Andrea Canobbio - Three Light-Years

“Sure, let’s smurf it up,” Viberti says.

“Hey, don’t joke around. This is serious.”

“Okay, okay.”

Silvia kneels down at Viberti’s left, pours the tea into the cups. “Let’s pretend we are both guests and the person offering us tea is sitting here with us.” She turns to Viberti, bows slightly, and says, “ Oshōban itashimasu .”

Viberti giggles. “I don’t know what to say,” he whispers.

Silvia smiles slightly. “You don’t have to say anything. It’s the opening phrase. I said, Please, allow me to share tea with you.”

“All right. I allow you. Let’s move on to the second stage.”

“Don’t be in such a hurry.”

Silvia bows to the nonexistent host and says: “ Otemae chōdai itashimasu .” Then she whispers to Viberti: “I told him that it pleases me to drink his tea.”

“Well,” he says, “tell him I said so, too.”

“Pick up the cup, the chawan , with your right hand and place it on your left palm. Hold it firmly by placing your right thumb on the rim of the cup. Make a slight bow.”

Viberti does what she says, even though his hand is shaky.

“Now take hold of the rim of the cup with your index finger and the thumb of your right hand and turn the cup ninety degrees clockwise. Take a sip and make a comment about the tea.”

“Mmm. It tastes like cherry.”

“No, the comment has to be more positive.”

“Oh. Well then, excellent.”

“Between sips rest the fingertips of your right hand on the mat in front of you. At the last sip you must make a slurping sound against your palate.”

“I’ve never been good at making slurping sounds.”

“Try it.”

He emits a kind of cluck, then starts giggling again.

“Now wipe the rim of the cup with your right thumb and index finger. Turn the cup counterclockwise on your palm to return it to its original position. Set the cup down outside the edge of your mat and admire it. You can make comments.”

“About the cup?”

“It’s not mandatory.”

“But can’t I talk about something else?”

“No, not really. What did you want to say?”

“That I like being here with you.”

Silvia smiles, leans over, and kisses him. A moment later they’re lying down, embracing. Viberti is excited, even though he can’t stop thinking about Cecilia. Going to bed with her sister is not the best strategy to win her, but at that point it’s impossible to stop, as if he were no longer himself, as if he were the reincarnation of the Japanese boyfriend.

* * *

Later, back home, he tried to understand why he had done it. It was all very complicated. Made worse by a raging headache. He did it because he felt like it, because he was confused and frustrated; even though he’d enjoyed it, it didn’t mean anything, he was in love with Cecilia. He would tell Silvia that he couldn’t keep doing it, he would ask her to please not say anything to her sister.

Over the next four days, however, he perfected the tea ceremony with her two more times. They set a fourth date, but Viberti didn’t show up. He sent a text to say he wasn’t feeling well. Silvia asked him if he needed anything, then said she hoped he’d feel better soon. It wasn’t like him to lie like that and in fact he hadn’t thought it was possible to do so with such ease. It was necessary, however, because if he continued to see her, the mess he’d gotten himself into would be impossible to clean up. Maybe it already was, maybe Silvia had already told her sister everything. He felt a great tenderness and yearning for Cecilia and finally understood the state of mind in which she found herself after being with him. He would have liked to call Silvia now and tell her: “It’s not possible, I can’t keep doing this anymore.” But in the days that followed he did not call, and it became progressively more difficult to break the silence.

* * *

He didn’t see either sister for ten days, until Antonio phoned him late one Monday morning to tell him that Cecilia Re’s son had been admitted to the hospital after he’d fainted at school. It didn’t seem to be anything serious, and his father was with him. Viberti climbed the stairs with his heart in his mouth.

The boy had grown, he looked fine, he was much better, he wouldn’t have recognized him. Or maybe he would, maybe he would have recognized him, even though he was much more confident, bolder and more cheerful. His bond with his father, at whom the child glanced repeatedly as though seeking confirmation and permission, made Viberti jealous. This ex-husband of Cecilia seemed like an easygoing person, decent, pleasant. He was afraid of running into Cecilia. Besides, his visit was over. He had nothing to say to the boy, he felt like a stranger. He said goodbye to him, shaking his hand, and told him to have a good time on vacation.

In the afternoon he called Silvia. He apologized, he shouldn’t have disappeared like that, but he was confused, he didn’t know what to do and maybe it would be best if they didn’t see each other anymore. “I wouldn’t want you to think I’m a shit,” he said.

Silvia said she absolutely didn’t think that, and she agreed, it made no sense to go on seeing each other. She thanked him for calling her.

* * *

Sitting in an armchair in Marta’s living room, Viberti is leafing through a monthly travel magazine that Giulia buys regularly, even though she never goes farther than Bocca di Magra, and then passes on to her mother-in-law, who almost never leaves the house anymore. The usual beaches and monuments and sunsets, but between the lines the fear that people will give up vacations once and for all. An excess of enthusiasm, unsolicited reassurances, petrified smiles. At one point I started to keep a notebook in which I recorded all my vacations, weekends and short trips, New Year’s and birthday celebrations, whom I’d spent them with, where I had gone, but then I got tired of it, and if I forget them, so be it. I started because one day someone asked me where I had spent New Year’s 1986 or 1987. I couldn’t answer and I felt disoriented.

Windows open, the beginning of June, it already feels like summer. Marta has fallen asleep in the armchair next to Viberti, her head lolling, her mouth partly open. The TV is on, there’s the news, but as soon as he saw his mother dozing off, Viberti turned off the sound. They’d eaten together, Giulia had dropped by to say hello, and now Angélica is tidying up in the kitchen.

It could be a peaceful evening, he could wait another ten minutes and then get up and wake his mother with a kiss on the forehead, and offer to take her to bed (it’s not good for her to sleep in a chair). Or he could ask her if she feels like venturing out for a stroll around the block, the weather is so mild. He could also leave the living room quietly and ask Angélica to wake his mother in ten minutes, run off without saying goodbye since his mother wouldn’t notice his absence in any case. He could go up to his apartment and listen to some music, straighten up the house and his head, think calmly about the situation he’s created with Cecilia, make some decisions before submitting, as usual, to those of others. He could, but the phone in his pocket starts ringing.

Cecilia’s name flashes on the display. Viberti answers, speaking softly even though his mother can’t hear him.

Cecilia’s voice is pained, though she’s not crying, she’s not frantic. She says she heard about Viberti’s meeting with the child, they’re back home now, she asks him how he thought he was. Viberti replies that he thought he was doing just fine, that Mattia absolutely remembered him, even if he thought he was a cook. “I don’t know if he was teasing me, but I don’t think so, I think he really thought I was one of the cooks on the ward, because two years ago I always showed up at lunchtime.” Cecilia pretends to be amused and pleased, she talks to him with the familiarity, affection, and intimacy with which you talk to an old friend, a person you rely on and from whom you expect support. And Viberti feels a chasm open up in his chest, in place of his heart there’s a black hole that is collapsing, swallowing up the universe around him, because he realizes that Cecilia knows everything.