The Sense of an Elephant (21 page)

‘How is Fernando?'

She leaned her head on his shoulder, her breath smelling of wine. ‘He's with Poppi.' Hugged him close. The piano downstairs started up and Paola took a deep breath. ‘I don't know what to do with him.' Hugged him closer. ‘I never have.'

The lights of the restaurant on stilts went out as well.

Paola tugged at the hem of his jacket. ‘Come with me to get Fernando's pills?'

‘I'll wait for you here.'

She found the keys in her handbag, took him by the hand and dragged him to room 314. Opened the door and pulled him inside, pushing the door not quite closed. Rested her forehead on his chin as if they were still dancing.

The concierge held her up. ‘The others are waiting for us.' He tried to lead her out but Paola pushed his hands aside. She took a deep breath and knelt down. Unzipped his trousers and burrowed a hand inside. Pietro backed away but she was quicker, taking his sex into her mouth. She kept on, mascara streaking down her cheeks, kept on until Pietro pushed her face away. ‘The others are waiting for us.'

She collapsed backward, spread her arms out on the carpet and remained still. The concierge pulled her up, Paola burbling. As he laid her out on the bed a bustling came from the corridor, then a knock. The lawyer entered with Fernando clinging to his neck. The boy's glasses were askew and he had a sticking plaster on one temple.

‘One and one makes two, the complete set,' he said upon seeing the wine-addled woman. Arranged the boy beside his mother and kissed him on the forehead, went out.

The concierge followed him into the corridor. ‘It must be the iodine.'

Poppi took his arm. ‘I always knew you had a sense of humour down there somewhere.'

Pietro slept in room 318, his face peeking out above a sheet pulled up to his chin. His legs were drawn up to one side and he snored faintly. The night before as he climbed into bed he managed to hear Poppi: ‘Goodnight, dear friend, and thanks.'

The concierge fell asleep immediately after that. The lawyer never did. His hands were folded over his silk dressing gown, his cheeks whitened by anti-wrinkle cream. He had stayed in bed, motionless, and then all of a sudden murmured, ‘Mazel tov,' then nothing again for the rest of the night.

In the middle of the night Poppi gritted his teeth, sighed, pulled his hands outside the sheets and brought them to his nose. For once he was not afraid, just ashamed. The old man slowly rose to his feet. Unbuttoned the pyjama top to discover the bottoms wet with urine. Closed himself in the bathroom as Pietro opened his eyes and looked to the windows. The
chooo
of the lighthouse had returned. Fernando opened his eyes as well in room 314. His mother put her arms around him and the boy tried to free himself from that embrace that seemed to come from a wife rather than a mother.
Chooo
, the lighthouse blew, and the last to hear it was Luca in room 316. He woke abruptly, the bundle of Sara pressed up against his side. She slept, still. He drew her hair away from her face. Pulled himself up and went to the French doors. Rimini in the winter is a great lady. His jacket hung from the coat rack. He searched in one pocket, then another, found the recorder
and went out onto the balcony. Turned it on. The lighthouse started up again. Beneath that blast of sound each of them discovered the courage they had never before had.

‘My name is Andrea Testi. I am thirty-four years old and I know how to dribble. You have to have strong ankles to dribble well, and I have strong ankles. But what really counts is your eye. Look straight at your opponent, straight at him. Then ankle, ball, ankle. I can dribble right past people. I want to do it again. Ask Daniele Bucchi how I dribble, he's my captain, a real bear of a defender. When you've got the ball and he comes at you, he takes it off everyone but yours truly. In training, I swear, he's never taken the ball off me. I'd say to him, “I dare you,” and he'd say, “Look out.” He has never once taken the ball off me. Daniele Bucchi says I'll be coming back to dribble him again, and that he's training twice as hard for when I get up from the wheelchair and return to the field. The captain is always talking bullshit. After the wheelchair I'm headed for the bed. It's written on my chart at the hospital. It also says I won't speak any more. If that's the way it goes, God's lucky he's not a defender. If that's the way it goes, ankle, ball, ankle. Look straight at your opponent. Better to snuff it. I say it and this is my voice. My name is Andrea Testi and I know how to dribble. I swear, it's better to snuff it.'

The lawyer's team won. When they were still on the motor-way he came to the end of the alphabet with the ‘z' on a billboard for Zapis Thermal Baths. Poppi played alone. Paola stared out of the window with a scarf over her head and knotted under her chin. Fernando was in a virtual trance the entire trip. No one from Pietro's team had been up for it. Luca travelled with his daughter on his knees: ‘Did you like the dolphins, honey?' She nodded. ‘Will you take me on the dinghy?'

Pietro watched them in the rear-view mirror. The rosary swung when they sped down the bridge over the River Po. In the other direction the guard rail was still broken. Paola pointed it out. Fernando closed the case with his camera inside. The last picture snapped was of Alice at the Grand Hotel whose name was actually Nicole and whose boyfriend was a lifeguard in the summer and a night-club DJ in the winter. She had winked at Fernando and he had taken her picture.
You're my sweetheart – Me? Sorry, I've already got a sweetheart.

Luca's mobile rang as they came to the end of the bridge. It had rung as soon as they left Rimini, then twice more, and he had not answered. He did so when they reached the toll booth for Milan. ‘Come by tomorrow morning at nine-thirty and tell me what you have to say. I'll take Sara to nursery school.'

The little girl stared at her father and tapped her nose with the feather. She dropped it when they arrived at the studio flat. Got out and fluttered three fingers to say goodbye. Fernando reciprocated with three fingers at the window.

‘It breaks my heart to see the doctor like this.' Paola unwound the rosary from the rear-view mirror and gave it to the concierge. ‘You keep it, it will make me happy.'

Pietro put the rosary in his pocket and before they arrived home fastened it to his wrist. He had to park right next to the tram stop. The petrol-blue SUV took up the two spaces near the street door.

‘Golden curls doesn't waste any time.' The lawyer pointed to Riccardo, who was struggling to unload a shopping bag from the luggage compartment. His right leg was in a cast up to his knee that visibly threw him off balance. ‘How sorry I am,' Poppi sniggered. ‘He's hurt himself, the poor lion.'

No one got out of the van.

‘She's there as well,' said Paola.

Viola could be seen at the entrance, holding more bags.

‘Everyone out.'

Fernando was the first. He gathered up their bags and went in without saying goodbye. Paola was the last. After the lawyer got out she spoke with the scarf over her mouth. ‘I'm sorry about last night, Pietro.'

‘Can I take Fernando out tonight?'

‘Him?'

‘Him.'

Paola sighed. ‘If he's not tired. I'll let you know.'

The concierge returned the keys to the lawyer and went over to Riccardo, picked up the remaining shopping bag.

It was filled to the brim with stuffed animals. He also spotted a pair of children's pyjamas, a bathrobe and towel set. ‘What happened to your leg?'

‘Five-a-side football isn't made for someone almost forty.'

The concierge closed the SUV. ‘I'll come up with you.'

They climbed the stairs together, Riccardo relying on his crutches. After the first flight he leaned on the concierge's shoulder. ‘How was it going back to the sea?'

‘A bit of fresh air for everyone.'

‘Including Luca?'

Pietro helped him start up again. ‘Let's go.' Supported him all the way up to the second floor.

Viola stood on the threshold. ‘Pietro.'

Riccardo pretended to swipe at her with a crutch. ‘If it weren't for him …' He smiled.

‘I was on my way.' She had the concierge hand her the bag. ‘Please come in, both of you.'

‘I need to go, I forgot my prescription pad at the office.' Riccardo started off and Viola followed him. ‘You're going
how
?'

‘I'll take a taxi.'

She waved goodbye uncertainly, then invited Pietro inside. ‘I'll make you a coffee.'

‘I already had two at the Autogrill,' he replied as he followed her in. They stopped in the living room, where he looked at her. Her hair was recently cut, layered toward the bottom, her face gaunt. She nibbled at her lips and crossed
her arms, pushing her breasts forward. ‘Did you have a good time at the sea?'

‘We took Sara to the Dolphinarium. She had fun.'

Viola, not knowing where to look, stared at a slice of the couch. The polka-dot gloves were balled up between a cushion and the seat back. She picked them up and smoothed them between her hands, twice, before laying them on an end table. ‘I know what you're thinking, Pietro.'

‘What am I thinking?' He looked for the photograph of the lavender field but it was gone, replaced by a pale rectangle.

‘That I'm throwing everything away.'

‘All Luca needs is the child,' he said point-blank.

Viola motioned for him to sit down. ‘It's more complicated than that.'

He did not sit. Found the lavender photograph behind the door, atop a pile of cardboard boxes. Pointed to it. ‘What's left of that?'

Viola continued to stare at the gloves. The wrinkle persisted. She smoothed them out once more. ‘At a certain point I stopped loving him.' Then she touched a pocket of her jeans.

‘What's left of that?' He pointed at the lavender.

Viola once again brought a hand to her pocket. ‘In the end they're just things, Pietro.' She pulled out a mobile that was vibrating. Read the message. ‘I knew it' – she held her breath – ‘Riccardo is going over to Luca's.'

Pietro and Celeste remained one inside the other and he ceased to gasp. She continued to gasp and her legs were no longer those of a ballerina.

‘They're shaking.' Celeste ran her fingers lightly over the bruises on his chest. ‘My legs are shaking because God is offended.' Drew herself away from him and disappeared underwater, resurfacing with the beads. ‘Mama says that God is in things.' Handed him the rosary.

Pietro refused it. ‘Mine aren't shaking any more.'

Viola left the flat with Pietro. ‘Riccardo is capable of waiting for him all night if I don't take him away.' She pulled out the keys to the SUV. ‘Did Luca tell you where he was going?'

He said no and she hurried down the stairs.

Pietro stopped on the landing. The lawyer's door was open partway and through the crack Poppi was staring at him, his skull pale in the half-light. He wore a mild smile and had a hand open in an ageless gesture of farewell. Pietro reciprocated and took two steps down. Turned around again and the lawyer was no longer there.

The concierge continued down and went into the lodge. Picked up the telephone and dialled the doctor's mobile number. He was not available at this time. He called Anita. He told her that that evening he would bring her the little something from Rimini, and that he had a big favour to ask her. Hung up and went to get the Bianchi. It had a layer of dust on the top bar. He wheeled it out.

Pietro had guessed right. He found Luca on the ward speaking to two nurses and carrying Sara. ‘She's really grown,' said one. Sara remained motionless, captivated by a little boy playing in the room beyond a glass door. He was bent over a
plastic table and searching for a puzzle piece to continue forming the image of an elk.

The doctor said something to his daughter and she nodded. He put her down and they led her into the room with the little boy. When Pietro approached, Luca went over to him. ‘What's happened?'

‘They're looking for you at your place.'

Sara had sat down near the little boy and was searching for pieces to the puzzle. The nurses were helping. The elk was missing the tips of its antlers and its nose.

‘Looking for me at my place.' He sighed. ‘Do you see the little boy with Sara? His name is Davide and he's obsessed with tractors and cement mixers. And especially with those lorries with two trailers. His life hangs in the balance, like Lorenzo's.' He moved aside for Pietro. ‘If you look at him closely, you'll see that he's a happy child, even if he's guessed the end is coming.'

Davide picked up a piece and fitted it into the puzzle.

‘Sara's life, on the other hand, doesn't hang in the balance. Instead of cement mixers she likes magic tricks. And now dolphins. But she too has guessed that an end is coming, her family's. If you look at her closely, you'll see that she'll never be truly happy again.' Luca laid a hand on the glass door. ‘In some way they're both my children.'

‘I know.'

‘Sara arrived by a miracle. They call it asthenozoospermia, lazy sperm. I have the balls to dole out death – less so for life.'

Davide found the missing piece. Tried to insert it into the
puzzle. Sara came to his aid and the elk's antlers gained their tips.

‘They're looking for you.'

‘They agreed to tomorrow morning at nine-thirty.' Luca opened the glass door. ‘Whatever they want will be less important than this.'

When Pietro returned from the hospital he realized that the lodge was a mess. The backed-up post had spilled onto the table and a thick layer of dust covered the floor. There were marks on the tiles from the Bianchi's tyres, continuing inside the flat. The courtyard, too, was filling up with rubbish. The plants had yellowed and dead leaves blocked the gutters. The Madonna's face was still sooty black. The pedestal was buried in snail shells, which also covered the ground below the alcove.