When he walked into the dressing room he was always a little surprised to see the floor still wet from being mopped, but this morning there was something far more surprising than water on the floor: the semi-naked body of a young woman, lying as if she’d been suddenly struck down. She was bathed in the light shining in through the sliding doors that opened onto the balcony, which the sheen of the wet tiles intensified. The warmth of her body had evaporated some of the floor’s moisture, creating a kind of vaporous aureole around her.
It was such a surprise that Maxi stopped dead with his head tilted slightly forward. He forgot about the swinging door, which he had shoved open, so when it came swinging back, and his hand wasn’t there to stop it, the wood struck him on the forehead with a resonant clunk that echoed all through the gym. Maxi staggered backward, recoiling from the blow, and for a moment his vision went blank. When the world reappeared, the door was shut in front of him. He opened it again, keeping hold of it this time, and slipped inside. What he had seen before was still there, exactly the same. He approached the girl, rubbing his forehead, where a bump had started to form.
When he was standing over her, Maxi realized who she was: Jessica, one of the morning regulars, and one of the earliest starters, though not as early as him. It was strange that he hadn’t recognized her before, since he saw her every day. But when it comes to recognizing people, he thought, it all depends on context, and he had always seen Jessica in her leotard, working out on one of the machines, chatting and laughing: nothing like this lifeless figure, and yet it was her.
The first thing that occurred to Maxi was that she had slipped on the wet floor. Except that there were no footprints; it was almost as if the floor had been mopped around her. He turned around and saw that his own footprints were clearly visible.
He knelt down to examine her — this was becoming a habit. Jessica was breathing deeply and gently, as if asleep. Maxi looked at her lips: they were slightly open, pink and motionless. With her, getting up close to listen would have been more pleasant, and suddenly he found himself wondering dreamily what she would say to him, what her “little voice” would sound like. . She was beautiful, she really was beautiful, a dream come true. . How odd that he hadn’t noticed before, although he saw her every day. But that must depend on the context as well, he thought. In the end, sleep and waking were the fundamental pair of contexts from which all the others were derived. A pair of words came to mind: “sleeping beauty.” Maybe she was one of those girls who’s always tense when she’s awake, and can only relax and allow her beauty to blossom when she falls asleep. The naked pink of her eyelids and lips continued under the folds of the only garment she was wearing: a white T-shirt of lightweight fabric. Her breasts were just visible, pink and white. She wasn’t wearing underwear: the mishap must have caught her by surprise while she was getting changed. But Maxi looked around and couldn’t see clothes or a bag or anything. And besides, it was the men’s dressing room: she wouldn’t have come in here to get changed.
In the absence of instructions to follow, Maxi felt he had to do something: get her off that cold, wet floor, for example, and lay her on one of the one of the long wooden benches. Which he did, rather slowly, on the pretext of being careful, but really to savor the experience of holding her in his arms. Once on the bench, she sighed and seemed to be on the point of waking. Since her T-shirt had ridden up during the maneuver, leaving her visible up to the waist, Maxi felt embarrassed and afraid that he’d have to explain himself, so he looked around again for clothes or anything, a stray towel, say, with which to cover her up. And then he saw that there was a bag, in full view, sitting on the other bench, a big gym bag. How could he have missed it before? He crossed the room with two strides, looked for the zipper, and before opening the bag, glanced back at Jessica. She was still asleep. He unzipped the bag and rummaged around inside. How strange. It contained men’s clothes: shorts, a tracksuit, a singlet, a pair of enormous shoes (she had little pink doll’s feet) and even men’s deodorant and shampoo, the same brand he used. . Everything in the bag looked familiar, but he still hadn’t realized why: it was his bag; he had left it there when he came in, before kneeling down. This absurd befuddlement could only be explained by his agitation and, perhaps, the blow to his head. Neither of which prevented Maxi from momentarily envisaging the strange possibility that the bag concealed a secret: maybe Jessica was in fact a man, or a man was impersonating her, or something like that.
The mistake did have one benefit, though: it proved that he wasn’t thinking straight, that he was losing the plot. He should have been trying to revive her or help her somehow, instead of imagining nonsense. So he went and sat down next to her, put his hand under the nape of her neck, and lifted her head. Her hair was so silky, so fine!
Jessica opened her eyes. . they were eyes that Maxi had never really seen: large and dark, with streaks of gold that made them very still, veiled now with silence and bewilderment. He let himself sink into them, quiet like her, enfolded in a dream. But he snapped out of it when he heard her say his name:
“Maxi. .!”
She sounded surprised, as if he were the last person she was expecting to see at that moment.
“Jessica! What happened? Are you OK? Did you faint?”
“Uh? What?” She moved her head, which was still cradled in his hand, but didn’t sit up. Her confusion settled into a little smile. “I fainted, or I fell asleep. I don’t know. .”
“You were lying on the floor!”
“I think my blood pressure dropped. I shouldn’t have got up so early. . It’s the weather, the storm.”
“I think the sun’s come out now.”
“What do you mean? The sky’s about to fall! You never notice what’s happening around you.”
“No, I think. .”
They both looked at the glass doors to the balcony, which were painted green except for a strip at the top. A dark gray, almost nocturnal light was coming in through that strip. The silence was supernatural, as if the world really was about to end. Maxi let his gaze stray to the mirror that covered one of the walls and saw himself there, like the Virgin in a Pietà, holding in his arms that warm, pink object: a woman. They seemed to be floating in a greenish element. Then he remembered:
“The same thing happened to Saturno. I left him to recover.”
“Really? Him too? Then. .”
“It must be the weather.”
“Yeah. . it must be. Him too?”
“He was lying on the floor like you.”
Maxi nearly added, “Although he was dressed,” but he stopped himself in time and said: “He didn’t want me to call an ambulance.”
“No!” she exclaimed with a shudder. “There’s no need, not for me, anyway. I’m fine now.” She put her hands on the bench to sit up, but then changed her mind, as if reluctant to abandon the comfort of Maxi’s arms. “Give me a minute.”
“There’s no hurry.” They remained silent for a moment. “But how come you were in the men’s dressing room?”
She looked at him, puzzled.
“What do you mean?” she eventually asked. “There’s a men’s dressing room and a women’s dressing room?”
“Yes. . I think so. I always get changed here.”
“Me too. Is there another one?”
Maxi thought about it.
“You know, I’ve never checked. I come really early, you see, and there’s never anyone else around. .”