I’d like to get down on my knees, to surrender, to beg for mercy, to know what I’ve done to deserve all this. But I stand there, stiff-backed, my feet solidly planted on the paving stones. You’ll never destroy me.
I don’t know what time it is, but I know it’s late, because suddenly the crowd disperses, the van doors are closed, the square empties.
The sky has grown darker. Soon, in fact very soon, it’ll start to rain. I zip up my jacket and raise the collar. It’s damp, and the cold penetrates my bones like the sharp nails of an old witch. Then the first drops of rain start to fall, heavy and fast. The black sky, shaken by constant rumbling, is stormy and fascinating. For a few minutes the rain comes down with unusual intensity. And I stand alone in the middle of the square and raise my face to the sky in an act of defiance. I want to feel the force of that rain on my face, I want to be struck and scarred by Your anger.
I can’t manage by myself. I need to see her again, I have to find a way to make it up with her. I go to a bar on the square to wait for my clothes to dry out. I must look terrible, I can see it in people’s eyes.
I keep phoning her, but she never answers. In the end I decide to call Luca, our only mutual acquaintance, the only bridge still standing between us.
He answers.
He sounds a bit wary, although he doesn’t seem to know what’s been going on. “I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch,” he says. “I’ve been very busy.”
What he means is that he didn’t like the idea of helping me with Isabelle, but now doesn’t seem the time to point that out, it would be a waste of breath. Besides, I need to be friends with him again, I need to gain his trust and get him to arrange a dinner, an excursion, anything. “It’s been a difficult time,” I say. “Getting out of the scene… You know what I mean, I can talk to you because I know you understand. How about meeting for a coffee, or maybe we can have dinner one of these evenings…”
Immediately his attitude changes. “I can tell from your voice that you’re not well,” he says sadly. “We could have met tonight, but it’s Giorgio’s birthday and we’re going to the Prime.” He pauses for a moment, and when he starts speaking again I get the feeling he’s smiling. “I’d ask you to join us, but the last time you weren’t very friendly to him.”
I smile, too. As far as I’m concerned, the fact that it’s Giorgio’s birthday this evening and that he may also have invited Isabelle suits me down to the ground. “The Prime? I didn’t think you still liked places like that.”
“Just because I left that whole scene doesn’t mean I only go to out-of-town restaurants,” he replies, amused, but he’s in a hurry to say goodbye. God alone knows how many precious minutes I’ve made him waste.
When I hang up, Elena calls me again. I have no time for the hassles of work, outside it’s already dark. I manage to get in a taxi and rush to the restaurant. If all goes well, I might get there by the time they’re having dessert.
The last time I set foot in this place, Gaëlle was in Rome. She and I and Federico had booked a table at the back, the most isolated. Thinking back on that evening now, I can imagine the two of them seeking out each other’s hands when I wasn’t looking.
The people here are the ones I’ve known for years, have spent endless evenings with. They say hello, a little surprised, some ask what’s become of me, others ask me, “Everything all right?” My clothes are still wet, and I probably look a bit suspicious.
There’s also the risk I might run into Federico. Wednesday’s a busy night, they might have booked a table in one of these rooms. I realize it doesn’t bother me. This evening I’m here for her. I want to look her in the eye and take her away with me.
Obviously I’m not really ready to see her again. When her beautiful freckled face appears in my field of vision, I immediately freeze.
That Giorgio is talking into her ear. I doubt it’s anything amusing, but she’s smiling. Not very naturally, of course, but she is smiling. Then he pours a little wine in her glass and Isabelle pretends to be flattered, which doesn’t suit her at all. When she turns in my direction, maybe responding to the appeal in my eyes, she abruptly changes expression.
I’d like to get into her head, now that I’m doing the round of the tables, greeting people without taking my eyes off her, not even for a moment, I’d like to be able to feel what she’s feeling, know if she too, like me, is trembling inside.
Luca is surprised, but greets me in a friendly manner. We exchange knowing glances, he must have assumed I’d put in an appearance, deep down I’m still the same Svevo, the one who never gives up.
Isabelle gets to her feet, saying she has to go to the toilet, and I immediately follow her.
She realizes I’m behind her and she keeps moving quickly along the corridor. A waitress in a kimono gets in my way. “Isabelle, please,” I cry, but she doesn’t slow down.
When she gets to the door she turns, and her eyes tell me to leave her alone. But I don’t give up. I follow her into the Ladies.
A couple of girls are fixing their make-up in front of the mirror. Seeing me, they turn as pale as the powder puffs in their hands.
“Can I talk to you?”
“To say what?”
“Not here.”
She’s agitated, she begs me to leave.
“So that you can go back to the table with that man?”
Our two spectators have got their colour back and walk out without saying anything, leaving us alone.
“His name is Giorgio, he’s a good man.”
“Please, listen to me. Let me at least explain.”
“Explain then, but hurry up about it.”
I thought it would be easier, that the magic of what we’ve been through together would soften her. But time is still racing, it won’t slow down, and Isabelle is just as impatient with me as everyone else is. She doesn’t give me time to speak.
“They warned me about you,” she says, turning her back on me. “I don’t want to fall for it, I can’t afford to. We’re too different. Please go away.”
I go to her and grab her by the elbow. At last I smell her perfume, hear her breathing. I’d like to be able to kiss her once again. “You can’t believe what people say. That’s not like you.”
Isabelle is upset, impatient. “I believe what I saw,” she says, walking away. “And it’s not for me. Leave me alone, please.”
“I can’t. You’re in my blood.”
The door of one of the cubicles opens, and who should come out but Gaëlle, her sinuous body held tightly in a black sheath dress. “Svevo,” she calls to me. She looks surprised and annoyed.
Isabelle takes the opportunity to leave.
I don’t have time to stop her, because Gaëlle has already come and stood in front of me. “Have you been reduced to following women into the ladies’ toilet?” she says in that haughty tone of hers.
“The kind of place you shouldn’t even set foot in,” I say, taking out all my anger on her as I try to leave.
But she grabs me again. “Are you trying to tell me I’m not a lady?”
“A lady doesn’t use the toilet to do what you do.” I don’t have time to try and disguise my disgust.
Gaëlle grabs me by the wrist. “Wait.”
“What do you want? You should be in Paris.”
“Who is that woman?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“I need to talk to you,” she insists.
“We have nothing else to say to each other.”
“Do you know why I’m still in Rome?”
Her eyes are soft, yielding, a long way from her usual demeanour. She’s beautiful, but decadent, like one of those expensive designer objects that go out of fashion after a while and end up forgotten in some old warehouse. I’m not interested in what she has to tell me. I finally manage to free myself from her grasp and leave the toilet. I’m deaf to her calls. I have to find Isabelle.