However – she repeated, too quickly and without looking at me – she’d do everything she could to come back to Italy. Soon.
We both knew it wasn’t true.
Curse it, I thought. Curse it, curse it, curse it.
I had an urge to insult her for leaving me alone with all the responsibility.
I didn’t want that responsibility.
I had an urge to insult her because I saw myself in her unexpected mediocrity, in her cowardice. I recognized myself with unbearable clarity.
There passed through my mind the time when Sara had talked about the possibility of having a baby. It was one October afternoon and I said that I didn’t think the right moment had yet come. She looked at me and nodded without saying anything. She never mentioned it again.
I did not insult Abajaje. I listened to her justifications without saying a word.
When she had finished, she backed away, as if afraid of turning her back on me.
I was left standing near the door, with the cardboard box containing Abdou’s things, holding the roll of banknotes. Then I picked up the telephone on my secretary’s desk and without really thinking rang Sara’s number, which had been my number.
It rang five times, then someone answered.
The voice was nasal, fairly young-sounding.
“Yes?” The tone was that of a man who feels at home. Maybe he’s just back from work, and when the telephone rang he was loosening his tie, and now while he’s answering he’s taking off his jacket and tossing it onto a sofa.
For some unknown reason I didn’t hang up.
“Is Stefania in?”
“No, there’s no one here called Stefania. You’ve got the wrong number.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Could you please tell me what number I’ve rung?”
He told me and I even wrote it down. To be certain I’d heard right.
I looked for a long time at that piece of paper, my brain circling round and round a nasal voice, faceless, on the telephone in my own home.
17
“That was a lovely film this evening. What are the actors’ names again?”
“Harry is Billy Crystal. Sally, Meg Ryan.”
“Wait, how did it go… the bit with the dream about the Olympics?”
“ ‘Had my dream again where I’m making love, and the Olympic judges are watching. I’d nailed the compulsories, so this is it, the finals. I got a 9.8 from the Canadians, a perfect 10 from the Americans, and my mother, disguised as an East German judge, gave me 5.6.’ ”
She bursts out laughing. How I love her laugh, I thought.
A person’s laugh is important because you can’t cheat. To know if someone is genuine or fake, the only sure way is to watch – and listen to – his laugh. People who are really worthwhile are the ones who know how to laugh.
She made me jump by touching my arm.
“Tell me your three favourite films.”
“
“You’re the first who’s ever answered like that… quickly. Without thinking.”
“This favourite film game is one I often play myself. So you might say I was ready for it. What are yours?”
“Number one is
“ ‘I’ve seen things you people wouldn’t believe. Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion. I watched C- beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhauser gate. And all those moments will be lost in time, like tears in rain. Time – to – die.’ ”
“Well done. It’s said just like that. ‘Time – to – die.’ With the words spaced out. And then he releases the dove.”
I nodded and she went on talking.
“I’ll tell you the other films.
“Why these for today?”
“I don’t know. Come on, shall we go on playing?”
“All right. Let’s try this game. An extraterrestrial arrives on our planet and you have to give him an example of what’s best on earth, so as to persuade him to stay. You must offer him an object, a book, a song, a quote or, well there’d also be films but we’ve already done those.”
“Good idea. I already know the quotation. It’s Malraux: ‘The homeland of a man who can choose is where the biggest clouds gather.’ ”
We remained for a moment in silence. When she was on the point of speaking, I interrupted her.
“You must do me a favour. Will you?”
“Yes. What is it?”
“If you fall madly in love with me, I’d like you to tell me at once. Don’t trust me to know instinctively. Please. Is that all right with you?”
“Fair enough. Does the same hold good for me?”
“Yes, it does. And now tell me the other things for the Martian.”
“The book is
“And the object?”
“A bicycle. Now tell me yours.”
“The quote is really a quick exchange. From
“The book?”
“You’re sure not to know it. It’s
“I’ve read it. It’s the one about a young Frenchman who goes to study in an American college in the 50s.”
“Nobody knows that book. You’re the first. What a coincidence.”
Her eyes flashed for a moment in the darkness of the car, like little knife blades.
We were parked on the cliffs, almost sheer above the sea at Polignano. Outside it was February and very cold.
Not inside the car though. Inside the car, that night, we seemed to be sheltered from everything.
“I’m glad I came out with you this evening. At the last moment I was about to call you and say I wasn’t feeling up to it. Then I thought you must have already left home and that anyway it would be bad-mannered. So I said to myself: we’ll go to the cinema and then I’ll ask him to take me home and I’ll get an early night.”
“Why didn’t you want to go out?”
“I don’t want to talk about it now. I only wanted to tell you I’m glad I came. And I’m glad I didn’t ask you to take me home right after the cinema. Let’s play some more. I like it. Tell me the song and the object.”
“The object is a fountain pen. The song is ‘Pezzi di vetro.’ ”
“Can I say something about the book?”
“What is it?”
“I’m no longer sure about
