Marco Vichi: Death in August

‘Well? So how’s Rodrigo?’

‘You’re sitting on the homework assignments I need to correct.’

‘Oh, sorry. Where should I put them?’

‘If I put them there, it means that’s where they’re supposed to be.’ He spoke fast, correcting all the while, eyes fixed on the page. Bordelli stood up and put everything back in place.

‘I’m going to make tea. Will you have some?’ he asked politely.

‘The housekeeper cleaned the kitchen a couple of hours ago,’ said Rodrigo, still without looking up.

‘So what? Does that mean you’ll never cook again?’

‘All right, all right, go and make your tea.’ It seemed like a major concession.

‘Lemon or milk?’ asked Bordelli.

‘Milk.’

‘Sugar?’

‘No sugar. There’s honey in the cupboard on the right.’

‘How many spoonfuls?’

‘Two. Teaspoons, that is.’

‘I got that.’

‘I’d like a little silence.’

‘I’ll be silent as the grave.’

It was strange to talk to someone who was correcting papers without ever looking you in the eye. Bordelli thought about annoying him further by asking him what kind of cup he wanted, whether he wanted a napkin and what kind, paper or cloth, and other things of that sort, but thought better of it. He went into the kitchen to make the tea, trying to create as little mess as possible. He returned with cups in hand and found his cousin in the same position. Rodrigo seemed to have turned to stone. He was staring at a sheet of paper. He was only happy when he could make sweeping strokes of red ink. Bordelli set Rodrigo’s tea down in a random spot on the desk, at the very moment his cousin was finishing a broad red flourish of the pen.

‘Another mistake? Are they big mistakes or little mistakes?’ he asked. Rodrigo finally raised his head and looked at him.

‘Remove that wet cup immediately,’ he said icily.

‘It’s your tea.’

‘Get that mess out of here, it’s making a ring on my agenda.’

‘What’s the problem? You’re only going to throw it away at the end of the year.’

Rodrigo heaved a sigh of forbearance and decided to intervene personally. Setting down the red pen, he lifted the cup and wiped the cover of his agenda with a paper napkin, which he then rolled up into a ball and tossed into a wastepaper basket under the desk. Bordelli followed his every move with great curiosity. In a way his cousin’s precision fascinated him; it looked very much as if it stemmed from some sort of madness. Rodrigo then straightened his back and gave a smile that was supposed to convey calm and serenity.

‘Why are you here? Do you have something specific to tell me?’ he asked.

‘No, why? Does it seem as if I have?’

‘I don’t care. Why did you come?’

‘For a chat.’

‘All right, then. Let’s chat.’ Rodrigo folded his arms to show that he was interrupting his corrections. Bordelli sat down comfortably in a chair, and with his teacup balanced on his thigh, he lit a cigarette.

‘So, then, how are things, Rodrigo?’ he asked with a hint of a smile. Rodrigo stood up and opened his eyes wide.

‘Put out that disgusting cigarette immediately,’ he said, trying to contain his rage.

‘I don’t see an ashtray.’

‘Do you know that it takes a week for the smell of smoke to go away?’

‘I swear I didn’t know,’ Bordelli said, inhaling deeply, as if it were his last puff, asking again for an ashtray with his eyes. Rodrigo opened a secretaire and pulled out a small souvenir dish from Pompeii, set this in front of him, and immediately stepped back. Bordelli snuffed out his still-whole cigarette.

‘So … aside from the cigarette, how are you? Getting along all right?’ Bordelli asked. Rodrigo had sat back down at the desk, but seemed a little more inclined to chat, even if he had no choice.

‘Yes, all right, not too bad. And yourself?’ he said.

‘Like shit, Rodrigo, I feel like shit … Oh, sorry, I know you don’t like profanities.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Rodrigo said, understandingly.

‘In short, I feel like shit … I’m fifty-three years old, and when I come home there’s nobody there waiting for me.’

‘If you live alone, of course there’s nobody waiting for you.’

‘That’s not what I meant.’

‘So why don’t you speak more clearly?’

‘Jesus …’

‘What is it now?’

‘Nothing, nothing … Tell me something, are you still with that woman … what was her name?’

‘What’s she got to do with anything? And I don’t like the way you phrased that.’

‘Have you ever wondered why you like so much to correct other people’s mistakes?’

‘You’re changing the subject again …’

‘I was only curious as to why you like so much to correct other people’s mistakes.’

‘What’s wrong with that?’

‘Come on, try to be nice. I’m only trying to start a discussion.’

‘What kind of discussion?’

‘Any kind, provided it lasts more than two sentences.’

‘Maybe we have nothing to say to each other.’

‘Even two people who have nothing to say to each other can still talk.’

‘That’s an absurd statement.’

‘Listen, why don’t you tell me … I don’t know, tell me what you do on Sundays, for example.’

‘I try to rest.’

‘You don’t correct any papers?’

‘And what if I do? I really don’t see what you’re getting at.’

‘Nothing, I’m not trying to get at anything. As I said, I just wanted to have a chat.’

‘Well, unfortunately, I have to work.’

‘In August?’

‘That’s right, in August. Why not?’

‘I have nothing to say.’

‘Strange …’

‘Tell me something, Rodrigo. Who do you vote for?’

‘I vote for whoever I feel like voting for.’

‘I don’t doubt that. But are you satisified with the way things are going?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean just what I said.’

Rodrigo sighed indulgently and started fiddling with his red pen.

‘Italy used to be all wheat and sheep … and now prosperity is finally on its way,’ he said.

‘For whom, exactly?’

‘For everyone. We used to be a nation of peasants, and now we all drive cars.’ As usual, after a difficult start, Rodrigo was warming up to the idea of talking.

‘The power of statistics,’ said Bordelli. ‘Do you watch a lot of television?’

‘Why? Do you want to be left behind?’

‘Left behind by what?’

‘For now, we’re still at the beginning, but before long, you’ll be amazed.’

‘I’m already amazed.’

‘If each does his part, we’ll all be fine.’

‘I don’t know why, but I don’t like that statement.’

‘Can’t you see that you don’t understand? You don’t understand that everything is governed by the laws of chemistry, even man and society-’

‘So it’s all very simple, in other words.’

‘Look, it’s easy to see what you’re thinking. You’re one of those who think chemistry is only a cold science.’

‘Ah, you mean I’m not alone?’

‘You don’t understand, none of you. One need only find the right formula for each thing. There are certain substances that can change the molecular structure of others. Some compounds are inert until they come into contact with a new agent that makes them explode … It’s not magic; everything is governed by precise rules.’

‘And where does prosperity fit in with all this?’

‘Prosperity is the result of new combinations of elements that have always existed. Is that not chemistry? This is an important moment for our country … and Italians know this.’

‘Italians? What do you mean by “Italians?”’