Scent of a Woman

4

With the tip of the cane he lightly touched the cuffs of the trousers, first one then the other, going slowly all round to the top of the shoe.

‘Do they hang right? Short, maybe?’

‘Perfect,’ I replied.

He circled around. In the flood of sunlight from the window the linen seemed radiantly white.

With the dark tie, the glasses, his hand held stiffly against his stomach, he seemed unreal, a negative image of a photograph meant to mock the things of this world, to make them seem flat and remote.

He rolled his shoulders again, felt the edges of the sleeves from which the cuffs of his blue shirt peeped out.

‘Sure I don’t look like an ice-cream man? A nurse?’ he stood stiffly, satisfied.

‘It looks very good on you. Really.’

He made a face.

‘Yeah. But a linen suit should be a little rumpled. It’s the rule.’

He found the bed again, and lay back on it shaking his hips vigorously, stretching and bending his knees as he pedalled rapidly.

‘How about now?’ he said, back on his feet.

‘It looks good.’

‘That’s all you can say,’ he protested sceptically.

‘But it looks fine. What else should I say?’

‘Let’s go,’ he decided. ‘You’ll be glad too, without that usual shapeless uniform. Go on, go. Let’s get out of here.’

‘Yes, sir.’

He only appeared calm and cheerful. The sudden tightening of his mouth, the deliberate kindness in his voice betrayed his anxiety. ‘A drink. Some coffee. And we’re ready for anything.’ He laughed as we waited for the lift.

A quarter of an hour later we were going up a narrow street that ran parallel to the port, lined with dark dank bars, cave-like shops, and eateries that smelled of burnt oil. On the ground, shrivelled greens and scraps of paper left over from the morning market; overhead a strip of sky angling between the profiles of the rooftops. Here and there a radio conveyed voices and music from darkened window openings. An old woman with a cluster of camera equipment started to step out of a doorway, studied us warily and in the end decided to remain under cover, hunched and twisted like a root.

‘Anything?’

‘Not yet. Only two. Hideous,’ I replied.

‘Maybe it’s a bad time. People are eating. You think we’re here too early?’ he wondered.

It didn’t seem like a real question; I kept quiet.

He stopped abruptly.

‘Listen. I don’t like this. It makes no sense,’ he said. ‘Find me a café. I’ll wait for you. You scout around. Then come back and get me. Okay?’

‘Maybe that’s best.’

I left him at the bar of a café. Behind his cigarette he was sweating, as if his strength had given out.

‘No haggling over money. And tell the truth,’ he reminded me, his breathing still shallow.

I walked the whole length of the street, my pace quickening with the irritation that was spurring me on. From the precipitous alleyways that plunged dismally towards the port on my right, glimpses of a pale, distant sea could be seen.

Among the numerous cafés, I chose one from which loud blasts of music came; three or four girls appraised me as soon as I walked in. None of them seemed right. I waited until one of them made an overture.

Suddenly my irritation vanished, I felt practical and determined. Clearly I was resolved not to make a mistake.

‘I’m telling you: she came down purposely. Her name is Mirka. The usual names. Her friend went to call her and she came down to have me take a look. She’s waiting, right now. A doorway down the street, about twenty yards.’

‘The one from yesterday? Are you sure?’

‘Yes, I’m sure,’ I lied.

‘Okay, okay. Let’s go.’ He sighed wearily.

He didn’t say another word until we had climbed up two flights of a very narrow staircase. Muffled voices came from beyond the walls.

‘I had to promise her a bundle,’ and I told him the figure.

He brushed me off with an angry gesture.

‘Here it is. It’s the only door,’ I stopped.

‘Just a minute.’ He fretted anxiously; from his pocket he pulled out a white cotton glove that he quickly slipped onto his left hand, nervously smoothing each finger.

‘Am I okay? Tell me.’

‘Of course. Sure.’

‘Not true. It’s too hot,’ he objected, frazzled. ‘Goddamn handkerchief, why won’t it come out? Ring the bell. What are you waiting for? Ring it.’

He fumbled, trying to wipe away the perspiration.

A woman opened the door, giving us a hard look. Her odour overwhelmed us.

‘Will you wait here?’ she said to me, pointing to the kitchen. Then, raising her voice: ‘Barbara, where are you Barbara? Come and keep this fine gentleman company.’

I sat at a table in front of a shiny gas burner. Rays of sunlight struck the kitchen’s metal appliances. I heard a thud from somewhere: it must have been him bumping into some piece of furniture.

An eye peered at me from the balcony, then the partial face of a shirtless little girl.

She came forward suspiciously, her thin arms clasped tightly behind her back.

‘You didn’t bring me any ice cream,’ she said.

‘I didn’t know you’d be here!’ I laughed. ‘I’ll bring it next time. Tomorrow.’

‘That’s what they all say, but if my Mama doesn’t buy me ice cream I never have any,’ she protested, pouting.

She rocked solemnly on her feet, then decided to trust me and came over to the table, resting her chin and fingertips on it. She smelled of talcum powder.

‘In September I’m going to see the lizards. Did you know that?’

‘Really?’

‘Really. I don’t tell lies.’ She went on, ‘In September we’re going away, to the seashore, but a sea that’s far away, not this dirty one. We’re going to a place with walls full of lizards.’

‘Good for you. And what will you do with the lizards?’

‘Nothing!’ She laughed. ‘You can’t catch them!’

‘Sometimes you can. Catch one, tie a string around it and take it for a walk.’

‘You’re silly,’ she said angrily. ‘Lizards don’t let you tie them up. They’re not dogs.’

‘Right. That’s true.’

‘Don’t tell Mama I called you silly. You won’t tell her, will you?’

‘No.’

‘Cross your heart?’

‘I swear.’

Suddenly friends, and to make it up to me, she began rolling her eyes, bobbing her head.

‘If you give me fifty lire, I’ll show you my scab,’ she went on, lifting a knee that sported a Band-Aid.

‘You shouldn’t uncover it, otherwise it won’t heal,’ I told her.

‘Today in the courtyard I uncovered it twice. For ten lire. But the second time a boy ran off without giving me the money after he saw it. I won’t play with him any more.’

I lit a cigarette and she immediately ran around the kitchen fussing until she found a tiny ashtray.

‘Mama yells if she finds a mess,’ she explained, leaning her chin on the table again, ‘and you know what she says? That men are all foolish bastards.’

‘I see.’

‘She says it all the time. All bastards. And another thing she says: you’re Barbara but when you grow up you won’t need a barber. How funny.’

‘That’s a nice name: Barbara.’

‘I like Maria better. You know what? After I die I’ll be a Madonna. But the real Madonna, not a statue.’

She began scratching her stomach delicately with a fingertip.

‘A mosquito bit me last night. Here. Can you see it?’ she asked, sticking her tummy out.

‘No.’

‘Well, it bit me. When they bite me, Mama puts cream on me. It’s cold; it makes me shiver.’

‘Don’t scratch it.’

‘I will too!’ She stuck out her tongue.

‘If you do that you won’t become a Madonna,’ I said.

‘I will too become one,’ she protested stamping her foot, ‘after I die. When are you going to die?’

‘I don’t know!’ I laughed.

‘You don’t have a beard. You’re not old enough to die.’ She thought it over.

I reached out my hand to pat her, but she quickly jumped back.

‘I’ll perform lots of miracles,’ she shrieked. ‘As soon as I’m named Madonna, you’ll see how many miracles I’ll perform.’

‘Good for you.’

‘A hundred million miracles. I’ll be clothed in gold and I’ll have a hundred saints around me,’ she continued, popping and rolling her eyes again.

‘Sure,’ I said.

‘Those men – the bastards – though, I’ll send them all to hell,’ she concluded happily.

‘Me too?’

‘I don’t know,’ she said wrinkling her nose. ‘You didn’t bring me ice cream after all.’

I stood up and she immediately retreated to the doorway of the balcony.

‘Are you leaving?’

‘Not yet.’

I took a couple of steps to see if I could hear any sounds in there.

‘The door is locked, the door is locked,’ the girl chanted in a singsong, laughing.

‘Right.’

‘My mama always locks it when there’s a gentleman. Did you come with a gentleman?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then you have to wait till Mama comes out. If you want, I can scream. She comes right away if I scream.’

‘No.’ I sat down again. ‘We’ll stay here and be quiet.’

She came back to the table, in a ray of sunlight that lit up the nearly blond stumps of her braids.

‘Do you go to kindergarten?’ I thought to ask.

‘I go but I get sick. Every time I go I come down with a fever,’ she said crossly. ‘Mama doesn’t want to send me any more. She says I’ll stay with grandma this year. But I don’t like that grandma. You know?’

‘Oh,’ I said.

‘Yeah. I don’t. She’s old, all she does is pray, pray, pray and she doesn’t understand. She never gives me any gifts. And she’s always crying. Mama, on the other hand, buys me lots of dolls. Know how many? Guess.’

‘I don’t know. Let’s see: ten,’ I guessed.

‘Fifteen!’ she shrieked, laughing. ‘Nobody ever guesses, nobody. Fifteen. One that’s very big, bigger than me even. She’s dark-skinned, all black, but I don’t like that one and I don’t count her. I never sleep with that black one.’

I heard the sounds of running water, the hum of words; the woman appeared with a sigh.

‘Go out to the balcony, Barbara,’ she said.

‘No, I won’t,’ the girl retorted.

‘Would you like some coffee too?’ the woman offered without looking at me; she was already bustling about the gas burner. ‘Tell me, that friend of yours, he’s a bit nervous. With you, does he talk?’

‘He’s just strange,’ I replied.

‘Strange all right, poor soul, him too,’ she said screwing the coffee-maker together. She had big hands and pale, unpolished fingernails. ‘Still, he’s a gentleman. Say whatever you want, but he’s a gentleman. And loaded: I mean, rich. Barbara, go out to the balcony.’

‘No,’ the child replied sullenly, shaking her head. ‘I’m staying here. Right here.’

‘Go or I’ll call the wizard!’ the woman hollered.

She had a powerful behind; her arms were rosy and plump as they slipped from her dressing gown. Taking her time, the girl retreated to the threshold of the balcony.

‘I don’t believe in the wizard any more. Or in the witch. I don’t believe in them, no I don’t!’ she shouted and stood there open-mouthed.

‘And you, young man, won’t you stay with me a little while?’ The woman turned around and smiled, her dark eyes always appraising. ‘Ten minutes, okay? Or are you ashamed because of your friend?’

‘Not today,’ I said embarrassed.

‘Whatever you say. You’re making a mistake though, another poor fool. But I’m not the type to insist.’ She laughed tiredly. ‘Here’s your coffee. With this contraption all you get is a cup and a half. Is half enough for you?’

‘It’s fine, thanks.’

‘I’ll take his in there. If you’re not staying, then leave quickly. And you, Barbara, you’ll be sorry if you move or shout like before. No television tonight if you do.’

From the doorway she turned, lowering her voice: ‘But he wasn’t wounded in the war, right? Too young. What, then? Well, it doesn’t matter, it’s this lousy world. Why doesn’t he get married? He must have a nice pension, I imagine.’

Before getting up I tried waving goodbye, but the child, peeved, slammed the glass door and stared at me from the balcony without waving back.

We walked for a long time; he was indifferent to the heat, his face turned upwards, the bamboo cane no longer held out ahead, but clasped tightly under his arm.

I didn’t feel like talking. Every so often I was amused by the hasty way people anxiously made way for us on the sidewalk, hugging the walls closely. We strolled around a large rectangular piazza with a skimpy park in the centre. My mind was blank; even the noise of the traffic drifted off without bothering me.

I remembered the revolver in the suitcase with a sense of lethargy: just as long as he didn’t shoot himself during these few days with me. Who the hell knew what was going through his head?

‘Why don’t you get married?’ I asked when we were seated with a couple of ice creams.

‘What?’ he answered coldly, irritated at being ambushed, though he quickly regained his composure. ‘What’s got into you? Are you out of your mind?’

‘I was just asking. It would be logical.’

‘Logical?’ He sneered, showing his teeth. ‘Bullshit. Get married. You sound like my cousin.’

‘I don’t see why not.’

‘Love isn’t polenta. Get married and then you’ll be happy. Better to get married than hang yourself,’ he continued mockingly. ‘You’re just like my cousin the aunt: she lives on proverbs. But she’s seventy years old. Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?’

He had settled the cup of ice cream between the slightly curved fingers of his left hand, now stripped of the white cotton glove. He stopped stirring it with his spoon.

‘Just my luck to get an antiquated, conventional conformist like you,’ he said.

‘I’m not antiquated. I think logically. Or at least I think I do. That’s all,’ I replied.

‘You think, ergo you’re annoying. It would be better if you were missing a cylinder,’ he laughed drily. ‘I would have preferred the usual illiterate, or at least a bizarre type. But no: instead they saddle me with a thinker, who as soon as he opens his mouth comes out with a hundred gaffes.’

I chose to just take it. At a table nearby two guys raised their heads over the straws of their soft drinks, listening intently.

‘But the world is full of nice women,’ I went on.

‘Really? You keep them. Enjoy yourself.’ He cut me off without lowering his voice.

‘There’s no need to put an ad in the papers to find the right one.’ I didn’t feel like holding back.

He was rolling a still unlit cigarette nervously between his thumb and forefinger.

‘You say that because you’ve seen me act soft in the head,’ he said then, choosing his words. ‘Think what you like. Feel free. If it matters, I’ll tell you that those types of women have always had that effect on me. We were better off with the brothels. But you: you can’t possibly have any idea. What a country this is! Completely laughable. Nothing works, so what do they come up with? Shutting down the bordellos. The country’s only real salutary institution.’

The two guys at the other table were sitting sideways to look at us. They laughed.

‘You know why I haven’t yet killed myself?’ he asked.

‘No, sir.’

‘Because even if I croaked it wouldn’t bother anyone!’ he shrieked shrilly. He quickly added, ‘This ice cream was disgusting. As soon as you get outside of Turin, forget desserts. Not even a decent beignet. Write that in your journal.’

‘You won’t ever die, sir,’ I said.

‘What’s that?’

‘I know it sounds stupid. But that’s what I think. I can’t explain it. I don’t think you should ever die,’ I said, confused.

‘Nice compliment. A fine wish.’ He laughed, disconcerted. ‘You’re not jinxing me, are you, Ciccio?’

‘I saw the revolver,’ I said softly.

He started.

‘Yes, sir. Last night. You were sleeping. I looked in your suitcase and I saw the revolver.’

He nodded, his face tightening. ‘Dirty bastard,’ he murmured.

‘I’m sorry I stuck my nose in where it didn’t belong, but I was right to,’ I said defiantly.

‘Filthy traitor. Rotten swine,’ he went on, controlling his harsh breathing. His right hand grabbed the edge of the tablecloth and twisted it into thick folds.

‘Call me whatever you want,’ I defended myself, trying to overcome the tremor in my voice, ‘but I’m not sorry I did it. I could even be held responsible if something happened.’

‘You have no responsibility. No right. No nothing,’ he shouted coldly. ‘I’ll beat the living daylights out of you. I’ll kick the shit out of you.’

‘You do whatever you think is best,’ I tried again. ‘But I’m not your orderly. Or your lightning rod. I can’t put up with everything.’

He allowed himself a faint smile.

‘You’ll put up with it,’ he said, pronouncing each syllable, ‘you bet you’ll put up with it. I’ll make sure you’re raked over the coals. You have only one way out. Know what it is? Run off. Scram.’

‘I’m not the type.’

‘You are. Idiot. Go ahead, get up. Get out of here. Beat it. Let’s see that courage of yours. I swear I won’t start shouting. I won’t run after you. Girlie.’

He waved his cane. The two guys were now staring intently at us, unsure whether to give us an amused smile or a look of pity. The cane dropped back on the table.

‘Go on. What are you waiting for? Move. You think you’re needed? You’re more useless than a dead weight. Get lost.’

‘I wouldn’t do such a despicable thing.’

‘It’s not despicable. It would be courageous. A word you’ve never heard of. What you like is saying “yessir”. And snooping around on the sly like a thieving servant. Well? are you going or not?’

‘No.’

‘I know what you’re thinking: you’ll go when it’s convenient for you. That’s what you’re thinking.’

‘Whatever you say, sir.’

He laughed in short, harsh bursts.

‘Poor fool. I’m a thousand steps ahead of you, I am. So watch out. I might be the first to scram. And force you to trot behind me with your tongue hanging out.’

I didn’t say another word, torn between the nagging thought that I had gone too far and the bitter satisfaction of having finally managed to speak out. He went on waving his cane, his breath laboured.

The two guys stood up. Before leaving, they gave us a long lingering look. I gave them a rude gesture, which persuaded them to move off into the park. I heard them laughing in the distance.

‘We should go back to the hotel. For the suitcases,’ I decided after a while.

He stood up. We started walking along the street at a rapid pace again, unable to find a single word to say.

I was very tired. My head felt flushed and heavy, but I got by without slowing down. His arm under mine now sought to lure me back into the usual hopeless pity, but I managed to remain detached, to resist, even though I was ashamed of the confused reasons for such absurd resistance.

At a very crowded crosswalk we bumped into one another, but no profanities or rebukes were thrown at me. I was in no mood to apologize.

The city’s noises had grown, rising into a long, protracted rumble. The late afternoon air grew even denser, scorching hot, despite the impending evening, its electricity quickening everyone’s steps and gestures. Along a stretch of arcades I realized I was staring hungrily at several large, colourful film posters: a grainy, hazy shape of a woman with a machine gun against the swaying yellow light of a rich pagoda.

He was whistling, lips tight, chin thrust out. Then he stopped, shaken by silent laughter, which he stifled in his chest.

The sound of a siren at the port made its way through the walls and the muffled depths of the city.

In the bar back at the hotel he perched on a stool and began drumming on the counter with his left hand, silently outraged at the lack of service. The last of the sun poured through a window, glinting off his dark glasses and lighting up his forehead, his hair.

‘Beat it,’ he told me as soon as he was able to bend over a glass of whisky. ‘I’m staying here. Until it’s time for the train. You: fuck around wherever you want.’

His hand was trembling. He drank the first sip with barely controlled craving. The wrinkles in his linen suit scrunched along his back.

I sank into a chair in the next room, by this time indifferent to any poster images.