I looked everywhere, even under the bed, and while I was looking I remembered that it was a book about Hiroshima. I was upset—surely Lila must have taken it while I was in the bathroom. What was happening to her? After years of shoes, engagement, love, grocery store, dealings with the Solaras, had she decided to revert to the person she had been in elementary school? Certainly there had already been a sign: she had wanted to make that bet, which, whatever its outcome, had surely been a way of demonstrating to me her wish to study. But had she followed up on that desire, had she actually done it? No. Yet had Nino’s conversation been enough—six afternoons of sun on the sand—to revive in her the desire to learn, maybe compete again to be the best? Was that why she had sung the praises of Maestra Oliviero? Why had she found it wonderful that someone should become passionate for his whole life only about important things and not those of daily life? I left my room on tiptoe, opening the door carefully, so that it wouldn’t squeak.
The house was silent, Nunzia had gone to sleep, Stefano and Lila weren’t back yet. I went into their room: a chaos of clothes, shoes, suitcases. On a chair I found the volume, it was titled
50.
It was a dull Sunday. I suffered from the heat all night, I didn’t dare open the window for fear of the mosquitoes. I fell asleep, woke up, fell asleep again. Go to Barano? With what result? Spend the day playing with Ciro, Pino, and Clelia, while Nino took long swims or sat in the sun without saying a word, in mute conflict with his father. I woke up late, at ten, and as soon as I opened my eyes a sensation of loss, as if from a great distance, came over me and pained me.
I learned from Nunzia that Pinuccia and Rino had already gone to the beach, while Stefano and Lila were still sleeping. I soaked my bread in the caffelatte without wanting it, I conclusively gave up going to Barano. I went to the beach, anxious and sad.
I found Rino sleeping in the sun, his hair wet, his heavy body lying, stomach down, on the sand, and Pinuccia walking back and forth on the shore. I invited her to go toward the fumaroles, she refused rudely. I walked for a long time alone in the direction of Forio to calm myself.
The morning passed slowly. When I came back I went swimming, then lay in the sun. I had to listen to Rino and Pinuccia, who, as if I weren’t there, were murmuring to each other phrases such as:
“Don’t go.”
“I have to work: the shoes have to be ready for the fall. Did you see them, do you like them?”
“Yes, but the things Lina made you add are ugly, take them off.”
“No, they look good.”
“You see? What I say counts for nothing with you.”
“That’s not true.”
“It’s very true, you don’t love me anymore.”
“I do love you, and you know how much I want you.”
“No way, look at the belly I have.”
“I’d give that belly ten thousand kisses. For the whole week all I do is think about you.”
“Then don’t go to work.”
“I can’t.”
“Then I’ll leave tonight, too.”
“We’ve already paid our share, you have to have your vacation.”
“I don’t want it anymore.”
“Why?”
“Because as soon as I fall asleep I have terrible dreams and I’m awake all night.”
“Even when you sleep with my sister?”
“Even more, if your sister could kill me, she would.”
“Go sleep with my mamma.”
“Your mamma snores.”
Pinuccia’s tone of voice was unbearable. All day I tried to figure out the reasons for her complaints. That she didn’t sleep much or very well was true. But that she wanted Rino to stay, or that she really wanted to leave with him, seemed to me a lie. At one point I was convinced that she was trying to tell him something that she herself didn’t know and so could express only in the form of peevishness. But then I forgot about it, I had other things to think about. Lila’s exuberance, first of all.
When she appeared at the beach with her husband, she seemed happier than the night before. She wanted to show him how she had learned to swim, and together they headed away from the shore—out where it’s deep, Stefano said, even though it was really only a few meters from the shore. With her elegant and precise strokes, and the rhythmic turn of the head to breathe that she had by now learned, moving her mouth away from the water, she immediately left him behind. Then she stopped to wait for him, laughing, until he caught up, clumsily flailing his arms, his head straight up, as he snorted at the water that sprayed in his face.
