The Purple Room (15 page)

He broods in
silence for a while, then asks me, “Do you think I’m just scared of getting
old?”

“I don’t know,
Rob. I think that everyone has to do what they feel like doing. What they think
is right. That’s all we can do, really.”

I realize that
what I’ve just said doesn’t have much meaning for Roberto. I was thinking more
about myself. After the disappointment at the hospital, I’m afraid to keep
looking for Gloria. Still, it made me understand that I was painting a false
image of her for myself, like in an ad, instead of thinking about her as a
flesh and blood person. Looking for her, I run the risk of destroying my memory
of the purple room. At the same time, I know perfectly well that the memory
won’t last forever. It’s destined to vanish anyway––with old age, with
death. I know I don’t want to die without having seen Gloria again, at least
once.

“I’m going in
to make up your bed,” I say, standing up.

“I’ll come and
give you a hand.”

“No, stay out
here and enjoy the cool air.”

The dog jumps
up and follows me to the kitchen door. I leave it outside and go down to the
bunker.

First, I
change the sheets and pillow case on the sofa bed. Then I sit down at the desk,
pick up the phone and call Gloria Decesaris. The one in Montemori, in the
province of Siena. It rings once, twice, three times. On the fourth, someone
answers.

“Yes?” says a
woman’s voice.

It’s
her
. Even after thirty years of not
hearing her voice, I recognize it immediately. The exact same way of saying, “Yes.”

“Who is it?”
she asks.

I open my
mouth, but I can’t speak. My tongue won’t move. I’m paralyzed.

“Hello? Is
anyone there?” Gloria asks again. “I can tell there’s someone there. Who are
you?”

Who are you?
That
question––your question––and the reply you gave
yourself that afternoon, when you said,
Now
I know who you are.
I didn’t understand what you meant. Who am I? It’s me,
Gloria, the boy who kissed you and caressed you inch by inch. I’m the man who
hasn’t forgotten you, and who tomorrow will knock on your door. I’ll bring
together two distant points in time and make them touch for an instant, like a
photograph, a picture, a perfect image of the two of us together.

It’s useless.
I can’t say all these things to her. Gloria is getting anxious. Maybe she
thinks it’s a prank. I don’t want to frighten her. I put the receiver down
without having said a word. I’m sorry to, but what else could I do? Bye,
Gloria. Goodnight. Until tomorrow.

I check the
address: Gloria Decesaris, Lesi-Uliveto, Number 6, Montemori, province of
Siena. Lesi-Uliveto must be a tiny outlying district. I get the road map.
Montemori is a little town in the Chianti hills. I can get there without even
taking the highway. I only need to get on the old Cassia road going north and keep
going straight. I grab a bag out of the closet and throw in a few essentials:
underwear, T-shirts, a pair of pants, a comb and my toothbrush. My camera, too.
I take the alarm clock, set it for eight o’clock, and carry everything
upstairs.

As I’m passing
through the kitchen, the phone rings again.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Sergio.
It’s Loredana.”

“Hey. How are
you?”

“All right.
Sorry to bother you, but… Is Roberto there at your place?”

“Yes.”

“That’s good
news. I was a little worried.”

“Didn’t he
tell you he was coming here?”

“No.”

“Do you want
to talk to him?”

“Do you think
he wants to talk to me?”

“I’ll see.”

I go out into
the garden. Roberto and Michela are on deck chairs pointing out the
constellations to each other.

“Loredana’s on
the phone, Rob.”

“You shouldn’t
have told her I was here!”

“She was
worried.”

“Well, tell
her I just left. Make something up.”

“Come on. Go
and talk to her.”

“I don’t feel
like it.”

“Don’t be an
idiot.”

Roberto jumps
out of his chair. “Why can’t I ever get some goddamn peace? Jesus!”

Michela and I
stay there, looking up at the sky, the shouts of Roberto on the phone drifting
out from the kitchen. To think that he said Loredana was the hysterical one.

“What deal did
Loredana break?” Michela asks, puzzled. “Are they fighting about money or
something?”

“No, a
personal kind of deal. She broke an agreement they made. And it’s not nice to
listen in on other people’s conversations, Micky.”

“How can I not
listen? He’s yelling so loud they’re going to hear him back in Rome. Anyway, if
Loredana broke a deal, Roberto is right to be pissed off.”

“Did you and
Daniel have a deal?” I ask, without missing a beat.

Michela
doesn’t answer. She studies a lock of her hair, holding it to the light,
hunting for split ends.

We sit there
in silence until Roberto comes back from the kitchen.

“Sorry if I
was a little loud,” he says. “I’m exhausted. I’m going to bed. What are your
plans for tomorrow, Sergio? Want to do something?”

“Tomorrow
morning I’m taking Michela home, then I’m heading out of town.”

“Where are you
going?”

“Tuscany. I
want to take some pictures. I don’t know how long I’ll be away. You can stay
here as long as you like. I’ll leave you the keys.”

“Thanks,
Sergio. It’s nice here,” he says, sucking the night air into his lungs. “Well,
goodnight.”

“Sleep well,
Rob.”

I wait a few
minutes to see if Michela wants to talk. Once I’m sure she doesn’t, I get up
and go into the kitchen to wash the dishes. After a little while, Michela comes
in, too, and perches on the edge of the table. She just watches, without
lifting a finger.

“Don’t you use
the dish washer?” she asks.

“No.”

“Do you always
eat alone?”

“Yes.”

“How’s it
going with
her
?”

“Who are you
talking about?”

“The woman
you’re always thinking about. You don’t want to tell me who she is?”

“No.”

“Does she ever
come here to eat with you?”

“No.”

“Do you meet
at her place?”

“No.”

“So it’s
someone you met in a chat room, then.”

“Are you done
interrogating me?”

“That’s it! I
knew it! Did you get her to send a photo? You know, it could be a man. That
happened to a friend of mine. He’d started chatting with this girl and
then––”

“That’s enough
Micky. It’s time for bed, for both of us.”

“Tomorrow you
have to tell me everything.”

We go
upstairs. Michela’s room is still the same as when she was little. Alessandra
bought all new things for their apartment in the city. The twin-bed and closet
set, the lamp in the shape of a butterfly, and the little desk where Michela
used to do her homework, they all stayed here. On the wall are the pencil marks
I made to keep track as she grew taller. The first one is at just twenty-seven
inches. A garden gnome.

“There are
whole pounds of dust in here,” says Michela, looking around in disgust. “Don’t
you ever clean?”

I open the
window to air the room out. “There’s a lady who usually comes up from town, but
it’s been a while since I called her.”

Michela
inspects all the little knick-knacks and plush toys on the shelves. She studies
the photos of when she was little, her framed drawings.

“What’s it
like, seeing your room again?” I ask while I’m making up the bed.

“I don’t
know,” she says, shrugging her shoulders. “It’s like it’s some other little
girl’s room.”

She pulls her
earphones out of her backpack and puts them in.

“Do you want a
T-shirt to sleep in?”

“No, I’ve got
everything.”

“Can I get you
a glass of water?”

“No, Dad. I’m
not three years old. If I’m thirsty, I’ll get up.”

“Right.
Goodnight, Micky.”

I go out into
the garden to put the deckchairs away before the automatic sprinklers come on.
I notice that the ants have disappeared from the crack in the wall. There’s not
a single one left. Who knows where they went?

It’s a clear,
bright night. Lucky is curled up in a corner of the portico, sound asleep. I
think about Roberto, sleeping downstairs in the bunker, and Michela, still
awake in her childhood bed. Tonight my home is once again a little fort,
protecting the people I love. There’s just one thing missing to make everything
perfect.

I go up to the
master bedroom. Making as little noise as possible, I pull the bed, the night
tables and the chest of drawers out from against the walls and cover the
parquet with newspaper. Then I get undressed, open the can of paint, pick up
the roller and paint all the walls purple. I get paint all over myself, even in
my hair, but in the end the room looks wonderful. Once I hang the curtains back
up, it will be perfect. I take the plastic cover off the mattress and make up
the bed with the linen sheets my mother gave me when I got married. Alessandra
always said they were too rough, so we only ever used them once or twice. I’m
sure Gloria will like them.

If I close my
eyes and stretch out my hand, I can almost feel her skin under my fingertips.

17

I look at the
alarm clock. It’s not even eight o’clock yet. That’s why it hasn’t gone off. I
get up, take a shower and go down to the kitchen. Michela is browsing through a
magazine. She’s wearing her earphones. She doesn’t notice I’m there until I
cover the page with my hand.

“Coffee’s
ready,” she says, shifting my hand to continue reading.

“How come
you’re already up?”

She can’t hear
me. I raise my voice and repeat the question.

“It’s too
quiet here,” she snorts, taking out her earphones.

“And Roberto?”

“He’s still
asleep.”

I pour some
coffee and sit down beside her. She’s put on her makeup. Her eyes are once more
two unfathomable slits.

“As soon as
I’ve had my coffee, I’ll take you home.”

“I’ve just had
a great idea,” she says, as if she didn’t hear me. “I’m coming to Tuscany with
you.”

“I don’t think
so. You’re staying here to look after the dog, remember? A can of dog food
every day.”

“We’ll take
him with us. Me, you and Lucky. It’ll be an adventure!”

“You’re really
funny this morning.”

“I’ve already told
Mom.”

“I’m curious
to know what she said.”

“I don’t know.
I texted her and then I turned my phone off.”

“She’s
probably on her way here to drag you home.”

“You have to
convince her to let me go with you.”

“Why? It’s
against my own interests.”

“Oh, come on!
What’ve you got to lose? Tons of divorced fathers take their kids with them on
vacation. You’ve never taken me anywhere.”

“I haven’t
taken a vacation in years, Micky.”

“So, now you
are. You said you want to take pictures. I can help you. I can be your model,
okay?”

She starts
posing with her hands under her chin and her eyes turned to the ceiling. A goth
version of a Byzantine Madonna. Maybe it would be nice to just drive off, go
where we please, stop when we like. For once we could spend time talking together,
instead of going around shops like a couple of idiots.

“I promise you
we’ll get another chance,” I say in the end, “but this time it’s not possible.”

Michela gets
up, fuming. She goes out to the garden to feed Lucky. I’m sure she won’t come out
from Rome to feed the dog every day. It’s destined to starve to death. The only
solution would be for her to take the dog home with her.

I call
Alessandra. There’s one chance in a hundred that she’ll agree to take Lucky.

“I was about
to call you,” she says. She has that irritated tone that never bodes well.
“What’s all this about a trip with Michela?”

“Nothing,” I
say. “She’s the one….”

“She has to
come home straight away. Is that clear?”

“Yes, of
course. She just thought she could come with me to Tuscany.”

“Michela has
to learn that she can’t just do as she pleases. If she doesn’t want to go to
Paris, she can stay at home.”

I don’t know
why, but I say, “So, if I asked you to let her come with me, you’d say no?”

“That’s what I
just said.”

“What’s wrong
with me going on vacation with my daughter for a few days?”

“Don’t start,
Sergio.”

“Explain to me
what’s so wrong with that.”

“You know
perfectly well.”

“No, I don’t.”

She sighs,
tense. “For all these years, you couldn’t have cared less about her. If there
was a problem at school or anywhere else, you’d say, ‘It’s your problem.’
Handing over a check once a month and taking her shopping once a week has been
more than enough for you. Whenever I needed help, you always said
no––especially during vacations. I have bent myself over backwards
bringing her up by myself. You haven’t the faintest idea of what I’ve had to
cope with. And now you come out with, ‘I’d like to take Michela on vacation.’
That’s nice and easy, isn’t it? Great job. Very smart. What do you plan to do
then? When you’re tired of playing the part of the model father, will you
disappear for six more years? Oh no, you don’t. I won’t let you do this.”

Everything
Alessandra has just said is true. I can’t say she’s wrong, but she doesn’t know
what’s going on in my life right now.

“I’m trying to
change some things, Alessandra. There’s a person that… I can’t explain now, but
it would mean a lot to me if Michela came with me.”

“You want to
take Michela to meet some woman you’re seeing? Is that what you’re saying?”

“Not exactly,
but… well, in a way, yes. That’s it.”

“You’re out of
your mind.”

“Why do you
say that?”

“Ever since
you had the accident, you’ve been saying strange things. You worry me.”

“Is that so?”

“I spoke to
your mother. She told me what you did to her hand. Do you even realize what you
did? You have to get some help, Sergio.”

I don’t say
anything. I feel like shoving the phone down the drain.

“Now hurry up
and bring Michela home,” she finishes. “I have to go out, and I’ll be waiting
for you.”

“No,” I say.

“What?”

“Michela and I
are going to Tuscany for a few days.”

“I don’t think
so.”

“You wanna
bet?”

“You wanna bet
I don’t call the police? You can’t take Michela anywhere without my consent.”

“We’ll send
you a postcard, to you and Ugo.”

“Sergio! Don’t
you dare––”

I turn off my
phone and unplug the landline. Then I go out into the garden and call Michela.

“Come on. Get
your stuff. We’re leaving.”

She looks at
me, uncertain. “Are you taking me home?”

“No. We’re
going on vacation.”

“Seriously? Is
Lucky coming, too?”

Oh, right. The
dog.

“Yes. All
three of us.”

Michela gives
a whoop and throws her arms around my neck. We almost end up on the ground.
“Thank you!” Then she looks uncertain again. “What did Mom say?”

“She voted
against it,” I admit.

“So, it’s the
two of us and Lucky against her. She loses, three to one!”

Michela runs
upstairs to get her backpack. I write Roberto a note and leave it on the table
with the house keys. I fill a bag with the cans of dog food Nino gave us. Michela
arrives with her pack on her shoulder. She puts the leash on the dog. It’s
excited, wagging its tail and darting in every direction at once.

“Let’s go,” I
say. I have a feeling that, at any moment, something could happen to stop us
from leaving.

I pick up my
bag and we cross the garden. This time I left the car in the shade. I put the
bags in the trunk and we get in. Lucky refuses to stay in the back alone and
keeps on jumping up to the front to be with us.

“Keep that dog
still.”

Michela
clambers over to the back seat and Lucky calms down immediately, curling up
beside her.

One by one, we
pass the little towns of northern Lazio, nestling darkly behind their walls,
dotting the landscape like pieces scattered across a chessboard. Driving makes
me feel good. I’m heading towards something that has been there waiting for me
all of my life. It’s a bridge to be crossed ever so slowly, enjoying the view.
Today I’m glad to be who I am. It’s something so rare that it deserves to be
celebrated.

“Micky, get
the restaurant guide out from under my seat. Look for a nice place around
Siena.”

“I get
car-sick if I read.”

“Just take a
quick look.”

“If you want
me to vomit in the car.”

We argue over
it a bit, but in the end I give up. Then we argue because she doesn’t like the
music on the radio, because I haven’t got a CD player in the car, because the
air conditioning bothers her, and because the dog wants to ride with its head
out the window, tongue blowing in the wind.

“You’re
letting it lean out too far. It’s going to fall out and get run over by a
truck.”

“He likes it,”
says Michela. She lets it do as it pleases.

In Tuscany,
the countryside suddenly changes. The hills spread out and orderly rows of
poplar trees follow the rise and fall of the road. Michela shakes off her
listlessness. She takes out her earphones and looks out of the window.

“It’s
beautiful here. Where are we?”

“Montepulciano.
Are you hungry?”

“A little.”

I leave the
main road for a country one. In half an hour we reach the town at the top of
the hill. We find a tavern with tables overlooking the valley. Michela seems to
have forgotten her heartache for the moment. She’s engrossed in taking care of
the dog. We have a leisurely meal. She has vegetables, cheese and a Coke, and I
order a fillet of beef, rare. Michela stares in disgust at the fat sizzling on
the grill.

At the end of
the meal, I empty my glass and notice that I’ve drunk the whole bottle.

“Dad, remember
you have to drive,” says Michela.

“You could
drive.”

“Yeah, right.
I don’t even have a license to drive a moped.”

“You’ll have
to learn sooner or later.”

“When did you
start driving?”

“At your age I
could drive, no problem. Remember your grandfather was a bus driver? He taught
me all the tricks.”

“I’ll never be
able to get my license. I’m hopeless.”

“Do you want
to try?”

“Now?”

“Yes. Now.”

I drive back down
into the valley and find a dirt road that runs straight through a field.
There’s not a soul in sight.

“Get in the
driver’s seat.”

We switch
places.

“Are you sure
this is a good idea?”

“Don’t worry.
I’ll be right here next to you.”

I show her how
the gear shift and the clutch work. For a while, we just practice starting. The
car stalls at least ten times. The dog is barking, all excited.

“You have to
let the clutch up slowly, very slowly. Accelerate just a little with the other
foot.”

“I can’t do
it. It’s too hard to work the left pedal.”

“Try again.”

Slowly, the
car starts moving. Michela’s gripping the steering wheel so tightly her
knuckles have turned white.

“Good, now
switch to second gear.”

“How?”

“Stop
accelerating and engage the clutch.”

The motor
shrieks. The car skids along the dirt road in neutral. I quickly switch from
first to second.

“Now, let the
clutch go and push down on the accelerator.”

Michela does
as I say, but she hits the gas too hard. The car lunges forward.

“Easy!”

Michela lifts
her foot a bit.

“Good… Keep
going like that.”

“I can’t
believe it. I’m driving!”

“Now third
gear, Micky.”

Michela
engages the clutch. She puts her hand on the stick and pushes it forward.

“Perfect.”

The car glides
smoothly along. There’s no one around, only fields and scattered trees. The
warm air coming in through the window ruffles Michela’s hair. She’s wearing a
beautiful smile.

“Wow!” she
whoops. “Take my picture, Dad.”

I turn on
Michela’s phone. I frame her on the little screen as she clenches the steering
wheel, smiling. I click. In the end it’s not a bad photo at all.

“Uh oh,” says
Michela, suddenly, “there’s a curve.”

 
Fifty meters ahead of us, the road
curves to the left.

“Slow down,” I
say.

Michela slams
on the clutch, holding it down without changing gears. The car rolls forward in
neutral, coming up fast on the curve.

“Use the
brakes, Micky.”

Michela is
frightened. The car starts swerving.

“Hit the
brakes!” I say, holding the steering wheel steady.

“Dad!”

I pull up on
the handbrake as hard as I can. The wheels jam, the car skids along the dirt
road, raising a cloud of dust. The dog is thrown up front and lands on top of
me. Michela screams, clutching the steering wheel. The car plows straight into
the field and comes to a stop. I can’t see anything. We’re surrounded by yellow
dust.

“Everything
all right, Micky?”

“Yeah, I’m not
hurt. And Lucky?”