“And she was barefoot?”
“Exactly.”
“A girl crosses town, from her house to the church. That’s at least a five-minute walk. In a nightie. Barefoot. And nobody speaks to her?”
“Well.”
“You said something else.”
“What?”
“The market stalls.”
“So?”
“The market stalls were out.”
“Yes, I’m sure about that.”
“So, it was market day,” she went on.
“If there were market stalls.”
“Which means it was Thursday.”
“As per usual.”
“What does that make you think?”
“What does it make me think?”
“The next day.”
“Nives, you’re doing my head in.”
“When did they use to meet at the playing fields?”
“Wednesdays, late.”
“And when did she jump from the belfry?”
Loriano was forced to admit it. “Thursday morning.”
“A few hours later. Could that be chance?”
“Of course.”
“There’s more.”
“You’re worse than Lieutenant Columbo.”
“There was no scream. That’s what you said, right?”
Bottai caught a glimpse of himself sitting at the outdoor table, lost in a conversation with poor old Tancredi. That old friend of his always managed to coax a laugh out of him, whatever he said . . . the dull thud. “I could swear it in front of a judge. Not a sound.”
“That’s not normal. Jumping from a height like that, you’d let out a scream instinctively.”
“Fear could have taken her breath away. Or maybe she was simply not herself.”
“I’m just saying this, okay? Are we really sure that Rosa died and went to heaven when she landed on the cobblestones? Or was she put to sleep before? She was a wisp of a girl remember.”
“Yes, but not so small you could put her in your pocket.”
“What’s true is that the business with the nightie has put a bee in my bonnet.”
Bottai felt a little foolish, but he gave the idea some consideration nevertheless. “Kidnapping her in her sleep, giving her a knock on the head, and carrying her up to the top of the bell tower sounds a bit far-fetched when you think that she used to choose the empty alleys to scurry around in because they were steeper and full of steps. She managed to creep into the church without being seen because everyone was busy buying eggplant. She reached the top of the tower and killed herself. End of story.”
“Which alleys are you talking about?”
“How do I know? The back lanes that make old people’s hips ache. They’re always deserted. Only stray cats go up and down them. I was just thinking out loud, Nives. Stop weighing every word I say.”
“It would work, though.”
“Pity it’s just the idle chat of two insomniacs who have given up on the idea of going to sleep.”
“It would work though.”
“You’re saying I’m right, then?”
“Not at all. Bardo grabs her, takes the deserted back lanes, and throws her off the tower.”
Loriano broke away from the yarn with a sigh. “I’m tired now.” His brain had truly turned to pulp.
“You’re as cold as a stone. Doesn’t anything shock you?”
He shrugged. “What are we supposed to do? Go and knock on the door of the police station and feed them all this swill? What for? To lock up old Bardo who can hardly remember what he ate for breakfast? They’ll end up leading us away in a straitjacket.”
“She’s asking us to do it.”
“Who?”
“Rosaltea. She’s yelling her curse at us, so that the truth will come out, and she can finally rest in peace.”
“Nives, solitude is not doing you any favors.”
“I’ve never been more awake than now.”
Loriano glanced at the clock. “Same here.”
“Look at all it took to get to this point: Anteo dead and buried, a farm animal for company.”
“I’d forgotten about the hen.” Bottai glimpsed an opportunity to break off the conversation. “Is she still asleep?”
Nives looked into the living room. “Mother Mary, the shivers!”
“What’s she doing?”
“She’s still there on the armchair, as still as a statue. Do you think she’s possessed? Rosaltea must have turned her to stone to make me pick up the phone and call you—”
“Who’s ever heard of a ghost possessing a hen? Anyway, she can’t talk.”
“They are pure creatures. Getting under the skin of a human is much more complicated.”
“Now you’re a witch, too.”
“Nonna Landa used to know stuff. Farm workers would bring her half a shoulder of ham in exchange for predicting the movements of the earth with her pendulum. I know stuff, too.”
“Spirits inhabiting hens.”
“They’re in the cats, too.”
“And the pheasants?”
“Don’t be a fool. One time they brought in a girl who was as pretty as a picture. She’d woken up to find a viper under her pillow. Her hair started to fall out that same day. Her name was Zaira.”
“A terrible shock can do worse.”
“No, it was the evil eye. Nonna Landa mixed up one of her potions, and then she gave the girl a duck’s neck.”
“A duck’s neck?”
“To keep on the bedsprings under her mattress.”
“Do me a favor—”
“She had to keep it there from new moon to new moon.”
“Imagine the stench.”
“Actually, Zaira stopped losing patches of hair. My dear old fox, these things happen.”
Loriano felt an unexpected stab of tenderness. It was the first time that his old friend had confided in him this way, revealing the ignorance of her peasant roots. Ultimately, it cost him nothing to let her believe in fortune-tellers and potions, the dead speaking through owls, or magic stones. May everyone choose their own solitude. Finding an explanation, even if it is crazy, keeps you company. Bottai steered the conversation back. “Give her a blow.”
“Sorry?”
“Pick the creature up and blow on her beak.”
“How do you mean?”
“I saw it in a magic show once. There was a dove. The magician hypnotized it and then blew on its beak to wake it up again.”
Nives thought for a moment. “No, the idea gives me the creeps.”
“But you tuck her in like a baby! From what you said, I wouldn’t be surprised if you wiped her private parts clean before going to bed . . . so, what’s wrong with a blow?”
“She might get a fright, not recognize me, and peck my nose off.”
Loriano rolled his eyes. “You’re always imagining what might happen. You can’t go on like this.”
“Focus on your own household. I know how to hold my own here, you know.”
Bottai shook his head. He would happily have opened a debate on the beliefs of country folk, who were sure they knew everything without ever venturing beyond the road sign marking the provincial boundary. Every day he had to fight with them when they held onto their cheap theories as if they were well-founded principles. Maybe that was why he needed two bottles of wine a day, one for each meal. He decided, at that time of night, that he really didn’t have the strength to engage in an in-depth conversation of the kind. “Try a hair-dryer; that might do it,” he said.
“A hair-dryer?”
“Try it.”
“What if I dry her eyes out? She’s already half-crazed as it is.”
“Wring her neck,” Loriano thought to himself, exasperated by her theatrics
. “And then kill yourself, too.” His tongue grated on his palate, forming words that were not that different, in the end. “I don’t know what else to suggest.”
“Quite the luminary!”
“For sure, books don’t teach you to wake sleep-walking animals. Science has different priorities.”
“So do some doctors. Especially if you put a flask of wine on the table.”
In his mind, Bottai abandoned the match. While, until that moment, one of his aims had been to help his friend wake the hen up to prove that there was no ghost involved, now he surrendered. It was time to stop going on about his drinking. He had a certain weakness. He found a certain comfort in it. He didn’t like the idea that every glass he drank would be poisoned by the words of a mad old widow. He answered brusquely, “Nives, it’s gotten really late.”
“That’s what you always used to say.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
Loriano felt an unexpected lurch. “What are you talking about now?”
“You know.”
He looked towards the bedroom, alarmed, as if Nives had spoken those words into a megaphone. She went on the attack. “Are you senile and a drunk?”
“Nives—”
“Don’t worry, I was joking.”
“I’m in fits.”
“Oh, get over it. We’re two old things, always happy to talk about old times. In any case, I’m the one paying for the phone call. Stop huffing and puffing as though someone was pulling out your lungs.”
Loriano felt the crazy woman had his back against the wall. She was going completely off track, bringing up things from a hundred lifetimes ago. His heart started beating wildly. Before speaking, he put a hand over the receiver as if it were a shield. “What am I supposed to say?”
“For example, that you were a handsome young fellow.”
“I knew it. I should have hung up immediately. All those stories about Rosaltea, Pagliuchi, Donatella . . . The whole thing with the hen is a lie, right?”
“Ugh, you give yourself such airs. You haven’t changed one bit.”
“So, what are you looking for, exactly? Listen. Let’s do each other a favor. Hang up and no hard feelings; friends like before.”
“To be your friend, I’d have to be born all over again. Possibly in the middle of China. But anyway, even the walls know: no matter the country, you’ll always find a Bottai.”
“We’re not doing each other any favors.”
Nives was pleased by the agitated tone of his voice. She felt as though she had a diminutive Loriano Bottai in her clutches. “To tell the truth, you wrapped up your horrible gift with your own hands, back in the day. Without even attaching a label.”
“What’s the point of bringing this up now?”
“What’s the point of never talking about it?”
Bottai felt his chest tightening. “The past is full of ghosts. For all of us. That’s how it is, and that’s how it will always be. Talking tonight, thirty years later, will serve no purpose.”
“Look at Rosaltea.”
“Not her again.”
“Speaking of ghosts that are unable to find peace.”
“You and I are alive and kicking.”
“Speak for yourself. A certain Nives was massacred back in ’82. What happened afterwards is another matter. It’s not easy living with the ghost of what you could have been. You look in the mirror and, before you have time to say good morning, that’s what you see.”
“Don’t exaggerate. And how would a little chat now change anything?”
“At least you’re keeping me company. Given that you didn’t have the courage for all the rest.”
“You’re talking as if I’d hurt you on purpose.”
“I’m talking about it because I feel like I’ve been cheated.”
“It’s because of Anteo. A death like that would throw anyone.”
“Don’t you dare mention him now. Not in this conversation.”
“You’re attacking me for nothing. He was a friend. He still would be if—”
“Back in the cane thicket, you felt differently.”
Loriano jumped. He belted his words into the receiver, “Nives, are you crazy?”
“I have been, for sure.”
He tried to hold himself back. “I know what you’re after.”
“Bottai understands something for once. We should put it in the calendar.”
When Loriano spoke, it was as if his tongue had been dipped in poison. “You are on your own. Seeing as you’re not doing too well, you can’t stand that things have gone differently for others. Your only dream is to see the world going to pot. You stick your arm into the past, right up to your armpits, and you love stirring the dirty water you find there. You’re even bringing Rosaltea into it, poor girl. You’re sprinkling pepper all over a Donatella who was so young at the time that milk still dribbled from her mouth.”
“Well, what Pagliuchi dispensed was more like stracciatella than milk.”
Bottai didn’t fall for it. “This whole tsunami you’ve brought on one random evening with the excuse of a half-crazed hen! What’s it for? What’s your purpose? The answer is sadly pathetic.”
“I’m curious.”
Loriano took his time. He knew that he’d launched a cavalcade that wouldn’t necessarily lead him to victory; he needed to pull on the reins a little. He paused for a while. Then, very calmly, he said, “Nives, there’s no point in trying to wreck my marriage. There’s nothing in it for you.”
More silence. Broken by a loud, throaty laugh. Bottai held the receiver to his chest. He felt a tickling sensation, right against his heart. It lasted at least half a minute. As soon as he thought it was over, he held it up again to his ear. “Are you done?”
“Imbecile!”
“It’s what I think. You know I’m right.”
Nives was surprisingly offended. All of a sudden, she saw herself as an old woman begging for crumbs. Before fully appreciating what that meant, she heard herself say, “I don’t need to inconvenience that steam train you keep in your bed.” She regretted it immediately because by uttering these words, she was proving Loriano right. She was almost pleased.
“If that’s all, I’d say we could bring this to an end. Thanks for calling.”
“Sometimes I look at the old photos.”
“Which photos?”
“There’s one at the fall fair with me, you, and Donatella . . . Anteo had just won a racing bike at the charity raffle. I’m wearing a lovely white dress, with red and blue flowers. You can’t see the colors anymore.”
“I remember that dress.”
“We’re sitting at a long table. If you count all the heads, there are twenty-two of us.”
“They were great, those evenings.”
“You’re looking at me.”
“. . .”
“I’m looking at you.”
“. . .”
“The heavens could have exploded over our heads: we’d already decided.”
“Nives, this isn’t good for me.”
“My bag was already packed. I’d stowed it under the same bed I sleep in now. I’d only taken a few things . . . they were weeks of hell. In the bathroom in the evenings, I’d take my wedding ring off and put it on the hand basin. I’d gaze at that naked hand. I’d sometimes feel a little dizzy: would I really be able to carry it through? The answer was always loud and clear. There was no other option: I had to do it. Period. After the partying at the fall fair, it was a miracle we got home. Anteo drove with only one eye open, he’d drunk so much wine and spirits. It would have been a real pity to crash on a curve. Maybe I shouldn’t say this, but on a thousand different occasions I found myself wishing we had done so, thinking, ‘If only he’d died that night!’ I’ve already told you that something died tha
t October 13, ’82. I stripped my husband and put him to bed. He fell asleep on the spot. I looked at him for a long time, as if I were waiting for a divine voice to order me to stop, to clear my head of that madness. It never came. So, I pulled my ring off for the last time and put it on the bedside table. I hauled my bag out from under the bed. As I closed the door behind me, I had to fight the worst battle. Leaving home knowing you’ll never come back is a strange feeling. I left my set of keys in the lock. Walking down the track, I didn’t look back once. Until I reached the asphalt. It was midnight. The moon was waning. I had to hold myself together with all my strength. Every now and again, a mild gust of wind shook the leaves. Every time, I thought I could hear an engine revving. And I said to myself, ‘Here he is! Here he is! We’re actually doing this.’ I looked at the curve of the road. I was so out of it that I was sure the headlights of a car were illuminating it. But they never came. When I got back home, I was a piece of marble. I put my key-chain back in its place and my bag back under the bed. Anteo hadn’t budged an inch. I put my ring back on. As I pushed it down my finger, I thought I could hear the clinking of metal, like handcuffs. I went to the bathroom and wiped away the little makeup that was left on my face. I undressed and put on my same old nightie. As I lay under the covers, I felt grief well up inside me. It never left.”
Too many words. Too heavy with meaning. Loriano stood there at the telephone table, staring into space. It was as if somebody had surprised him from behind and planted a knife in his back.
Nives was not doing too well either. She went on. “That evening, you left me at Poggio Corbello. Thirty years later, I’m still here, as frozen as the hen in my living room. You should know how to snap her out of it, but as usual you’re useless.”
Bottai had to make a huge effort to break out of the iron mask he felt trapped in. He uttered words that, in any other circumstance, would have sounded hopeful, but which fell out of his mouth like rocks. “There was Amedeo.”
It was a sensitive point. Nives felt herself burn inside. “You couldn’t have known that.” She knew as soon as it came out that it was a terrible thing to say. But it was too late.
Loriano looked towards the bedroom. “Donatella’s period was late.”
The months and years following that October night rushed through Nives’s mind. Everything was over with Loriano. There had been no need to talk about it. As if a wicked spell had been cast, they were transformed from undying lovers filled with promises into acquaintances who had always been in full view. She decided to exact her revenge. “A few days later, the same thing happened to me.”
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