Lorenzo, non mi sen to tanto bene oggi. Me lo puoi port are i pesci?
Q: Phoned you at the market?
A: Yes. And asked me if I could please pick out two nice fresh fish for Irina, same as always, and deliver them to the apartment. I told her I would. She was a friend. I got there… At eight-thirty that January morning, there is no one in the hallway when Lorenzo knocks on the door to apartment 3A. But just as Svetlana calls, "Yes, who is it?" the door to apartment 3C opens, and an' exotic-looking woman with long black hair and brown eyes, and a mouth like Sophia Loren's, high cheekbones and wonderful…
Q: What about her?
A: She was coming out of the apartment.
Q: 3C, did you say?
A: Down the hall.
Q: So what about her?
A: Nothing. I'm giving you all the details.
He tells Svetlana through the closed door that it's him, Lorenzo, and he's here with the fish for Irina. She calls to him to come in, the door is open. The girl from 3C has already gone down the stairs.
Lorenzo goes into the apartment. It is a small apartment and frightfully cold on this day when winter has scarcely begun in earnest. Svetlana is sitting up in a double bed in the tiny bedroom, wearing a faded pink silk robe, covered with a blanket and a quilt that looks almost Italian. There is a dresser that is almost certainly Italian, or so he believes, like one you might find on Sicilia or Sardegna, with ornate drawer pulls and paintings on the sides and top.
"C'ho un mal raffredore," she says, telling him she has a bad cold, and then gently warning him not to come near her, "Non ti avvicinare."
Irina the cat is lying at the foot of the bed. She is a fat grey and black and white animal. She blinks up at Lorenzo as he comes into the room, and then catches the scent of the fresh fish wrapped in white paper, and is suddenly all uptight ears and flashing green eyes and twitching nose. Like a jungle beast, Lorenzo thinks.
Svetlana asks if he would mind feeding Irina one of the fish. He needn't do anything but put it in Irina's bowl under the sink; Irina eats everything but the spine and the hard part of the jaw. Lorenzo goes out to the kitchen, unwraps the fish while the cat rubs against his leg. There is something about cats that makes him enormously uncomfortable. He never knows what a cat is thinking. He never knows whether a cat is going to lick his hand or spring for his throat. He puts the raw fish in the cat's bowl and backs away at once.
When he comes back into the bedroom, Svetlana asks him to sit for a moment, please, there is something she would like to discuss with him.
He takes a chair near the dresser. Across the room, he can see into an open closet where old but stylish clothes, tattered and frayed, are hanging on silk-covered hangers the color of Svetlana's robe. She coughs, takes a Kleenex from a box beside the bed, blows her nose, and then says, "Lorenzo, voglio che to mi ammazi."
"Lorenzo, I want you to kill me."
He does not at first know how to react to this. Is this some sort of Russian joke? If so, Slavs have a very peculiar sense of humor. But is he supposed to laugh? No, she seems quite serious. She wants him to kill her She would do it herself, she says, but she doesn't have the nerve. Besides, how does a person kill herself if she doesn't own a gun? Does she jump off the roof?. Or turn on the gas? Or slit her wrists with `:-3,' a razor or a knife? Or hang herself from the closet pole?
No, all these seem too horrible even to contemplate. A gun swift and sure, but where would she get a gun? Does Lorenzo know where to get a gun? And if he can get one, would he be so kind as to shoot her? She is not smiling. This is no joke.
In the kitchen, he can hear the cat demolishing fish Lorenzo put in her bowl. The sounds are obscene. Cats are too much like wild animals.
One step backward and they would be in the jungle again, hunting.
Svetlana goes on to explain that she has been to see a neurologist who diagnosed a benign tumor on the nerve in her left auditory canal.
Unless this is removed surgically, she will go completely deaf in that ear. But the chances of… "Well, then of course you must…"
"No," she says, "you don't understand. Even if I elect surgery.." this is what they say, Lorenzo, as if I would be electing a president, elect surgery, can you imagine? Even if I were to choose surgery, agree to surgery, even then…"
She shakes her head.
"I've waited too long, Lorenzo. The tumor is very large, they may not be able to save my hearing. The larger the tumor, the smaller the chance, is what he told me. The doctor. And with.." with anything larger than three centimeters in diameter.." with any tumor larger than that…"
And here she begins weeping.
"They might not.." be… be able to save my facial nerves, either. Is what he told me. The doctor." Lorenzo stands helplessly beside the bed.
"So what's the use? My hands are already dead, I can't play anymore.
