The Sense of an Elephant (24 page)

The leaf held out, then the wind took it away. Pietro heard the voice: ‘It's Sara. It's my daughter.'

‘He's my son.' The old man held his naked arm in the air and caressed his Andrea. Carefully shifted his limbs as he had learned to over the years, first the legs, then the shoulders and finally the head with a hand behind his neck, slowly. Lay down beside him and took his hand into his own. ‘We're Rossi and Altobelli, world champions.' Then the doctor nodded. The old man settled his head onto the single pillow and now Luca could see them together, the father's face frightened, the son's at peace.

A thread of voice remained to the old man. ‘Your father looks like you.' He still had his arm up in the air. ‘Mr Pietro looks like you. You must be proud of your father.'

Riccardo held up Sara's ultrasound. Viola took it from him and said, ‘Stop it, please.'

Pietro moved to the middle lane and slowed down. He turned over his hands. Now he controlled the wheel with the backs of his hands and looked at his palms. They were those
of a child, smooth. His right hand curled into a cup. He closed it slightly and the hollow became deeper, like in the night by the sea, under the window, after the witch had dropped the scrap of paper with their punishment. He had picked it up and laid it on that palm, gazed on it from different angles. On it was written:
Forget
. The punishment was absence. He had raised his head to the window, now closed again.
Celeste
, he had called to her,
Celeste
. The witch's silhouette was visible through the curtains,
Celeste
. It was the last time the young priest saw her. Witches fly away. Pietro gripped the steering wheel again.

‘She's my daughter,' said Riccardo. ‘My child.'

The concierge clenched his right hand. ‘Does anyone else know?'

The rain had started again.

‘Does anyone else know?' Pietro repeated.

‘The three of us,' said Riccardo. ‘It's weighed on us for two years now.'

Viola covered her eyes with her hand and leaned her elbow against the window, crying. The concierge took her other hand and closed it in his own.

The SUV was approaching the bridge over the River Po.

Pietro maintained his speed. An estate car moved in front of them and he passed it. He let go of Viola's hand and grasped the steering wheel. Passed another car and accelerated toward the bridge.

In the house of the pomegranate trees Luca held up the old man's arm. He massaged it where there was still a bit of flesh. ‘Mr Pietro looks like you.' The old man's voice was a death rattle. ‘You must be proud of your father.'

Luca massaged the arm for the last time, a caress, then said, ‘My father died five years ago.'

Ahead the lights of the barriers indicated the location of the broken guard rail. Pietro slowed down and the SUV started across the bridge. At the same moment Luca removed the cap from the syringe and the old man took hold of his own trembling arm. ‘God bless you, Doctor.' Luca pierced the skin and as he lowered the plunger he stared at the tired father.

Pietro stared at Viola collapsed against the car window. The SUV moved to the left lane. The lights of the barriers came through the fog. There began the bank of the river and there Pietro turned the wheel. The SUV struck the temporary rail and broke through.

The old man died gazing at his son. Pietro with the words of Celeste.
The past is in this letter, a past thirty years long. Yes,
it's me, and I'm about to die. I don't want to take the biggest secret with me
.

His name is Luca. He's our son.

That night in the sea, Pietro. That night a witch once again became a mother and chose silence. That's how I tried to protect you. The truth is that I was only protecting myself. Forgive me.

Luca is the future we never had, but he is us. He lives with his wife, Viola, and their little girl, on the second floor of a condominium that's looking for a new concierge. If you want, you could be that concierge. And this is the last thing I leave to chance in my life.

Call the person whose name I'll write at the end of this letter. He's a friend and the condominium administrator. I asked him to send you this letter. Take care of Luca. Watch over our son. He's a boy on the ball.

Pietro, I've never stopped feeling like you were with me. Never. I wanted to tell you with this flesh while it lasts. It's an honest love, and I'll take it with me where I go. And wherever I am, witch or ballerina, I'll be ready. First with the heel, then with the toe.

Author's Note

All references to real facts and persons are purely coincidental. For narrative reasons, slight modifications have been made to the topography of Milan and Rimini. The song quoted in
chapter 36
is ‘Il mare d'inverno' (The sea in winter) by Loredana Bertè.