about her, starting with her hairdo, spoke of a woman who had made radical alterations to her scale of personal values. For all Leonardo knew this could have happened as soon as they separated, or only yesterday. But the decisive air with which she climbed the steps and stopped a few paces from him made it clear that this would not be a subject for discussion.
“
Ciao
, Leonardo.”
Leonardo got up and took a step toward her but stopped, hampered by the cover, which had slipped down between his feet. In the car were a girl, and a boy of about ten. The pair were watching them through the blue-tinted windshield. It was a high-powered car and extremely elegant. But its hubcaps had been taken off, as had its front grill and mirrors.
Leonardo looked at the girl and her long smooth hair.
“Is that Lucia?” he asked.
As he spoke he realized he had not pronounced her name for many years. The little girl he had taken to the movies and the puppet theater and spent the hottest summer months with in a little house in the Ligurian hinterland, the two of them alone, making up stories in rhyme, going for long walks in the morning and bathing only after four.
“Yes,” Alessandra said. “But first I need to talk to you. Can we come in?”
Leonardo made his way to the kitchen, where everything smelled of smoke. The tanker that usually passed in October to fill the cistern with methane gas had not come and, in any case, Leonardo no longer had the money to pay for it. So he had pulled an old stove out of the cellar and collected some firewood in the forest. His first attempts to light it had been pathetic, but for a few days now he had been able to heat at least this part of the house.
They sat down facing each other at the table.
“Do you have a dog?” she said, noticing the bowls under the sink.
“A puppy.”
She moved her hands on the table as if drawing something that would help her say what she had come to say. Thinking it might require summing up many years in a few words, Leonardo kept silent.
“I remarried four years ago.”
“I didn’t know.”
She said that was just how it was.
“I met Riccardo a few months after we separated. We dated for a year; then after our marriage Lucia and I moved to C. We have a villa by the lake. Riccardo’s a communications engineer. The boy in the car is Riccardo’s son. His name’s Alberto.”
Leonardo studied the woman who had once been his wife and now was another man’s wife. Her expression, her shoulders, and her small breasts still had the attractive nervousness of the days when she had worked and talked and been ironical and spent many hours flying to see exhibitions by painters desperate to impress her. Even so, Leonardo could not help noticing that the old warmth had gone from her body. She was much sharper now, like a poker kept beside the fireplace to stir up the fire.
“Last year Riccardo was called up,” she went on. “The army was working with new communications systems, and his expertise was indispensable. At first he came home every two weeks, then less often. Now I’ve heard nothing from him for four months.”
Alessandra spread her hands on the table. In addition to her wedding ring, she was wearing several rings set with small stones, none of which Leonardo recognized.
“Would you like something to drink?” he asked.
“A glass of water would be great, thanks.”
He went to the sink, filled two glasses from the tap, and returned to the table.
“I want to go look for Riccardo,” Alessandra said, “and in the meantime I’d like the children to stay with you. Riccardo’s mother is very old and I have no one else; most of our friends are abroad. If I don’t find him within a week, I’ll come back and get the kids. We have a pass for Switzerland. The last thing Riccardo sent us.”
Leonardo wiped a drop of water that was running down the outside of his glass.
“Tell me about Lucia,” he said.
Alessandra stared at him
“
Ciao
, Leonardo.”
Leonardo got up and took a step toward her but stopped, hampered by the cover, which had slipped down between his feet. In the car were a girl, and a boy of about ten. The pair were watching them through the blue-tinted windshield. It was a high-powered car and extremely elegant. But its hubcaps had been taken off, as had its front grill and mirrors.
Leonardo looked at the girl and her long smooth hair.
“Is that Lucia?” he asked.
As he spoke he realized he had not pronounced her name for many years. The little girl he had taken to the movies and the puppet theater and spent the hottest summer months with in a little house in the Ligurian hinterland, the two of them alone, making up stories in rhyme, going for long walks in the morning and bathing only after four.
“Yes,” Alessandra said. “But first I need to talk to you. Can we come in?”
Leonardo made his way to the kitchen, where everything smelled of smoke. The tanker that usually passed in October to fill the cistern with methane gas had not come and, in any case, Leonardo no longer had the money to pay for it. So he had pulled an old stove out of the cellar and collected some firewood in the forest. His first attempts to light it had been pathetic, but for a few days now he had been able to heat at least this part of the house.
They sat down facing each other at the table.
“Do you have a dog?” she said, noticing the bowls under the sink.
“A puppy.”
She moved her hands on the table as if drawing something that would help her say what she had come to say. Thinking it might require summing up many years in a few words, Leonardo kept silent.
“I remarried four years ago.”
“I didn’t know.”
She said that was just how it was.
“I met Riccardo a few months after we separated. We dated for a year; then after our marriage Lucia and I moved to C. We have a villa by the lake. Riccardo’s a communications engineer. The boy in the car is Riccardo’s son. His name’s Alberto.”
Leonardo studied the woman who had once been his wife and now was another man’s wife. Her expression, her shoulders, and her small breasts still had the attractive nervousness of the days when she had worked and talked and been ironical and spent many hours flying to see exhibitions by painters desperate to impress her. Even so, Leonardo could not help noticing that the old warmth had gone from her body. She was much sharper now, like a poker kept beside the fireplace to stir up the fire.
“Last year Riccardo was called up,” she went on. “The army was working with new communications systems, and his expertise was indispensable. At first he came home every two weeks, then less often. Now I’ve heard nothing from him for four months.”
Alessandra spread her hands on the table. In addition to her wedding ring, she was wearing several rings set with small stones, none of which Leonardo recognized.
“Would you like something to drink?” he asked.
“A glass of water would be great, thanks.”
He went to the sink, filled two glasses from the tap, and returned to the table.
“I want to go look for Riccardo,” Alessandra said, “and in the meantime I’d like the children to stay with you. Riccardo’s mother is very old and I have no one else; most of our friends are abroad. If I don’t find him within a week, I’ll come back and get the kids. We have a pass for Switzerland. The last thing Riccardo sent us.”
Leonardo wiped a drop of water that was running down the outside of his glass.
“Tell me about Lucia,” he said.
Alessandra stared at him
Similar Books
