Andrea Canobbio - Three Light-Years

So she wouldn’t start thinking about it again, she got out of the shower and went into the kitchen to look for something to eat. There was a bowl of leftover rice salad, she lifted the plastic wrap and ate a few forkfuls standing in front of the open refrigerator, its chill encircling her. She caught herself picking out the tastiest toppings without eating the rice, a thing she always scolded the children for. She put the fork in the sink and took some water from the fridge; the frosty bottle reminded her of one of her first deaths, one that had the uncanny ability to summarize them all, because afterward she’d learned to forget them. She could take her time, but if she stopped she wasn’t sure she’d be able to get moving again. So she hung the robe in the bathroom, walked down the hall naked and, seeing herself in the full-length mirror in the bedroom, felt a sharp pang of desire for Viberti, the bastard.

* * *

In Pediatrics, Lorenzi told her that the internist had stopped by during the lunch break to see the boy.

Cecilia hadn’t imagined he would show up in the ward without being asked, as if he now considered himself part of the family, as if he weren’t at all concerned about her reaction — or more likely didn’t yet know she knew — and thought he could act as if nothing had happened, believed he could put on an act in front of her when she knew him so well. He’d come by, but Lorenzi didn’t know what he’d done. He must have spoken with Luca. And with the child, of course. What had the boy said to him, had he recognized him, had he remembered him? She pictured the internist’s pleasure, but she no longer felt the tenderness that her son’s friendship with that solitary, childless man had once aroused in her. At least trying to imagine him with the child kept her from imagining him with Silvia.

Once they left the hospital, the boy cheerful and in good health, and got to his grandmother’s house, thinking was no longer an issue: Michela had two days’ worth of stories saved up, and was eager and excited to see her brother again. In the car she’d started talking at breakneck speed; twice she used the expression “we were so worried,” turning to look at Mattia, who sat quietly and contentedly in the backseat.

Cecilia cut her short: “Everything’s fine, it happens, Mattia is growing.” She was the doctor and people believed her, even when she spoke in clichés, indeed, when she spoke in clichés they believed her all the more because they understood what she was saying. Michela went on chattering, and to shut her up Cecilia announced that they would be allowed to eat in front of the TV to celebrate the homecoming.

At the end of the meal, however, when she got up from the couch to clean up, Michela followed her into the kitchen, shuffling along in the turtle slippers her aunt had given her. She began talking about a classmate who pestered her by acting like a jerk and about how relieved she was that school was almost over and she wouldn’t have to see him for a few months.

“What does he do to pester you?”

“He gives me really ugly presents.”

“Presents?”

“He gives me little toys from Kinder Surprise eggs, he gives me old stickers, you know, for those albums where you have to put together a scene with a few pictures, and sometimes he gives me sets that don’t match, I don’t stick them on anyway, but…”

“I don’t think he’s doing anything wrong.”

“Because you’ve never seen him, he’s an idiot.”

“I’ll tell you a secret, the best thing is to ignore him.”

“But I do ignore him.”

“How were things between you before he started acting that way, were you friends?”

“No, not friends, but he does so badly in school, he’s terrible, he never studies, he says he doesn’t have time because he has to work in his parents’ store, so I felt sorry for him and a couple of times last year I went over his science and history lessons with him, and he got decent grades and was very happy.”

“That’s so nice, Michi, you never told me that. That’s a lovely thing you did, helping him like that. So it’s understandable that he’s taken a liking to you, there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“But it’s not my idea, it’s the teacher who teams us up.”

“Oh, yes, teamwork, I think it’s a good idea.”

Michela wasn’t at all convinced and lingered in the kitchen to talk until Cecilia returned to the living room where Mattia was still watching Harry Potter.

Now she had to call Viberti, she couldn’t put it off any longer, if she didn’t call him she’d spend another sleepless night, though she might still spend a sleepless night even if she did call him, unless venting her anger allowed her to recover her peace of mind and get to sleep. She decided to mentally recap what she wanted to say to him and prepare a list of topics so she wouldn’t sound like she was a raving lunatic. The only words that came to her, clear and conclusive, were “Was there something between us?” but she couldn’t figure out when to say it. Beginning that way didn’t seem possible, not for her, anyway. It would come up as they spoke. And maybe she could put it off, maybe she shouldn’t impose on the half hour before the kids went to sleep. She could call Viberti after ten. She might find the cell phone turned off, though, she might not find anyone home. She stood up, torn by anxiety. She wanted to call him immediately and settle the matter. The children were stretched out in front of the TV, they wouldn’t follow her.

She locked herself in the bedroom. She phoned Viberti. As soon as she heard his voice she felt like crying. She tried to stay calm and talked about the children in sober tones. Then, rather quickly, the phone call fell apart, nothing that was said made sense anymore, it was as if they were competing to see who was more unhappy. She started crying. The questions formulated themselves and were one single question that she managed to voice after several attempts: Had he slept with Silvia? The answers weren’t answers, Viberti was in a panic, Cecilia sensed it and understood and in the end she was ashamed of having asked so insistently, as if that were the point. That wasn’t the point, and she resurrected the only question that she remembered having prepared: “Was there something between us?” But she didn’t want to punish him anymore, she just wanted to end the call. She didn’t understand his stammered apologies, if they were apologies, she didn’t understand anything anymore, she sobbed into the cell phone, crouched on the floor with her back against the bed, her head nearly under the nightstand so the children wouldn’t hear her. She wanted the call to end immediately, she hung up and turned the phone off.

On her knees beside the bed, as if preparing to say her evening prayers, she buried her face in the pillow to wipe her tears and took a deep breath; before going back to the children she wanted to go to the bathroom and wash her face.

As soon as she opened the bedroom door, she saw Michela’s shadow, standing in the dark hallway for who knows how long, sneaking around, eavesdropping, maybe alerted by her crying.

“What’s wrong?” Cecilia asked, more frightened than irritated.

Michela didn’t answer and Cecilia realized that she, too, was crying.

She took her in her arms and whispered, “What is it?”

She hugged her.

The girl was crying.

Cecilia took her into the bedroom, hoping that Mattia was still watching the movie, that he hadn’t been affected by their grief; she closed the door, a watertight compartment preventing the deluge from flooding the whole house.

She led Michela to the bed. “Are you crying because of your classmate who pesters you?” Her daughter was crying like a little girl, she was a little girl. They lay down on the bed, their backs against the raised cushions, Cecilia made her rest her head on her breast. She asked again, “What’s wrong, Michi?”