5
TWO NIGHTMARISH DAYS have passed. Paris, my Paris, the most beautiful city in the world, with all its elegant buildings, suffocated me. All I ever did there was run. Run to dinner, run for coffee, run to talk to people and pretend to be cheerful and relaxed, even when I was making an effort to look at Gaëlle and Federico as if they were still my friends.
Maybe I’m at the peak of a particularly stressful period. Whatever it is, my life just isn’t the same any more, I’ve been flung into a new dimension, a reality where there only seem to be half the number of hours in the day as there were before, where, if I’m lucky, I have to be content with sleeping two or three hours a night, and my appointments and deadlines are so close together I can’t handle them.
It should be seven o’clock on Monday morning, and I’m in bed, clinging to the last moments of sleep, knowing the alarm clock will go off very soon.
Instead of which, it’s the entryphone that buzzes, insistently, as if saying, “Hurry up, Svevo, hurry up!”
I leap out of bed and stagger to the door, my eyes still half-closed. I’d turned off the heating before leaving for Paris, and this morning it’s freezing cold, the parquet floor seems like a sheet of ice, and with every step I take a shiver runs down my spine.
“Who is it?”
“It’s the doorman, Signor Romano. The driver’s here asking if you need him.”
“Of course I need him. What the hell is the time?”
“It’s ten past nine. We were wondering if everything was all right.”
I’m almost used by now to the pain I feel in my chest every time I’m told the time.
I’ve started to imagine You. I’ve given You human form, because I need a face to direct my anger at. I think of You as busy keeping things moving, making sure nothing ever stops. Father Time and his everlasting work. You’ve decided to make me skip a few stages, You’ve suddenly gone all frantic, full of fits and starts. What are You trying to do? Declare war on me? I have to tell You, I’m not someone who gives up easily. I won’t submit to this madness, I won’t screw up the things I’ve built up with so much effort over the past few years, even if I have to do without sleep, food or sex. I have no intention of throwing in the towel.
I’m outside the building in half an hour, real time, which in my time is only fifteen minutes, more or less. Antonio is waiting for me at the wheel, surprised that I kept him waiting so long and that I’m in such a tearing hurry now. I have to control myself, the situation is critical, but I can do it, I keep telling myself.
My diary is chock-a-block with appointments I can’t afford to miss. I have to keep everything in order, I mustn’t get all the documents mixed up. I have to run, yes, but I have to do it intelligently. I have to be faster than You, I tell myself, but at the same time try to keep control. During the ride I count to five — one, two, three, four, five, one, two, three, four, five — never taking my eyes off the street, because if I get distracted, You’ll swallow the ride. But then I take a second glance at my diary and when I look up I see Antonio looking at me uneasily, wondering why I’m waiting to get out of the car. We’ve already pulled up outside the office and according to my watch it’s 10.30.
Once inside, too, I’m greeted by puzzled faces. Starting with Paola, the switchboard operator, whom in my hurry I barely acknowledge. Running to my office, I almost collide with Elena and all her papers.
“Good morning,” she says, with a sigh.
“I’m sorry… Good morning, Elena,” I reply, breathlessly.
“Did you forget?”
“What?”
“That you had an appointment with Righini at nine this morning. We tried to call you, but your phone was off.”
I take it out of my pocket and realize I haven’t recharged it. I haven’t had time.
“Shit!” I cry, which isn’t my style at all. How could I have forgotten? Then I try to regain my composure. “I guess the director’s been looking for me, too.”
“Yes, I had to tell him that Righini was waiting for you, and he asked me to take him to his office.”
“Has he already left?”
“They talked for about an hour, no more than that. Then they stopped waiting for you, I don’t know if they rescheduled the meeting.”
I grab my papers, trying not just to stuff them in my briefcase, then leave my office and rush to the director’s office as quickly as I can.
Things are at a delicate stage, the director warned me not to miss that appointment. It was a false move, and it’s unforgivable. I hope it isn’t the first in a long series.
“Good morning, Caterina,” I stammer to the director’s secretary. “Can you tell him I’m here?”
“Of course, Signor Romano.”
She opens the door and motions me to go in.
“Please, sit down.”
I feel the blood freeze in my veins, I haven’t yet thought of a plausible excuse for my behaviour.
“Romano, Romano… I can’t believe what happened this morning! Not even a phone call to warn me…”
That’s how he begins as he comes towards me, breathing hard, his voice booming. Then he stops and just stands there, looking at me solemnly.
He isn’t tall, but with his bullet-like head and sparse, well-groomed grey hair, he conveys a powerful sense of authority and always carries himself like someone who expects to be treated with the greatest deference. “I’m not interested in your excuses,” he says, although I haven’t even had time to breathe. “Do we at least have a draft contract?”
“I have it with me,” I try to say, but he silences me with a stern look.
“You know how important this acquisition is for us. We could probably have closed the deal today. You know as well as I do, time is money.”
“You’re right, I have no excuse.”
By the time he sits down at his desk he’s calmed down a bit. He looks at me again, almost regretfully, but I don’t think I’ve really disappointed him, because he assumes there are valid reasons for my behaviour. Except that he’s not interested in hearing them. “Time is money, old friend,” he repeats.
“I know, I know that better than you think.”
He opens the silver box where he keeps his cigars, and takes one out. “The one unfailing duty we have to ourselves, Svevo, is never to forget who we are and where we’re going.”
All at once, from behind a cloud of smoke, he calls his secretary and orders her to come and take away a glass. It’s a crystal glass, perfectly clean, but he sees a smudge on it and it bothers him. He instructs Caterina to check them carefully, one by one, nobody must be allowed to use his glasses. When Caterina leaves the room, he takes a disinfectant wipe from his drawer, rubs his hands with it and says, “You can go now. Keep me up to date with developments. Remember I gave you this assignment, knowing how delicate it was, and I don’t like regretting the decisions I make.”
Once I’m out in the corridor, I’m tormented by a new anxiety: what if I’ve lost his trust? I wouldn’t like to be forced to hand in my resignation before the end of the year.
“I’m going to lunch, Signor Romano,” Elena tells me when I get back to my office. “I left a list of telephone numbers on your desk, it’s been impossible to get hold of you today.”
“What do you mean, lunch? What time is it?”
“1.30. Do you mind if I go now?”
I think I must have turned pale, because Elena continues to stare at me questioningly.
“No… no, I don’t mind,” I say, making an effort to seem convincing. “I’ll see you in half an hour, not a minute more, we have a lot to do this afternoon.”
Elena walks away, deeply puzzled. I think she’s guessed that something isn’t right, all this urgency isn’t like me, but there’s no way she can imagine the kind of absurdity that has me in its grip, or how much I need her on my side.