Pietro Grossi - Fists

“Hi, Piero,” Nico said.

Piero again looked up, smiling in that lopsided way, and immediately looked down again. Then he waddled on his arms and legs, nudged Nico’s leg with his shoulder and, grunting, went straight back to his place in front of the little pile of shells.

“It may be best if I leave you two alone,” Maria said, from the door.

Nico turned and looked at her. Her eyes were sad, and there was an embarrassed half-smile on her lips.

“Yes,” Nico said. “It may be best.”

Maria left the room, pulling the door shut behind her. Nico watched as she disappeared and stood there for a few seconds staring at the closed door. When he turned again to look at Piero, his friend was trying to make a shape out of the pistachio shells.

One of the last times they had spoken on the phone, Piero had been in London on business and had asked Nico to come up and join him.

“I can’t now,” Nico said. “You come down here.”

“Shit, Nico, I’d really like that. I’d like to come down there and just mess around for a few days without thinking of anything. Why don’t we go away together?”

Nico laughed. “Piero,” he said, “you’ve been saying the same thing since you were twelve. But where the fuck do you want to go?”

“I don’t know. Somewhere. Australia, for instance.”

“Are you turning gay?”

“No, but I’m thinking of it. Why?”

“Because that’s the kind of offer you usually make a woman. Look, I’m not giving you my arse.”

Piero laughed at that. “It would be nice, though,” he said.

“What, having my arse?”

“That, too. No, I meant dropping everything and going away.”

Nico thought about it for a moment. “But do you really have to go to Australia to drop everything?”

Piero, too, thought for a moment. “No, maybe not. But Australia’s cool.”

“Why?”

“Because of the waves.”

“How do you mean?”

“I mean the surfing.”

“Piero, you can’t surf.”

“I know, but I can always learn.”

“Fuck off,” Nico said.

“And also because there aren’t so many people there.”

“Now that’s a good reason.”

“A very good reason, I think.”

“Yes, a very good reason.”

For a few moments, neither of them had said a word, then Piero said, “Nico?”

“Yes?”

“Whatever happened to our dreams?”

“Dreams? What dreams?”

“I don’t know, but we must have had some.”

“My dream was to own a Panda four-by-four.”

“And?”

“And now I own a Panda four-by-four.”

Piero gave a faint, unconvinced laugh and fell silent again. “Oh, well,” he said after a while.

“Piero,” Nico said, “the people who came before us fucked up our dreams.”

Piero had been silent for a couple of seconds, then said, “Maybe we should have lived in the Seventies.”

“Yes, then we would have been disappointed. We’re better off, we were born disappointed and that’s it.”

“Oh, well,” Piero said again.

“Piero?” Nico said.

“Yes?”

“I think you just need a good sandwich.”

“You may be right,” Piero said.

Nico lowered himself until he was sitting next to Piero with his back against the bed. After a few seconds, Piero grunted a couple of times and pushed a handful of pistachio shells towards Nico. Nico moved his hand over them and lowered his head, trying to look his friend in the eyes. Piero stuck his lips out again and slapped his forehead twice with his hand, then calmly arranged four shells in a line, swaying slightly.

Nico watched him screw up his face and grunt, then he moved two of the shells towards Piero’s line and put them on the side, as if to start a new line at right angles to the first. Piero grunted again and slapped his head with his hand, then waddled to one side, pivoting on his feet, and added two shells to the new line. At last, a square appeared.

They carried on like this for a while. Piero would put down a shell and Nico would move another shell closer to it, then Piero would add another, and so on until a shape emerged, a star or a circle or whatever, and they would continue until the strange shell design was complete. Then Piero would grunt, slap his head with his hands and smile in the same monkey way, screwing up his face and showing his teeth. A couple of times he laid his head for a moment on Nico’s shoulder. The last time Piero had done that was at least ten years earlier as they came out of a club — he was completely drunk and joked to Nico that he should take him home.

After about an hour, Nico put his hand on Piero’s bare shoulder and told him he had to go. Piero did not look up, but scratched behind his ear and grunted twice, more softly this time. Nico sat there for a few seconds, looking at Piero with his hand resting on his shoulder, then looked to one side for a moment and stood up.

He looked at him one last time as he was leaving the room, with his hand still on the door handle. The sun had been down for a while, and the electric light made everything even more absurd.

When Nico started to walk downstairs, he saw Maria sitting at the foot of the stairs.

“Well?” Maria said when Nico had come closer, looking up at him without standing. “How did you find him?”

Nico slowly walked down two more steps, with his hands in his pockets. “Well,” he said, “he’s acting like a monkey.”

Maria stared at him without saying anything. She seemed a little disappointed. “Yes, but …”

“I don’t know, Maria,” Nico said. “I really don’t know. The last time we spoke on the phone he was complaining about his work and now he’s acting like a monkey. I don’t know. I really don’t know.”

Maria continued looking at him without saying anything.

“Would you call me a taxi, please?” Nico said.

“Of course,” Maria said, rising and half smiling. “But I can give you a lift if you like,” she added once she was on her feet.

“No, thanks, a taxi will be fine. Really.”

“As you wish.” Maria climbed down the last two steps and turned. “Will you come back tomorrow?”

Nico looked at her and took a moment to reconnect. “Of course. I’d be glad to.”

Maria nodded, smiling. She walked back into the drawing room, went to the telephone and picked up the receiver.

Piero’s mother was still there, embroidering with an almost military determination. After a few seconds she looked up at her daughter, and saw Nico.

“Hello!” she cried. She put the embroidery to one side and looked at Nico with those over-wide eyes. “Well? How did you find him?”

Nico managed to squeeze out a smile. “Fine,” he nodded.

“Really? I think he’s in good shape, too!”

“Yes, I agree.”

“Are you staying for a few days?”

“Oh, yes, it looks as if I’ll be staying the whole weekend.”

“How nice! Piero will be glad! Perhaps the two of you could go out for a meal or a drink the way you used to. I’m sure he’d love that.”

Nico wondered which was worse: that Miriam should pretend nothing was wrong now, or that she had always done so before.

“Yes, maybe,” he said. “We’ll see how it goes.”

“Or you could go the cinema. You always liked that.”

“Right,” Nico said. “It’s an idea.”

Maria put down the phone and walked up to Nico. “The taxi will be here in five minutes,” she said.

Nico had never appreciated a taxi so much in his life.

“What, are you going already?” Piero’s mother asked, frowning sadly.

“Afraid so,” Nico said. “It’s late and I haven’t even told my parents I’m coming.”

“What a pity,” Piero’s mother said. “I was hoping you might be able to have dinner with us.”