A Florentine Death (22 page)

Valentina's mother was silent, pale and tense. She stood and stared at the white double doors of the Emergency Department.

Cinzia was sitting stiffly on a chair, her face hidden in her hands, shaking with sobs. Signor Preti's words unwittingly made her feel worse instead of reassuring her.

The double doors opened and Doctor Werther came towards them. He seemed calm, comforting.

'Hello, Lisa, hello, Giorgio,' he greeted Valentina's parents. 'Nothing serious. She's going to be fine. All she needs is a few days in hospital and a short convalescence. A couple of weeks and she'll be good as new!'

Cinzia listened incredulously. 'But her face, all that blood . . .' She sobbed, unable to restrain herself.

Doctor Werther looked at her. 'Are you a friend of hers? Don't worry, they're just scratches. Quite a few, but superficial. She'll have a few small scabs for a while, but then she'll be more beautiful than ever. The biggest bore will be the plaster. Her right shoulder is dislocated and we'll need to immobilise it. A stiff bandage may be enough, but it's essential that for a fortnight at least she doesn't use her arm at all. And she won't be able to walk - there's been a secretion of serum, which has swollen her left knee. We've syringed it and now we're applying a light plaster cast to keep her leg firm. It can come off in two weeks. She can even cut it off herself with a pair of scissors if she's not able to come back here.'

Relieved, Valentina's parents thanked the doctor, who went back into the emergency room.

'You see?' Giorgio Preti said to Cinzia. Reassured, she sniffled and gave him a smile that lit up her tear-streaked face.

Valentina's mother, also calmer now, at last sat down.

Soon afterwards, the double doors were thrown wide open and two male nurses came out pushing a trolley. Valentina lay on it, her face swathed in bandages, her left leg in plaster and her right arm held in a stiff bandage.

Her parents and Cinzia ran to her.

Through holes in the bandages they could see her eyes, her gaze seeking each of them in turn, and her mouth: it seemed to Cinzia that she was trying to smile, but all that showed was a grimace of pain.

'Does it hurt, Vale?'

Valentina did not reply.

The nurses asked them to stand aside so that they could take her into the room she had been assigned.

'Who won?' Valentina stammered at last as they were taking her away.

Cinzia stayed by Valentina's side day and night. Lisa Preti would have liked to take over, but Cinzia had insisted, saying it was all her fault and she should be the one to attend to her.

The fact was, she was happy to be close to her. And it wasn't an unpleasant time. The hospital in Brunico was one of the few in Italy that combined the high medical standards of State hospitals with a level of comfort worthy of the best private clinics.

Valentina's parents took turns in coming to see their daughter during the day, bringing newspapers, magazines, flowers and sweets.

Valentina recovered quickly.

On the morning of 2 March the bandages were removed from the undamaged left side of her face, and the nurses explained to Cinzia how to medicate the wounded part, a network of small scabs going from the corner of the right eye and finishing in a cut across the right corner of her lips.

In the afternoon, they taught Valentina how to use crutches and that evening they dismissed her.

Giorgio Preti drove the friends back to the hotel.

'But you can't go back to Florence,' Cinzia insisted.

'I have to resume my studies. I don't want to stay here.'

'So come back to Bologna with me.'

'I can't, all my things are in Florence.'

'Don't you realise you can't look after yourself? How are you going to wash yourself? Who'll cook your food? Don't be stupid. You'll manage fine for two weeks with what you take from here. You don't need much, it's not as if you're going dancing. Bologna is still your home. I swear I won't make any attempts to steal your virtue, if that's what you're worried about.'

Valentina smiled.
And what if you did?
she thought. During this vacation she had got much closer to Cinzia, who'd been so good to her, better even than a sister would have been. She dismissed the thought.

But her friend was right. She wouldn't manage on her own in Florence, and she risked being forced into an intimacy with Mike that she didn't want to face up to at the moment. Especially in her condition.

'What about my studies . . .?' she said, weakly.

'Give me a list of books,' Cinzia said. 'I'll add exercise books, pens, ink and even an inkpot. All on the house!'

So on Sunday 5 March, Valentina set foot again in what had been her home in Bologna.

The next day, there was a text message on Valentina's mobile phone.

It was from Mike.

Having fun? When returning Florence?

She decided to call him and tell him everything. She told him she was stuck in Bologna and she would be back as soon as she was able to move. A week at the most. She was feeling fine. Her face was clear apart from a few sticking plasters and a few marks. Only the cut on her lower lip was taking time to heal and still bothered her a little, perhaps because she sometimes bit it nervously, tearing off the crust and making it bleed. But she was already moving about quite well and was thinking of cutting off the plaster on her leg as soon as she could.

Mike was sorry to hear about her accident, and offered to come and fetch her, but she said she'd prefer him not to. He made her give him Cinzia's address and phone number, however.

'Okay, if you're not here by Friday, I'll come and get you.' 'I'll let you know.'

Now she really wasn't sure she wanted Mike and Cinzia to meet.

*

Cinzia looked after her as if she were her mother.

She kept her word, too, and treated Valentina like a distinguished guest, never trying to take advantage of the thousand opportunities presented by her friend's helplessness and partial immobility. She even helped her to wash her private parts, but the touch of her hands never became too suggestive, never turned into a caress.

It was especially at such moments that Valentina would nervously bite her lower lip. At night, too, tossing and turning in a restless sleep.

They slept in the same room, but in separate beds.

The one habit Cinzia had kept from the days when they had lived together was that of walking around the apartment naked or half-naked.

She found it quite natural to flaunt her young, undeveloped body, her small, firm breasts that had never really grown, her long slim limbs and narrow buttocks which gave her a slightly boyish appearance, like one of those anorexic models so much in vogue at the time.

Valentina could not avoid the comparison between her friend's smooth, barely angular curves and the rougher, less graceful surfaces of the only male body she had ever known. Nor could she help wondering what it would be like to feel Cinzia's languid caresses again, the soft, probing kisses, the urgent, expert fingers, the delicate tongue. At times like these, she realised that what Mike had inflicted on her had been a real act of violence, the only weapon of seduction, perhaps, that a man knew.

She felt ashamed whenever she thought about it. Her mind would cloud over, and she would find it hard to reason, hard to understand. Deep down, something in her had responded to that violence.

If Cinzia ever noticed these moments of confusion, she certainly didn't show it. She would complete whatever gesture she had begun, continue the conversation without any alteration in the tone of her voice. And, consciously or not, she would score another point in her favour.

The final move in the game came on Friday evening. In the afternoon, Cinzia had helped Valentina to cut the plaster from her leg, and finally remove the sling and plaster from her shoulder. Valentina's leg, although a little numb, had responded quickly.

'Look, I'm walking!' she cried, taking a few steps.

'Eppur si muove,'
Cinzia remarked, solemnly.

'Let's go out!'

The days had grown longer, and the sky was clear and bright. The air smelled of spring, there were young offshoots on the horse chestnuts, everyone in the street seemed to be in a good mood, and so were the two old friends.

'Shall we go to the Bar Basso?' Valentina said.

It was a favourite meeting place for students, located in an arcade near one of the departments of the faculty of letters and philosophy, a good mile and a half from their apartment. They usually went there by public transport or in Cinzia's Scarabeo.

Are you crazy?'

'Come on, I feel fine. I swear!'

'We'll go as far as you're able. As soon as you feel tired, tell me and we'll turn back, okay?' 'Okay'

They managed to reach the Bar Basso. They had coffee and cake, and bought cigarettes for Cinzia.

They went back home by taxi, in the dark.

'I'm having a shower,' Valentina announced as soon as they got in. 'I can't wait to have a good soaping after all those sponge baths.'

'Are you sure? You've only just taken off the plaster . . .'

'You could give me a hand, one last time,' Valentina suggested, innocently.

It was only then that Cinzia realised that the slow, subtle, perhaps involuntary wearing down of her friend's defences had finally brought Valentina back to her.

She ran the water while they undressed and followed her into the big shower cabin.

'Oh, this is so nice!' Valentina exclaimed, as the wonderfully warm water gushed out. 'Soap my back, then I'll soap you.'

Cinzia took the foam-soaked sponge, and began gently sponging Valentina's shoulders, then moved down her spine. She put her left arm round her waist and placed her hand on her friend's flat, taut stomach. As she reached her buttocks with the sponge, she went up on tiptoe and lightly kissed the hollow of her neck.

Valentina did not protest.

Cinzia slid her left hand down Valentina's belly, sank her fingers into the tuft of wet pubic hair and slipped them inside the labia, searching for the clitoris.

Valentina moaned.

They ended up on her bed. Cinzia was unbridled, and Valentina let her do what she wanted, not even complaining when her friend's passionate kisses hurt her aching mouth.

Only once, when Cinzia pressed her body too firmly against her right shoulder, did she say, 'Be careful.'

They made love all night until at last, exhausted, they fell asleep, Cinzia's body clinging to Valentina's like that first time in San Vigilio.

*

The doorbell woke them the next morning. It was almost midday.

Cinzia jumped out of bed and ran to the door, still half asleep, throwing on a short dressing gown as she went. It must be a friend of hers, she thought: maybe Chiara was back from her vacation and had come to find out when their classes would be starting again. Instead, she found herself face to face with a tall, fair-haired man wearing sunglasses and carrying a huge bunch of roses.

He was smiling amiably. Tm looking for Valentina Preti,' he said, with a slight American accent. 'Is she here?'

You know she is,
Cinzia thought, irritably.

'Yes,' she said, 'but — well. . . we're still. . .' She looked at her watch, and realised there was no point saying they were still in bed. 'We've not long woken up.'

'I see. May I come in, anyway?'

Cinzia looked desperately for a reason to say no, but couldn't find one. She couldn't very well leave him standing there in the doorway. After all, he was a friend of her friend.

'The place is a real mess . . . All right, come in. I'll tell Vale.' She pulled her dressing gown around her and let him pass.

Although she couldn't see his eyes, she felt as if she were being scrutinised, analysed, explored. She was embarrassed at being almost naked, defenceless, her hair in a tangle, her eyes bleary.

She ran into the bedroom and closed the door behind her, but not before Mike Ross had caught a glimpse of one bed that hadn't been slept in and another one, unmade, where Valentina was lying, only her outline visible under the sheet, which she had pulled up above her head.