That danger more than ever hung over us, that everything was worse than before, that the real guilty party must be struck… it had to be done and Saturday was only forty-eight hours off. The suitcase dragged out again from under the bed, her thin hands with the bitten nails working over the white suit of that curious doll with the bow tie and the smile… How do yon like him, tell me. Doesn’t he remind you of somebody? Now we take this string, we have to make knots, a little knot here, a little knot there, and you must repeat this word after me, no, not like that, silly, but as if you meant it, otherwise it won’t work. And finally that big pin, brandished like a dagger in search of the right place to strike — the eyes, the heart, the throat… we had to decide. And what did I advise? I advised nothing, I didn’t want to advise. It was no longer a game, the way it was in other years, a game to pass the summer away.
On Saturday evening Uncle Tullio took us to the Bathhouse. Son of Tarzan was no longer playing; there was only a film we couldn’t see because minors weren’t allowed, but we had a fine walk, all the finer because Clelia had consented to come along. Aunt Esther was radiant, you could read it on her face. We stayed late so as to hear the band. Aunt Esther ordered a fancy ice cream and Clelia and I sat among the potted palms, listening to Mamma solo per te la mia canzone vola and picking up the caps from bottles of Recoaro, which bore the same design as that on the T-shirts worn at championship soccer matches. Aunt Esther and Uncle Tullio danced on the platform bordered with potted palms and then we went home by the shore road. It was a beautiful evening and the tree-lined road was quiet and cool. Aunt Esther and Uncle Tullio walked briskly, arm in arm, and Clelia hummed as if she were happy. I felt as if we were back in the summers that had gone before, when everything was yet to happen. I wanted to hug my aunt and uncle or write to my father not to come for me, to pay no heed to my wish to see him arrive in a red car, because I was content with things the way they were. But Clelia tugged at my sleeve and said: It’ll happen tomorrow, you’ll see.