When the Night (12 page)

I fold the letter and place it back in the notebook.

A rubber duck floats in soapy water in the bathtub. A drop of water falls on his beak. I shut the faucet. Marco’s toy boat is at the other end, next to a tiger and a giraffe.

In the kitchen a dirty coffee cup sits on the table. I stop at the spot where I saw the baby lying on the floor, on his side, with his eyes closed. From the door I couldn’t see that he had blood on his head; he looked like he was sleeping, under the table. How did he end up there? If he had fallen he wouldn’t be there. I sit down in front of the cup. There are coffee stains on the wrinkled paper tablecloth, and crumbs.

She’s alone. When she left him in the stroller in front of the house, she said: “I was making his lunch.”

She has to do everything while the baby is sleeping. That day, when it rained, they didn’t go out; it was almost dark. A long day. It used to be that way with Luna as well.

She would climb into bed, exhausted.

“I don’t know what to do with them when it rains. Good thing you came home, Manfred.”

Good thing I was here that night, too. I’ve been thinking about it for a few days. I get down on all fours under the table. There are long red stains, streaks—is it wine or oil? I grab a corner of the paper tablecloth, moisten it with saliva, and rub. Then I sniff the stain. It’s not wine.

She didn’t even bother to wash the blood. I put the tablecloth in my pocket.

“YOU HAVE TO let the venison hang for one or two days.”

“Poor thing. Such a beautiful animal.”

“There are lots of them in the mountains. Have you ever tasted venison?”

Bianca immerses the meat in oil and vinegar. Sara, the girl who helps out in the kitchen, chops garlic and onion. The kitchen is hot; there are pots and pans on the walls and the stove in the middle, a brick oven in one corner. It’s raining outside. The two boys are in town with their father, doing the shopping. Marco is eating at the kitchen table with Silvia; he takes pieces of steak in his hands and shoves them into his mouth. Yesterday he spit out his mush; he wants to eat the same things as the big kids now.

“Take smaller bites.”

He doesn’t listen, just watches Silvia and imitates her.

“I like your kitchen. It’s nice and big.”

“I’d like to have it redone. It’s old, almost the same as when I arrived. I repainted it and bought new pots and dishes. Everything was chipped, and the pans were all black. No one ever bought anything new. My father-in-law refused. He would say,
It’s a mountain lodge, not a fancy hotel. And I would tell him that these days, people want to eat well and be comfortable, even in a lodge. When he left, I bought everything new. But we should have it redone.”

“Did he go live in the valley?”

“No, he went to the city. He changed his life completely. I can understand why.”

Sara looks over at us.

“How did he manage, with three kids and the lodge to run?”

“Two women came to clean and cook. The three boys helped out after school. They would chop wood, shovel snow, serve tables in the restaurant.”

“A tough childhood.”

“The work wasn’t so bad. I used to help my mother in town. The first time I spoke to Albert he was fourteen and I was twelve. After school they would take the bus and then the gondola, and their father would come pick them up in the snowcat. He never saw anyone. I had a crush on Albert. I would watch him and smile. I knew that it wasn’t a good idea to try to talk to the Sane brothers, that they easily lost their tempers; usually they didn’t answer at all. They only talked when they had to, when the teacher asked them a question. I don’t know how I got up the courage.”

Sara begins to laugh. “Everyone around here knows what happened next, even our kids.”

Silvia smiles and looks over at her mother. She likes to hear the story of how her parents met.

“One day after school, I went over to him. Quickly, without
thinking, I said, ‘If you want, my mother can make you a cake for your birthday.’ Everyone used to bring a cake on their birthday, except for them.”

“What did he say?”

“ ‘I don’t want your stupid cake.’ ”

Sara and Silvia laugh. Marco laughs too, without knowing why.

“What did you do?”

“I started to cry, as if he’d hit me. I cried and I stood there. I couldn’t believe he had said that: I don’t want your stupid cake. But he didn’t leave either, that was the thing. He was terrified by my tears. Manfred and Stefan pulled him away. After that day, from time to time he would talk to me, if his brothers weren’t around.”

Sara stood there, knife in hand, her eyes red from the onions, or so she claimed.

“You were brave to marry Albert.”

Bianca laughs and dips a piece of venison in the oil.

“Never trust the nice ones. They make life seem like a fairy tale, and we all know how that ends.”

Silvia gets up; she wants to play. Marco follows her.

“Marco, you haven’t finished eating. Silvia will wait for you, isn’t that right?”

The little girl nods, sits down again. Her brothers have raised her well.

“Mamma will help, that way you’ll finish more quickly.”

Bianca points to the wound on his head. “Quite a bump.”

I nod, without looking at her.

“How many stitches?”

Answer calmly, don’t get upset. “Six. His hair is starting to grow back. By the time his father comes, it will be almost gone.”

“Daddy’s coming.”

I hug him. “Yes, Daddy’s coming, good boy.”

Bianca stops working and looks over at us. “When is he coming?”

“In ten days. We’re going to the beach. My mother and sisters are already there.”

“His father doesn’t know that he hurt himself?”

“Yes, of course, but I’d rather he didn’t see the scar. Or my mother either, for that matter. Luckily it’s behind the hairline. Come on, Marco, take one more bite and then you can go play.”

Bianca cleans her daughter’s face.

“Go play in your room; you’re a nuisance downstairs in the hall. Take care of the baby, now.”

“Can we go outside?”

“Can’t you see it’s raining?”

“When will Christian and Gabriel be back?”

“In a little while; there was a lot of shopping to do. Go play with Marco.”

Silvia takes his hand and sighs.

I reassure her: “Don’t worry, I’ll be there in fifteen minutes so he can take his nap.”

They leave the room, hand in hand. Maybe I should have another child.

“It must be easier to raise children when you have more than one.”

“Yes, but it was hard at first. The two boys were born only eleven months apart.”

“Eleven months! That must have been terrible.”

“Later it was easier. They played together, and when Silvia was born, they helped me with her.”

“You’ve done a good job.”

“Marrying Albert or raising my children?”

“Everything: raising your children, managing the lodge.”

“There are days when I can’t stand being up here, not having a moment to myself. Sometimes, I’d like to just get up and go.”

We stare at her.

“I know everyone asks, Will Bianca be able to stand it? But if I left, I wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about them. Albert even more than the children. I think for the first ten years he almost expected me to leave; he practically willed it to happen. ‘It will happen to me, just like it happened to my father.’ Now I think he’s resigned to the idea that I’m going to stay.”

“It happened to Manfred.”

“Yes, he managed to push Luna away. Since she left with the kids, he seems calmer. He used to be nervous all the time, and he had attacks of rage. He never slept, and he would take it out on her and the children. He couldn’t get used to it.”

“Attacks of rage?”

Bianca goes quiet. She feels guilty for having spoken, and thinks of her husband.

“He never hurt them, of course, but once in a while he would spend the night at Stefan’s, to cool down. He should never have married, that’s the truth.”

“Were you and Luna friends?”

“Yes. I miss her.”

IT’S MORE HUMID in the city than in the mountains. It gets into your bones. The cars spray water when you cross the street and people’s umbrellas drip on your shoulders. By seven thirty, my father has already eaten and washed the dishes. That way he won’t ask me to stay for dinner; he’s a terrible cook. I’ll have a beer with him, and then I’ll go out for a pizza. Just to see how he’s doing. I haven’t seen him in two weeks. He calls me on Sundays.

“How are you?”

“Fine. How are you?”

“Fine.”

When I visit I don’t stay long. We never know what to say; sometimes we talk about the lodge. He’s afraid to ask Albert.

“If I ask he gets offended. He thinks I’m keeping tabs.”

I tell him about the tourists, the house, Albert’s three kids. He wants to hear about my children as well. Maybe this time his girlfriend will be there. Maybe he’ll marry her. He’s free to do it. After all, he already divided everything between his sons, he has nothing left. He’s a clever one. I ring the bell. The building where he lives is modern, depressing; the windows have no balconies.

“Who is it?”

“Manfred.”

The stairwells are dark. I never take the elevator. Here he is, at the door. Already in his pajamas at eight o’clock.

“Hello, Manfred.”

“Hello, Dad.”

“Why don’t you call before coming over?”

He closes the door. Jackets and hats hang on hooks by the door, as they did up at the lodge. They were the first thing we saw when we came home from school.

“Do you have visitors?” I look toward the living room.

“Yes, of course.”

The television is on.

“I’ll turn it off, don’t worry.”

I sit on the couch; he sits on the armchair. He shuts off the game show with the remote control.

“Do they win money?”

“Sometimes.”

“Do you enjoy it?”

“What?”

“Television.”

“Not really. It keeps me company.”

“Could I have a beer?”

“Yes, just a minute.”

The furniture is all new. The carpet was a gift from us: Luna and me. We left the kids with Bianca and spent two days in the city on our own.

LUNA WAS EXCITED, she wanted to walk around the city. Suddenly she hugged me. Her eyes were shining. She wanted to buy clothes and toys. I waited outside. I couldn’t tell her how I felt. I didn’t even understand it myself. Rage toward her happiness. She came out of a shop and gave me a kiss.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

My silence drove her crazy.

She stopped in front of a shop window with a display of carpets.

“Let’s buy one for your father. His house is so cold.”

“He doesn’t want a carpet.”

“He’s different now that he lives in the city.”

“Different how?”

She smiled at me; she was even more beautiful now than when we had met, more mature, maternal, secure. Why did I feel such hatred?

“He’s sweeter. At Christmas he even gave me a kiss.”

THIS NEW MAN comes into the room with a beer.

“Here you go, it’s nice and cold.”

“Thank you.”

He sits down and looks at me.

“It’s raining. Let’s hope August is sunny. Otherwise there won’t be many tourists. How is Stefan doing?”

“He wants to start selling sports gear, not only rent it. He went to talk to a supplier.”

“That takes money. And then if it doesn’t sell, you’re stuck with the stuff. But it’s his business now. How about Albert?” He still cares about the lodge.

“They have a good amount of guests for July. The lodge is almost full.”

She’s there now. I kept the bloody tablecloth. This time I’ll get her.

“How about the kids? And Bianca?”

“Fine. I don’t talk to them much.”

“And your kids?”

“I talked to them yesterday.”

“You should keep them with you longer, especially Simon. The little one is still young, and Luna is good with them.”

I feel the rage flame up like a fire under my skin. “She’s good with them?”

“She took them, she was wrong to do that, but she was a good wife, Manfred.”

“Like yours.”

In all those years, I had never mentioned it. Not even as a kid or as a young man. I never asked him about his wife, or wanted to see her shadow in his eyes. I was still satisfied with the story about the Snow Queen that he used to tell us in the snowcat.

He smiles. “I’m glad to hear you talk about it. You’ve never done it before. I’ve talked about it with your brothers.”

“I’m happy for you, but I don’t care.”

He sits quietly, staring at his hands. I take one last sip of beer. I’m about to leave.

“You were the most attached to her. She protected you, and it made me furious. You had that problem with your eyes, and she didn’t want you to suffer.”

I get up and leave the beer glass on the table. “I’m going. It’s late. Albert wants to take you to the town fair. Do you want to come?”

“Are you going?”

“I’m taking some tourists.”

“We’ll see.”

“Good night.”

“Good night, Manfred.”

I RUN MY finger over the drawing on the wall: a small figure wearing glasses. It’s hidden between two flowers in the wallpaper; you can only see it if you’re lying in bed close to the wall. One eye, the left one, rolls inward and he has three hairs standing up on top of his head. The ski poles are like two little wings on either side of his body, and he is wearing short skis. His mouth is open, a perfect little black circle. Is he screaming? I can’t tell.