When the Night (13 page)

One of the three boys drew the figure on the wall, one night when he couldn’t sleep or some afternoon instead of doing his homework.

The mouth is open but there’s no sound, like Marco when he suddenly stops crying. The sound stops, and then the light. I put my head under the pillow. The drawing reminds me of Marco when he’s angry. One day I’ll think about it, but not tonight. Tonight I’m happy. Another night. Why does this happen to me and not to other women? What do they have that I don’t have? Patience, love, stoicism?

He falls asleep quickly, a minute after I put him to bed. He doesn’t need a song or a story. He’s happy here, maybe because everything is new and we’re not alone. He gazes at Christian and Gabriel as if they were two heroes, and follows them around everywhere. Gabriel, the younger one, picks him up in his arms and carries him on his bicycle.

“Hold on tight!”

Marco puts his arms around Gabriel’s waist, his face pressed against the boy’s back. He laughs when Gabriel goes fast. I’m afraid he’ll fall but I don’t intervene because he’s having too much fun. Gabriel likes to talk; he’s like Bianca.

“I want a little brother like him, not a girl like Silvia.”

Silvia shrugs, without looking at him.

“It’s nice to have a sister. When you’re older, she’ll help you.”

He doesn’t believe me.

“She plays with dolls. She likes to play with Clara, but Clara went away.”

“Is Clara Manfred’s daughter?”

“Yes. She lives in the city, but a different one from where my grandfather lives.”

Silvia interrupts. “She’s coming soon.”

“Are you happy?”

She nods. Then she reflects: “But Manfred doesn’t bring her here.”

“Why not?”

Gabriel answers first: “Yes he does, but just not every day or else she’ll get spoiled.”

I laugh. “Who spoils her?”

Silvia smiles. “Mamma.”

Gabriel scolds her. “What are you saying?”

Silvia speaks quickly, so she won’t be interrupted. “She gives her whatever she wants, cake and candy, and she lets her play with grown-up clothes. At night we talk in bed. But then when she goes home she whines and Manfred gets mad.”

Gabriel laughs. “They put on my mother’s shoes.”

“Shut up, idiot!”

Marco watches them argue and laughs.

The older brother, Christian, is more like his father: he doesn’t talk much.

This morning I ran into Albert. He smiled at me. “How is it going?”

“Very well.”

“How is the boy?”

“He loves playing with your kids.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

He doesn’t speak any more than Manfred does, but the tone is friendlier. I can imagine the little girl who wanted to bring him a cake, and his reaction: I don’t want your stupid cake.

TONIGHT BIANCA SAT next to me. The children were running around frantically before going to bed. She was drinking a tisane.

“Are you tired?”

“We’re almost full, and more people are coming for the fair.”

“Do you need the room?”

“No, we’re fine. Tomorrow another girl will come and help in the kitchen.”

“I’m happy to help.”

“Don’t you worry! You’re watching the little ones, and that’s already a big help.”

“It’s easier when there are two. At home, Marco always wants to be near me or else he whines.”

“You should have another one.”

“I don’t know if I can take it. It was hard at the beginning.”

Bianca is always busy. She doesn’t have time for sustained or precise thoughts. But now she pauses and looks at me. “You’re right. No one knows how hard it is with a newborn. Not even when you’ve seen your mother go through it. You still can’t imagine it.”

If I lived here, Bianca and I would be friends.

“That’s how it was for me. Already in the clinic, after he was born, I thought to myself, I’ll never manage. I don’t have milk, he’s so small, and he depends on me completely. Then he got bigger, and the days seemed endless. I wanted to go out, go to work. I’m almost embarrassed to say it.”

I stop after this outpouring of words, thoughts I had never before expressed. Now she thinks ill of me. I need to learn to be quiet.

“Please forgive me. I’ve never said this to anyone.”

She sighs. “Now I’ll tell you something I’ve never told anyone. If it weren’t for Albert, I wouldn’t have had three.”

“Did he help?”

“He didn’t have time to help. There’s too much to do around here.” Now there are red spots on her neck. “I’m embarrassed to say it.”

“What better person to tell something you’re ashamed of? I’m ashamed of so many things.”

She takes a sip of her tisane. “One night I was in my room, breast-feeding. Albert came upstairs. The baby was pulling at the breast. My mind was elsewhere. The world could have come crashing down and I wouldn’t have noticed. For days, my
breasts had been sore; the baby couldn’t finish all the milk. Albert stood in the doorway and watched for a while, in silence. Then he came over, picked up the baby, and put him in the crib. I looked at him without understanding what he was doing. He sat on the bed next to me. I thought, This is the boy who made me cry, who refused to talk to me. He touched my bare breast and said, ‘Does it hurt?’

“ ‘Yes, there’s too much milk,’ I said. ‘If I can’t get rid of the milk it will get infected.’ He leaned over, put the nipple in his mouth, and sucked until there was no milk left. I’ve never felt anything like it. Even now, just remembering it, I get goose bumps; I still can’t believe it happened. Christian was two months old, and that night I got pregnant with Gabriel.”

LYING IN BED, I stare at the boy with the lazy eye, skiing among the flowers. Her husband sucked at her breast. I think of Manfred and the brutal way in which he tried to force me to confess. He knows the truth; he’s the only one. I close my eyes. I see him in the doorway to his childhood room; he comes in, sits on the bed and undresses me, without a word. He touches my breast, puts the nipple in his mouth, and then his wet mouth penetrates mine. I remove his plaid shirt; he takes off his trousers and underwear. How often he has undressed in this room, in the cold of night or dawn.

“Time to get up, boys.”

I whisper into the darkness, “Come back to bed, Manfred. It’s nice and warm here next to me.”

He surrenders and crawls under the covers. He’s so hard, and I’m all wet; he penetrates me slowly. Then we begin to fight the same battle.

THE PIZZA WAS awful; I had to drink a lot of beer to wash it down. Stefan said the place was on the second street to the right. She’s expecting me. Better, that way I don’t have to talk. Her name is on the buzzer: Zara. She’s Romanian. Not too young, not too old, Stefan said. A happy voice answers.

“Yes?”

“Stefan sent me.”

“Third floor.”

I won’t be able to sleep tonight unless I have sex. She stands in the doorway, wearing a pink sweat suit. Not too skinny. Stefan knows what I like. Blond, youthful face, with a few wrinkles around the eyes.

“Come in.”

Better not to look at the room, just a few details. The pillow is clean.

“Do you want a drink? No? OK.”

She tries to remove my shirt, but I push her hand away. She undresses. Her underwear is pink, like her sweat suit. Not bad. I’m easily distracted. Her pubic hair is dark; she dyes her hair. She has large white breasts. She lies down on the bed, and her breasts hang on either side of her chest; she opens her legs. I focus on her belly.

After having two children, Luna’s belly was no longer flat, but I still liked it. I liked to stick my tongue in her belly
button, and from there I would move on to her breasts and mouth.

I undress and climb on top of her, without touching her. She wants to guide me, but I push her hand away. I put it in.

I close my eyes. Luna, come. But the dark pubis I am dreaming of is not hers. Childlike breasts, dark, frightened eyes. Thin legs wrapped around my back.

Press harder, you idiot, press harder. This is what you’re good for, Marina.

C
HILDREN’S HAIR GROWS quickly. Marco’s dark hair covers the scab on his head. Today I’ll wash it. It feels strange when I run my hand over the scab, like when he was small and his cranium was still soft. There’s no bathroom in the room, so Bianca has offered me theirs.

Silvia lent him her bath toys; she pulls up her sleeves and rubs soap over him. I’d like to wash my hair as well. I don’t have much makeup with me, just lipstick and eyeliner. No mascara, no blush. Last night I did the laundry; I washed my shirt, his T-shirt, my only pair of underwear. I left them to dry on the sink. I’m like Manfred now: one shirt, one pair of pants, always the same. He’s coming up for the feast, Bianca said.

“HE’S BRINGING FOUR hikers. They’ll have dinner at the lodge and then Albert will take them down in the jeep.”

“Can we go down with them?”

“Wouldn’t you like to stay a few more days?”

“I don’t have anything with me. I left a mess down there, and I can’t afford to pay for both.”

She had hoped I would stay. She wants a friend, but I want to go back down to the town, even if it means I’ll be alone. With Manfred downstairs. His brother has spoken with him, so I don’t think he’ll torment me anymore.

He saved us. What would I have done without him? His tone is harsh, but that’s just how he is. I think about the power of his legs when he goes up the mountain, of his hands picking up Marco and putting him in the carrier. He knows my secret but he can’t tell anyone; no one believes him. The rain is gone; today the sun is out. Marco is playing in the bath with Silvia. I’m a good mother; Bianca told me so.

“The first one is hard, but the second is easier.”

“OK, LET’S GET out of the bath!”

“No.”

“Won’t he be cold, Silvia?”

“Yes! Come on Marco, let’s go play!”

Hearing her voice, he stands up and holds out his arms so I can pull him out of the bath.

I rub him dry. He looks stronger; his face is tanned, and the shadows under his eyes are gone.

“The feast is tonight. We’ll take a nap so you can eat with the grown-ups, and then we’ll go into town in the jeep. It’ll be fun!”

“Fun!”

Silvia and I laugh. Now that he’s used to talking to the other kids, he can make himself understood.

YESTERDAY MORNING I lay on the grass, reading a book of stories about the area. I look for photos of the three boys, of their father, and suddenly I hear his voice. He speaks an entire sentence, and I can tell he’s angry: “Marco ride bike alone!”

Gabriel and Christian laugh.

“You’ll fall, Marco!”

“I no fall!”

His personality is changing. Mario won’t recognize him. I see him as a boy, a man.

SILVIA GIVES ME Marco’s T-shirt, his underwear, and asks, in a sad voice, “Are you leaving tonight?”

“Will you miss us?”

She doesn’t answer.

“Maybe we’ll come back once more before we leave. And soon Clara will be here.”

She’s lonely, like her mother. Her brothers don’t want her hanging around. She liked looking after Marco.

We go downstairs. The women are preparing the tables for the evening meal. The musicians tune their instruments. Bianca comes and goes, in and out of the kitchen, greeting guests.

“I’ll take the kids outside,” I say.

She nods. The newly arrived guests rest in the sun on the terrace. The mountains glisten; the sun is blinding.

THE FOREST IS the point on the hike up to the lodge where everyone begins to fade. Until we reached the forest, Marina chattered and asked questions, but from there on she was short of breath and walked in silence. It’s hot today, and the four hikers are sweating.

“If you like, we’ll cross the stream and then we can stop to eat when we reach the moraine.”

They nod. They don’t even have the energy to speak. Two women and two men, around thirty-five, no children. I try to pair them off. The small woman with the tall man, two opposites; they bought their shoes in the same shop. The other two look alike. They like to cook and eat, so they’re fat and they get tired. What brings people together? Chance? Or is it a certain smell, like animals? Who knows? Who destined Luna for me? No one.

I MET HER one evening when I was out with friends in the city. We were introduced: “This is Luna. She’s a teacher.”

She taught at the same school where we had been students. She didn’t talk much. She was athletic for a teacher.

I noticed her large breasts and her muscular legs. The first impressions are the ones that stay with you.

Marina—why would anyone give their child that name?—talks a lot, wears makeup, and has thin legs. I never would
have noticed her. I don’t like women who wear makeup; when you touch them your fingers get dirty. Her house was filled with girls, all living with their father. At our house it was the opposite. That’s why she has that ladylike air about her; she grew up with too many women. She’s not used to hard work. If she were with me, I’d make her trudge up and down the mountain. Tired? Do it again. You need to be strong to raise children.

AFTER CLARA WAS born, Luna and I began to fight. Now she had a doll to play with; it wasn’t the same as it had been with the boy. She chose the name. She bought clothes for her. Special treatment for the girl. I would tell her to treat Clara like her brother, but Luna couldn’t help it.