longer flat, but I still liked it. I liked to stick my tongue in her belly button, and from there I would move on to her breasts and mouth.

  I undress and climb on top of her, without touching her. She wants to guide me, but I push her hand away. I put it in.

  I close my eyes. Luna, come. But the dark pubis I am dreaming of is not hers. Childlike breasts, dark, frightened eyes. Thin legs wrapped around my back.

  Press harder, you idiot, press harder. This is what you’re good for, Marina.

  12

  CHILDREN’S HAIR GROWS quickly. Marco’s dark hair covers the scab on his head. Today I’ll wash it. It feels strange when I run my hand over the scab, like when he was small and his cranium was still soft. There’s no bathroom in the room, so Bianca has offered me theirs.

  Silvia lent him her bath toys; she pulls up her sleeves and rubs soap over him. I’d like to wash my hair as well. I don’t have much makeup with me, just lipstick and eyeliner. No mascara, no blush. Last night I did the laundry; I washed my shirt, his T-shirt, my only pair of underwear. I left them to dry on the sink. I’m like Manfred now: one shirt, one pair of pants, always the same. He’s coming up for the feast, Bianca said.

  “HE’S BRINGING FOUR hikers. They’ll have dinner at the lodge and then Albert will take them down in the jeep.”

  “Can we go down with them?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to stay a few more days?”

  “I don’t have anything with me. I left a mess down there, and I can’t afford to pay for both.”

  She had hoped I would stay. She wants a friend, but I want to go back down to the town, even if it means I’ll be alone. With Manfred downstairs. His brother has spoken with him, so I don’t think he’ll torment me anymore.

  He saved us. What would I have done without him? His tone is harsh, but that’s just how he is. I think about the power of his legs when he goes up the mountain, of his hands picking up Marco and putting him in the carrier. He knows my secret but he can’t tell anyone; no one believes him. The rain is gone; today the sun is out. Marco is playing in the bath with Silvia. I’m a good mother; Bianca told me so.

  “The first one is hard, but the second is easier.”