The Italian Romance, page 20
He shifts himself on the bed, sits further back.
‘Quite a big one,’ he says.
I feel even worse. I take a peek at him. His face is squashed up. He’s not looking at me. I have gone down on the scale of issues to be dealt with.
‘My wife and I, we had a difficult marriage. I don’t know whose fault it was anymore. I used to blame myself, for years. Then her. And now, well who knows? Different energies together, you know what I mean?’ He catches me watching him.
I nod. ‘Yes, I know,’ I say.
‘I used to drink. For a long time.’ His eyes are frank.
It crosses my mind that he must be a Catholic. They say that confession is good for the soul. Personally I feel rather a fraud to be on the other end of it. I take a few gulps of my tea. My glasses steam up. ‘I’m so sorry,’ I murmur.
‘I’m over that now,’ he says.
‘Well, that’s ... that’s good then, isn’t it?’
He takes a long look at me. I don’t suppose he can see much, the cup over my nose, my glasses fogged up. ‘You don’t want to hear this, do you?’ he says.
I clear my throat. I push the cup and saucer away, along the bedside table. ‘Tell me about the wife bit, Jim. Are you married, gay, a Buddhist monk, or what are you?’
‘In fact, we’re divorced. She’s not very happy about it, that’s all. She wasn’t very happy about being married to me, either.’
‘So you’re snookered either way.’
He nods. ‘But my daughter ... that’s another matter.’
I take the ridiculous glasses off. ‘And you say there’s quite a problem there,’ I prompt.
‘My wife says...’ He stops himself. ‘I mean my ex-wife, you know. Evidently they had a row. My daughter caught the bus down to Sydney. She did ring her mother, from a public phone. She went to my office.’
‘She didn’t know you were away?’
He can tell that I am amazed, not to say horrified. Which is a bit rich. He can barely make himself say, ‘No.’
‘Jim!’ I say.
‘I did try to ring to tell her, but she was gone. She’d just finished her term exams, and they took off up the coast, four or five of them. I wasn’t very happy about it, but what can you do? I’m sure I mentioned before that I was going.’ He scratches his head. ‘Helen, my wife, said there’s a problem with school. She doesn’t want to go back. So, evidently, a row erupted the minute she walked in through the door after her holiday, and Jane just turns around and marches off. I have given her a card to use in case of emergencies, so she probably went to the bank.’ He scratches his head again, frantically.
I say, ‘Do you know where she is now?’
‘Well, she went to my office and my secretary told her I was away and, God bless her, took the little monkey home for the night.’
‘Have you spoken to her?’ I ask.
‘Oh, yes.’
‘Not a happy conversation.’
‘She cried. I shouted. The usual, you know.’
‘Not really,’ I say.
‘What?’ He looks at me as though he has missed something.
‘The usual. I don’t know it. I didn’t bring up a teenage daughter.’
‘Oh. No.’ He stands up. ‘Sorry.’
‘Listen, I’m going to raise the dead here.’ I move my legs in the bed to indicate my intention.
‘I’m sorry, Lilian. I’ll leave you in peace.’
‘Just a minute, before you go rushing off. What are you thinking of doing?’
‘I’ll try again,’ he sighs. ‘I’ll ring her and say she has to go home to her mother. And if she won’t, I suppose I’ll have to fly back.’
‘What about getting her over here?’ I say.
‘Over here?’
‘Why not?’
He puts one hand on his hip, the other scratches at his head again. ‘Hadn’t thought of that,’ he says.
‘Couldn’t your secretary get a flight for her? Then you could have some time together. It doesn’t sound as if you’ve had much lately.’
‘No. That’s for sure. Between everything. She has a passport. Had to get one for a school trip to Fiji.’
‘Some school trip.’
‘Yeah.’ He laughed. ‘Her father grows money on trees.’
‘Fortunate girl.’
‘She hasn’t been that fortunate,’ he says. ‘Anyway, thanks. Thanks, Lilian. I’ll think about that.’ He goes to the door. ‘Can I take your cup?’ He steps towards the bed, picks it up. ‘I’ll um ... do you want me to send Francesca in?’
I laugh, in a manner of speaking. ‘Let’s not push our luck,’ I say.
Romanzo
‘Sonia, what are we going to do?’ Her mother was almost inaudible. Her throat had closed up.
‘Tell me what he said. Who was it? Signore Bertolucci?’ The telephone smelled stale and she pulled back from it; no one bothered to wipe telephones clean these days. The thought was absurd. The world was not sweet-smelling, and people did not have room in their heads for the small anxieties of the old order. The staleness made her slightly sick, all the same.
‘No, Sonia. Not Bertolucci. Roberto Tucci. The Fascist.’
‘Ssh, Mama.’
‘Ach, if they are listening, who cares?’ Her throat miraculously opened. ‘If you are listening out there, where is my husband, uh? He met Benito Mussolini five times! Five times, and kissed his cheek. And if Mussolini hears of this, he will have your heads! Do you hear me? I am writing to him at Saló now, this evening. So!’
‘Mama, tell me again what he said, exactly. When did he ring?’
‘Ten minutes ago! He said he had this information. I had been to see him only yesterday. And last week I went, too. I am glad that Mussolini is restored. Do you hear me? We are happy. We don’t want the Americans. My husband loves Mussolini. You have made a mistake. Ask Signore Tucci. He will tell you.’
Sonia put her elbow on the desk. She held her hand to her forehead. ‘And, Mama, what did he say, exactly?’
‘That he had reliable information. He was bitterly upset, I can tell you. He had made too much of a nuisance of himself or something.’
‘Signore Tucci?’
‘No, no, your father. He had refused to leave the German headquarters. He had been in day after day, week after week, and then he wouldn’t go home. He said he was staying put, right there in the lobby, until they allowed him to see Jacob.’
‘And they arrested him?’
‘He made too much of a nuisance of himself. Of course! He thinks he can do anything if he hammers hard enough. Does he think he’s bigger than the Nazis? And the Fascists, all put together? Yes, they arrested him.’
‘What is the charge?’
‘I don’t know. Do they need charges anymore in this world? They are taking him somewhere.’
Sonia picked up a pencil. She scribbled on the red leather inset of the desk. ‘What do you mean? To a prison?’ She began to make indents. She pushed harder.
‘Roberto said they need factory workers. Factory workers! I said, but they have made a mistake, Roberto, you know they have made a mistake. Primo is not good with his hands. I used to ask him to help with my necklace. When we were young, you know. His fingers, they are too big. Too clumsy. He couldn’t do it. Never. I gave up on him. I pull it around, you know, to the front and try to do it that way.’
‘Where is the factory?’
‘He wasn’t sure. Germany, maybe.’
Sonia bit on the pencil.
‘Sonia.’ Her mother cried the name, as if she were crying over a dead daughter.
‘Perhaps I can try. I’ll ring them. What is the number?’
‘No! No, Sonia, do you hear me? Do not ring. No, you must not.’ Her mother’s voice had become quiet and strong.
‘But, with Francesco. My husband is an Italian Army officer. I am a Christian wife.’ Sonia felt like a child, pleading.
‘No. Do you hear me? Absolutely not. Do you hear me, Sonia?’
‘Yes, all right. I won’t.’
‘Think of your son. Bear him in mind in whatever you do from now on.’
‘But you have been to see Signore Tucci.’
‘Only him. No Germans. And anyway, it is my responsibility, this. I sent your father up again, when he came home the first time. I made him go back to Milan. I said, don’t you come home without my son.’ Her words tore at her, and tore at Sonia as she heard them.
‘Oh, no.’
‘Oh, yes. Your mama is a very brave woman. Very brave.’
‘Don’t say that. You weren’t to know.’
‘I don’t excuse myself, Sonia. Not any more.’
Sonia held the mouthpiece in the palm of her hand. This was a stranger to her, this woman. At the end of the play, the actress comes out from behind the curtain and bows, herself now, just herself. Substances seemed to break, glass, mirrors, stone walls. And there she was, her mother, this woman, whom maybe her husband knew in some moments of their intimacy. Sonia felt a stab of terrible aloneness. She was one more human being, that’s all. No daughter, no wife. Only a woman who had to save her son.
‘How is Natalia?’
‘She pretends, for the children. It is making her ill, waiting for Jacob to come home every day. What can I do?’
‘Nothing,’ Sonia said. ‘Do you think you should all pack up and come here? It might be safer.’
‘Maybe. I don’t want to leave in case...’
‘They come back.’
‘They might. We cannot give up.’
‘Yes, but it might not be till after the war,’ Sonia said.
‘I know, I know. Is Gianni well?’
‘Very well. He is enjoying his freedom. No school.’
‘Ah! Like Alon. Let him enjoy it. Time enough when all this is over. And you, Sonia. Any word from Francesco?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘No word. It is hard for him.’
‘Mmm.’
‘Mama, please, don’t start about it.’
‘He didn’t have to go off to the war.’
‘Stop. I don’t want to hear this.’
‘He walked out on you, Sonia. He should be there to protect you and Gianni. He’s a selfish, selfish ... he doesn’t even believe in it. You remember what he said to your father years ago. He said he wouldn’t give Mussolini the steam off his piss.’
‘Mama!’
‘He did. Primo told me. So why rush off to play soldiers, uh! Leaving you behind. He knows he’s your only protection. A Christian husband. Now look what has happened. The Nazis are here.’
‘Mama, I don’t think anyone can be safe anymore. We have to protect ourselves.’
Her mother was silent. She said then, ‘I want to protect you. And Gianni.’
‘I know,’ Sonia said.
She heard her mother sigh. She hoped a sigh was all it was. ‘Sonia, I had better go now. I’ll ring you tomorrow,’ her mother said.
‘All right, Mama. We’ll pray for them. The Almighty will hear us, keep them safe.’
‘Yes. Of course He will ... Goodnight, my darling.’
Sonia waited till she heard the connection break, and then the empty, endlessly sad burr of the closed line.
Jack stood up from the armchair by the fire and walked over to her. As she replaced the telephone into the cradle, he put his hand over hers.
She said quietly, ‘What is happening?’
He tensed his hand, and squeezed.
It’s time to behave like a woman in control of herself. They went to the supermarket earlier in Jim’s car. I directed them to a rather stranded one off the main road, haunted at night by two mad dogs on a security man’s lead. Oddly enough, it appears to have been perfectly placed to satisfy the pockets of its owners in Rome, or whoever it is who really owns things these days.
As soon as I heard them drive off, pick up gear as the wheels hit the stony avenue, I flung back the sheet and pushed my feet into slippers. I found myself peeping around the corner of the staircase, just to ensure they weren’t rushing back through the door having forgotten a bag, or a list. I hobbled to the phone. It is my house, after all. I can make a call without asking permission.
Vanna was bossy, which was to be expected, since it seems to give her something to do. Occupational therapy, bossing everybody else’s life around. I played my part, wheedled my way round her protestations until she capitulated. She’ll arrive in time to get me to the four o’clock to Rome.
I am horribly bruised. I took a good look before lowering myself into the bath. Quite a sight. Thankfully, the mirror steamed up before I got out.
I told Jim my plans when they arrived back. He went straight downstairs again, presumably to tell Francesca. Heaven knows what her reaction will be. Here’s your hat, what’s your hurry.
He’s wandered off now; I saw him trotting up the hill. Don’t know what for. Maybe he’s being diplomatic. I gird my loins to face my daughter.
She is still putting things away from three cardboard boxes on the kitchen table. She slams the cupboard door, not thinking, and turns. She flinches. She is not expecting to see me standing in the doorway.
‘Oh,’ she says. ‘Didn’t hear you.’
‘Sorry.’
She takes packets of pasta out from a box, both hands clawed around them. I say, ‘You found the shop okay?’
She looks down at the packets and says, ‘Yes.’
I am making her self-conscious. She moves stiffly to the pantry store. I don’t feel all that relaxed either. I decide to make myself useful, pick out a bag of loose carrots from the box, open the fridge door, lean down to pull out the drawer, and she immediately bumps into its protruding edge. ‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘Sorry. Are you all right?’
She says nothing as she limps away. I tumble the carrots in. They sound very loud as they land. ‘Maybe I should get out of your way,’ I say.
‘Why don’t you sit down,’ she says. She looks over her shoulder. ‘Leave the drawer out.’ She has a plastic bag full of apples, knotted at the top.
I skirt around the sides of the kitchen, to avoid causing any more damage and pull a chair away from the table, over to the alcove where the fire used to be. The back door is open, letting in a hot breeze. I am surprised when I hear her voice. ‘You’re going back to Rome, I hear.’
‘I might as well.’ I have to force myself out of cliché. I almost stammer as I say, ‘I ... I just don’t want to intrude on your time here. I offered you a peaceful rest. You know, not a position in a nursing home.’
She snorts a laugh.
It’s the first time she’s done that with me. My spirits creep out and begin to rise. I take the chance and I say, ‘I probably wanted a chance to see some more of you. I didn’t throw myself down the steps deliberately or anything. I’m not completely crazy. But, you know, nevertheless I’ve never fallen down those steps or any other steps in my life.’
‘And so?’ she says. She is caught in mid-action, frozen as she dangles a bunch of grapes from one hand, a bag of plums from the other. She is actually looking at me.
‘Well,’ I fold my arms in front of me, ‘I suppose some little gremlin might have got into my works. Fall down those steps and you can stay for a few days with Francesca.’ There seems to be a threat of tears nagging at my ducts. I look at the stone floor and widen my eyes to stop them.
‘That’s very honest of you,’ she says. She thaws out now, and walks to the bench where I usually put my fruit in a heavy ceramic bowl there. She’s obviously spotted it, too. ‘To tell you the truth,’ she says, her back to me, ‘I’ve seen so little of you the last couple of days, I presumed you didn’t want to have much to do with me. Clearly, you get on very well with Jim.’
‘For goodness’ sake! I practically threw him out on his ear!’
‘Sure,’ she says to the grapes as she, too carefully, settles them in the bowl. ‘But you need to have some kind of relationship with somebody to get so angry.’
‘Well, I don’t know if that’s true. Did he tell you why I was angry?’
‘No.’ She turns to face me. She rests against the bench.
‘Because of you. I was afraid for you. I thought he’d lied, and there was a wife at home, and you’d be ... well, some men do that.’
A small smile is on her lips. Her gaze slips away from me.
‘Also,’ I say. ‘I blamed myself for matchmaking you.’
‘You what?’ She’s laughing. ‘You didn’t matchmake Jim and me.’
‘Yes, I did. In my own head I did, anyway. I told him the truth about it, so I might as well tell you. I thought if I got in good with him, and he with you, I’d have a direct line.’
‘To me?’
‘Of course! Who else?’ I look at her face. She is astonished.
‘God!’ she says, almost to herself. She’s shy now. She goes back to the grocery box. Her brown, freckled hand, so like mine, settles like a butterfly along its side. She peers into it. ‘We’re not actually together, or anything,’ she says. ‘Jim.’
‘Oh,’ I say.
I start to say, ‘But I thought you liked him.’ She talks over me. She is saying, ‘Not in any serious way.’
People are different nowadays. It’s better, I suppose, to have a little edge of perhaps or perhaps not about it all. We tended to rush in headlong. I feel foolishly naïve.
‘I see,’ I say. I scrape my shoe at a dark, sticky mess on a tile, caramelised onion or something.
‘Well. I don’t want you to feel you have to leave. I mean...’ Her neck is flushing, the poor child. She is trying to say something. I just don’t know what, quite. ‘I mean, it’s your place, after all.’
‘It’s probably better for me to go back,’ I say.
‘Right.’ She’s found a carton of muesli to carry to the pantry.
I am all at sea here. Was that the wrong thing to have said, time to go back? God Almighty, I’m exhausted.
‘Well, are you packed up and ready?’ she says, her face in the cupboard.
‘Just about.’
‘What time’s she coming?’
‘Oh, yes, well I’d better ... get myself...’ I stand up.
