“But what do you mean?” asked the young girl nervously. “Do you think there really might be something?”
“Do I? That would be perfect!” the woman said, laughing outright. The whole thing became a joke, with Ghitta doing her best to join in the various sallies and sarcasms which absorbed the whole family until bedtime. The monster, old Dr. Verolini’s fishing tackle, the doctor himself and his asthma, his extremely withdrawn existence and presumed demoniac practices, Ghitta’s fright, the supposed inspection by the porter, the chatter of the other inmates—all this was exploited at length for family comment, with much intentional insistence and self-conscious eccentricity; and finally Ghitta felt herself carried away by this wave of affectionate good humor.
But unpleasant thoughts surfaced again during the stillness of the night, they rose up and blotted out the rest of the world; when the laughter had died away and the whole house was asleep, the moon rose above the domes and lonely roofs; deep in the parks the lovers cast their shadows, in the hospitals pain rose again from the bowels of the sick, the night birds which had been hanging, swaying, above the putrid canals, flew away; an occasional train whistle, every now and again some mysterious call, was countered by the silence of the long streets; the sleepless thought of time passing; and twenty-eight-year-old Ghitta Freilaber, seated on her bed, strained her ears for sounds of movements from the distant attic. Ghitta was a strong-minded girl and had overcome many temptations during her lifetime, but she was now in the throes of one she could not resist, one which had taken her unawares as soon as she realized she was alone: the temptation of going to the attic again—and not tomorrow or the day after, but now, before dawn, for she saw already that she would not be able to sleep. It was a very great temptation; because as soon as she was sure that everyone was asleep, she put on a dressing gown and crept out of the room and up the back stairs with a candle, fully aware of the danger to which she was exposing herself. She drew comfort from the geometrical patches of moonlight which fell from the great empty windows to light up the landings of the stairway—they reminded her of the old walls of country houses on which this same light must now be shining—haymaking and the soft chirping of crickets—and this reminded her, pleasantly, of her childhood.
What if the monster really were there? If Enrico had lied? If she were unable to control her terror? What rubbish, she told herself: as far as its being there is concerned, it simply isn’t; but I must see with my own eyes, I can’t wait until tomorrow morning. She went up as quietly as she could. But all was silence; peaceful June night, vast sleep of thousands, calm breath of sleeping children. What if Signora Goggi were to find out that she was wandering about at two in the morning? What could be her excuse? Here she caught sight of the small enameled plate bearing the name Brozzesi, which meant that she was on the top floor; the stairs were becoming steeper and narrower.
Now she was on the top landing. It had all been so easy, after all. She stood listening for some time, but there was complete silence. Slowly she brought her right hand to the handle of the bolt, the candle flame shuddered slightly, the sound of a car at the far end of the street, far away by now. She drew the bolt with a sudden movement—luckily it didn’t make much noise—and pushed the door firmly.
But it didn’t give. It opened half an inch, then stopped with a slight clang. The girl started, then stood still, her heart beating fast. Then she saw that a chain and padlock had been fixed to two rings she’d never noticed before, one on the door and the other on the doorpost; this was what stopped it opening.
Ghitta drew back afraid. Who had locked the room? And why that very night, when it had always been open before? Who had given the order? Why such a fuss? Could it be that inside . . . ? Yet it was so silent, so terrifyingly silent.
She went downstairs and slipped back into her room without anyone noticing; the household continued to sleep. Who had locked the door? Perhaps there was nothing so extraordinary about it, perhaps Enrico was supposed to keep it locked only he hardly ever went up there and the maids always forgot; possibly the two rings had always been there, and the chain on the doorpost as well, without her ever having noticed. Or could it be the work of Signora Goggi, as soon as she’d heard about the business, to keep her from going up there and getting worked up; after all, employers are like that, you do one silly thing and they become thoroughly suspicious; or perhaps Signora Goggi had done it with the best of intentions, to spare Ghitta any more frights like the one she’d had. Or it might be old Verolini
