Authors: Alessandro Baricco
City (29 page)
“Yes.”
“Yes.”
“. . .”
“. . .”
“How is life now, Larry?”
“Life?”
“Yes, I mean, how are things going for you?”
“That's a personal question, Dan, not a question to ask on the radio.”
“No, sincerely, it was my own curiosity, I'd like to know, how things
are going . . .”
“OK, but turn off that tape recorder, what's the public got . . .”
“Maybe they'd also like to know . . .”
“Come on, don't give me that bullshit, turn the thing off . . .”
“OK, OK.”
“Then you can turn it on again, all right?”
“OK, if you prefâ”
Click.
Gould turned off the light in the men's room. He looked up at the clock. Three minutes before seven. He opened the locker, and took off his white shirt and hung it on the plastic hook. He picked up from the table the card that said “Thank you” and put it away, on the shelf above. Then he looked at the glass jar with the tips in it. He had worked out a system for predicting the total before he counted the money: it was a system that involved many variables, such as the atmospheric temperature, the day of the week, and the percentage of children who had used the toilets. So he began to calculate as usual and at the end he fixed the figure in his mind. Then he emptied the jar onto the table and started counting. Generally he had a margin of error no higher than 18 percent. That day he was very close to hitting the exact figure. Seven percent over. He was improving. He picked up the money and put it in a nylon bag. He tied the bag and stuck it in his briefcase. He gave a look around, to see that everything was in place. Then he took his jacket from the locker, and put it on. In the locker there was a pair of rubber boots, an atlas, and a few other things. There were also three photographs, attached to the door. There was one of Walt Disney, and one of Eva Braun. Then there was a third.
Gould closed the locker. He put the chair away, pushing it under the table, picked up the briefcase, went to the door, turned back to give another glance around, then switched off the light. He went out, shutting the door behind him, and went up the stairs. The supermarket, above, was also closing. Half-empty checkout counters and workers pushing trains of carts. He went over to give the keys to Bart, in the little office.
“Everything all right, Gould?”
“Perfect.”
“Take care, OK?”
“See you tomorrow.”
He left the supermarket. It was dark and a cold wind was blowing. But the air was clean, of clean glass. He pulled up the collar of his coat and crossed the street. Diesel and Poomerang were waiting for him, leaning on a garbage can.
“How was the shit?”
“Abundant.”
“It's the season, shitting is a pleasure in winter,” Poomerang didn't say.
All three had their hands in their pockets. They hated gloves. If you think about it, of all the nice things you can do with your hands there's not one you can do if you're wearing gloves.
“Shall we go?”
“Let's go.”
Alessandro Baricco
City
Alessandro Baricco was born in Turin in 1958. The author of three previous novels, he has won the Prix Médicis Ãtranger in France and the Selezione Campiello, Viareggio, and Palazzo del Bosco prizes in Italy. His third novel,
Silk,
became an immediate bestseller in Italy and has been translated into twenty-seven languages. It is the basis of a forthcoming opera by André Previn and a film to be produced by Miramax.
INTERNATIONAL
Also by Alessandro Baricco
Silk
Ocean Sea
FIRST VINTAGE INTERNATIONAL EDITION, JUNE 2003
Translation copyright © 2001 by Alessandro Baricco
Vintage is a registered trademark and Vintage International
and colophon are trademarks of Random House, Inc.
The Library of Congress has cataloged the Knopf edition as follows:
Baricco, Alessandro.
 [City. English]
City / Alessandro Baricco; translated by Ann Goldstein.â1
st
ed.
p. cm.
I. Goldstein, Ann, 1949â II. Title.
PQ4862.A6745 C5813 2002
853'.914âdc21 2001050727
eISBN: 978-0-307-42527-0
v3.0