Page 107 of Two Chances With You

As I get dressed again under the streaming water that I so dearly hope might somehow bring me a cleansing wash, a form of purification, beneath the dark, low clouds that glare at me, inquisitorial beneath that moon that has so indignantly turned her face away from me, Babi continues. “I just hope you won’t get mad.”

I look at her. How could I get mad at her?

She puts both hands up, pulling her wet hair back. Then she tilts her head to one side, trying for a moment to turn into a little girl again. But it’s no longer possible. She can’t pull it off.

“Well…I wanted to tell you. In a few months, I’m getting married.”

Chapter 44

Yes, hello?”

“Hey, what happened to you yesterday evening?” Gin asks. “I called and called you, but first it wouldn’t go through, and then it said the phone was turned off.”

I feel like dying.

“Oh, yeah. We went with Guido to eat in a place, but I didn’t notice that the reception was bad. It was under…”

I don’t know what else to say. I feel like vomiting.

And the absurd thing is that Gin comes to my rescue. “Yes, underground. I tried for a while, and then I fell asleep. I can’t see you today. I have to go with my mother to visit an aunt outside of Rome. What a bore! Do you want to talk later? I won’t turn my phone off, okay? I’m just kidding! A nice kiss to you, and later, when you’re awake, an even nicer one!”

And she hangs up. With all her cheer, Gin with her love of life. Gin with her beauty. Gin with her purity. I feel like an absolute piece of shit. It might be the rum, or it might be all the rest. Could the amount I drank be taken as a justification? No, it’s not enough. I knew the difference between right and wrong. I knew I should have said no at the outset. I should have turned down the offer of a ride, I should have refused to blindfold myself with that scarf, and I shouldn’t have kissed Babi.

What if I just dreamed it? I get out of bed. The clothing hanging over the chair is all still wet from the rain, those shoes caked with mud leaving no room for doubt. It was no dream. It’s a nightmare. Guilty beyond any and all reasonable doubt.

I sift through my memories in search of a phrase, words I can cling to. I’m reminded of something a teacher of mine said in high school in a philosophy lesson: “A weak man has doubts before a decision; a strong man has them afterwards.” I think it must have been Karl Kraus. So, in his opinion, I would be a strong man. And yet I feel so weak.

And so, stupid mastermind behind my own condemnation, I drag myself into the kitchen. Some coffee should help. A day will pass and then another and then another after that. And eventually all this will be forgotten because it will be part of the past.

I pour myself some coffee that’s already made, sitting in the pot. It’s still hot. Paolo must have left it out before going to work. I sit down at the table. I drink some of the coffee, and I eat a cookie.

Then I see a note. I recognize Paolo’s handwriting. Usually perfect and neat. This time, however, it seems ever so slightly wobbly. Maybe he was tired and he wrote it in a rush. I read it.I went with Papàto Umberto I Hospital. Mamma has been admitted there. Come as soon as you can, please.

Now I understand the handwriting. I leave the coffee on the table and hurry to get a shower. Yes, now I remember. Paolo had told me about Mamma, but he hadn’t struck me as especially worried.

I dry off, get dressed, and minutes later, I’m already on my motorcycle. A blast of wind in my face brings me back to full consciousness immediately. Everything’s going to be all right.

Chapter 45

Excuse me, I’m looking for Signora Mancini. I believe she was admitted here earlier today.”

A male nurse sets down an issue ofCorriere dello Sport, opened to an article about who knows what soccer star purchased by a team, and takes a bored look at the computer in front of him. “Mancini, you said?”

“Yes.”

Then it occurs to me that she might have used her maiden name. “Or she might be under Scauri.”

“Scauri? Yes, here she is. Bed 114.”

“Thanks.”

I turn to go search for her in the ward. But as soon as I pass his workstation, the bored male nurse seems to come wide awake, and he stands in my way. “No, you can’t go.” He looks at the clock behind him. “Visiting hours start in about an hour.”

“Yes, I know that, but she’s my mother…”

“I don’t give a damn if she’s your mother. At three p.m., the same as for everyone.”

And in a flash, I glimpse Paolo’s note.Come as soon as you can, please.

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