She’ll never wear them again, I thought. In fact, they’ll put them on her when they lock her in the coffin.
I looked at the opaque glass lampshade hanging from a brass rod on the ceiling. Why was the room so ugly? When someone dies they should have a beautiful room. I would die in my bedroom.
‘Grandma, I have to go . . .’ I wanted to hug her. Maybe it would be the last time I could. I asked her, ‘Can I hug you?’
Grandma opened her eyes and nodded slightly.
I squeezed her gently, squashing my face into her pillow and smelling the pungent odour of medicine, the soap on the pillowcase and the sour smell from her skin.
‘I should . . . I have to go and study.’ I pulled myself upright.
She took my wrist and sighed. ‘Tell me a story . . . Lorenzo. So I won’t think about it.’
‘Which story, Grandma?’
‘I don’t know. Whichever you want. A nice story.’
‘Right now?’ Olivia was waiting for me.
‘If you feel like it. It doesn’t matter . . .’
‘Does it have to be real or imaginary?’
‘Imaginary. Carry me off to another place.’
Actually, I did have a story to tell. I had made it up one morning at school. I kept my stories to myself, because if I told them they wilted like cut wild flowers and I didn’t like them any more.
But this time was different.
I got more comfortable on the stool. ‘So here’s the story . . . Grandma, do you remember the little robot you have in your pool in Orvieto? The yellow and purple one you use for cleaning the pool? That little robot has a sort of electronic brain inside him, which learns about the bottom of the pool, so that it can clean it properly, without having to go back over the same spots. Do you remember it, Grandma?’ I couldn’t work out if she was sleeping or if she was awake.
‘This is the story of a little pool-cleaning robot. Its name is K19, like the Russian submarines. So . . . One day, in America, all the generals and the President of the United States meet to decide how to kill Saddam Hussein. They’ve tried everything they can think of to get rid of him. His house is a fortress in the desert, he’s got ground-to-air missiles which are launched as soon as the American rockets come near, and he makes them explode in mid-air. The President of America is in despair – if he doesn’t kill Saddam right away, they’ll sack him. If his generals don’t find a way to get rid of the dictator within ten minutes, he’ll send them all to Alaska. Then one general stands up, a little one, who’s an expert in computers, and he says he’s got an idea. They all shake their heads, but the President tells him to speak up. Shortie begins explaining that Saddam doesn’t buy anything at all because he’s afraid that bombs will be hidden inside. Once he ordered a pineapple and inside it there was a bomb, which killed his cook. So everything he has inside his house he has had built in his underground laboratories. Televisions, video-recorders, fridges, computers – everything. There is just one thing he is forced to buy elsewhere. His pool-cleaning robots. Saddam’s swimming pool is so big that his little robot can’t find its way around, while the winds from the desert blow continuously, filling the pool with sand. The best ones, the ones that can clean a pool as huge as his, are made exclusively in America.’
I stopped talking. ‘Do you get it, Grandma?’
She didn’t answer. Slowly I tried to slip my hand out of hers.
‘Go on . . .’ she murmured.
‘Saddam would go for a swim with his twelve wives and always found the bottom of the pool dirty. So, in the end, even though it’s dangerous, he decides to order one from America. He gets one of his aides to buy it, so nobody suspects it’s for him. Except that the CIA has intercepted the phone call. The factory has to send it to him next week. General Shortie says he’s had a brilliant idea. He’ll take the little robot and modify it. He’ll put in a super-intelligent computer, which he has just invented, and he’ll programme it to kill Saddam. He’ll put mini nuclear torpedoes inside the robot, and some batteries that produce two thousand volts of electricity and which can also shoot poison darts.
‘The President of the United States is happy. It’s a wonderful idea. He tells Shortie to get straight to work. Shortie goes to the little robot factory, he gets one and he works on it for the whole night. He puts a computer inside and he programmes it to kill Saddam, and, just to be sure, anyone else who’s swimming with him in the pool. When he has finished he’s exhausted, but the little robot is perfect, it looks just like any of the others. Its code name is K19. Except that the next morning the guy who has to send it off comes into work and makes a mistake. He believes that it’s one that’s been repaired for a family that live near Los Angeles. He packs it up and sends it off. When it gets there the family takes it and puts it in the pool. K19 begins cleaning the bottom – it knows how to do that really well too. But when the dad and the kids get in for a swim they are all killed instantly by an electrical charge that fries them all.’
‘Who were they? Finotti’s grandkids?’ Grandma had lifted her head up off the pillow.
‘Who are the Finottis?’ I said.
‘Marino Finotti, the engineer from Terni . . . Didn’t they die in their swimming pool?’
‘Nooo, these are Americans, it’s got nothing to do with Terni.’
‘Are you sure?’ She was getting worked up.
‘Yes, Grandma, don’t worry.’ I began telling the story again. ‘So . . . the little robot waits for two days, the corpses floating, but Saddam doesn’t show up, so, since it’s intelligent, it works out that they must have put him in the wrong pool. It uses its caterpillar tracks to climb up the sides and goes off in search of a new pool. The place where they sent it, in America, Grandma, is full of swimming pools – there’s one for every house, heaps of them, millions, and so he starts going from one to another, killing anyone who goes for a swim, in search of Saddam. Whenever it runs into another little robot he disintegrates it and then he cleans the pool. It’s a massacre. Half of California is wiped out. The army comes in. All the soldiers attack it, shooting it with lasers, but there’s nothing they can do. In the end they call for air strikes and start dropping bombs on California. K19 is hit. One of its caterpillar tracks gets broken and he starts swerving all over the place, but he doesn’t give up. He goes outside and starts driving down the highway followed by armed tanks that shoot at it. K19 is a wreck. His engine is making a strange noise and he has used all his weapons. He comes to the end of the road and is facing the biggest pool he’s ever seen, with very dirty water and waves too. The army is closing in. K19 looks at the pool; it’s so big he can’t even see where it ends. The sun is setting into it and there are huge floating mattresses on it. Nobody has explained to him that this is the ocean and they’re not floating mattresses but ships. K19 doesn’t know what to do. He wonders how he will ever manage to clean this never-ending swimming pool. For the first time he’s afraid. He gets to the end of the pier, turns around. The army is right there. He’s about to fight, but then he thinks again. He jumps quickly into the ocean, and disappears.’
My mouth was dry. I picked up the bottle of water from the bedside table and poured myself a glass.
Grandma didn’t move. She’d fallen asleep.
She’d hated the story.
I got up, but Grandma whispered, ‘Then what?’
‘What do you mean, then what?’
‘How does it end?’
That was the end. It felt like a good ending to me.
And, anyway, I hated endings. In endings things always have to be, for better or for worse, fixed up. I liked telling stories of fights for no reason between aliens and earthlings, of space journeys in search of nothing. And I liked wild animals that lived for no reason, that didn’t know they were dying. After I saw a film, it drove me crazy the way Dad and Mum always talked about the ending, like the whole story was in the ending and nothing else mattered.
And so, in real life, is the ending the only important part? Grandma
Laura’s life was worth nothing and only her death in that ugly clinic mattered? Yes, maybe the story about K19 was missing something, but I liked the way it committed suicide in the ocean. I was about to tell her that that was the ending when, just like that, I thought up another ending.
‘This is the ending. Two years later some scientists are on a beach on a tropical island, at night, in the light of the full moon. They’re hiding behind a dune with their binoculars and watching the shore. Suddenly the sea turtles come out of the water, they’re going to lay their eggs. The turtles climb over the sand, they dig a hole with their legs and they lay their eggs. And K19 comes out too. He’s all covered in seaweed and mussels. He climbs slowly up the beach and uses his caterpillar tracks to dig a deep hole, covers it over and then goes back into the sea with the turtles. The next night a whole heap of little turtles pop out of the sand. And from one of the holes lots of teeny-weeny K19s pop up, like little play tank engines, and they head towards the shore along with all the little turtles.’ I took a deep breath. ‘That’s the end. Did you like it?’
Grandma, her eyes closed, nodded and right then the door was flung open and a nurse that looked exactly like John Lennon walked in, carrying a tray of medicine.
We stared at each other for a second, I mumbled a hello and then I ran.
9
The Silver Monkey was wandering aimlessly around the courtyard.
I was studying him from the other side of the street, hidden behind a rubbish bin. Every now and then he’d swish his broom and then he’d stop, like they’d turned off his electricity.
Like an idiot, I hadn’t taken my mobile with me and so I couldn’t trick him like I did last time. I had spent too much time with Grandma. It was another two hours before he went off duty, and Olivia was expecting me.
After a quarter of an hour Mr Caccia, the engineer from the fourth floor, came home. Then Nihal and the Dachshunds came out of the main door and he started chatting near the fountain with the Silver Monkey. The two of them didn’t really get along, but the Silver Monkey had a relative who worked for a travel agency and was able to get him airline tickets at discount prices.
As I stood hidden behind the bin, my legs started to ache. I cursed myself for having forgotten the phone.
And to top it off, Giovanni the postman turned up too. Nihal’s chum. All three of them starting chatting and there was no end in sight. The poor little Dachshunds stared at them forlornly, bursting to go for a piss.
That was it. I had to do something. If they caught me, too bad.
I moved further away and crossed the street. Then I ran up to the wall of our building. It was high, but an old bougainvillea extended unevenly up to its top.
‘C’mon, Roma then . . . What else can we do?’ I heard the Silver Monkey saying.
‘This time they’ll pay. Totti’s back. Anyway, see you . . .’ Giovanni said.
Oh God, he was coming out. I grabbed a branch and a thorn pierced my hand. I braced myself, pulled myself up the wall and with a clumsy leap landed in Mrs Barattieri’s garden. Praying nobody would see me I crouched against the wall.
The window that opened into the Silver Monkey’s basement was ajar.
At least this was going my way.
I opened it and holding onto the frame I slid down into the half-light. I stretched out my legs looking for somewhere to land and an extreme heat engulfed my left foot. Holding in a scream I tumbled onto the gas cooker and from there, landed on my arse on the floor. I had sunk my shoe into a saucepan of pasta and lentils, which luckily had been turned off and was cooling down.
I stood up, rubbing one of my buttocks.
The lentils were scattered all over the place, like a bomb had exploded.
And now what? If I didn’t clean everything up the Silver Monkey would see the mess and think that . . .
I smiled.
Of course, he would think that the gypsies had come into his house again.
I looked around. I had to steal something.
My gaze fell on a statue of Padre Pio which looked like a torpedo. It was covered in a sparkling powder that changed colour depending on the weather.
I picked it up and was about to leave, but then I went back and threw open the fridge.
Fruit, a bowl of boiled rice and a six-pack of beer.
I took the beers. When I came out of the doorman’s booth the Silver Monkey was still in the courtyard, talking to Nihal.
Limping, and carrying one of my shoes, I went down the stairs which led to the cellars. I turned the key in the lock and flung the door open. ‘Look . . . I’ve got be—’
The statue of Padre Pio slipped out of my hands and shattered on the floor.
Olivia was lying on my bed with her legs open. One arm thrown over the pillow. A dribble of saliva hung off her chin.
I put my hand over my mouth. She’s dead.
All the wardrobes had been thrown wide open, all the drawers pulled out, all the clothes thrown about, boxes had been gutted. Beneath the bed were open bottles of medicine.
I dragged myself over to the settee without taking my eyes from my sister.
I touched my temples – they were pulsating, a humming in my ears numbed my mind and my eyes hurt.
I was so tired, never in my life had I felt this tired, every fibre in my body was tired and begged me to rest, to close my eyes.
Yes, it was best that I sleep a bit, just five minutes.
I took my other shoe off and lay down on the settee. I stayed like that, I don’t know how long for, staring at my sister and yawning.
She was a dark stain stretched out on a light blue bed. I thought about her blood, not moving in her veins. About red blood turning black, as hard as a scab, and then turning into dust.
Olivia’s fingers jerked, like dogs when they dream.
I tried to focus, but my eyes were stinging.
I must have been wrong. It was just my imagination.
Then she moved an arm.
I ran to her and began shaking her. I don’t remember what I said to her, I just remember that I picked her up off the bed, I squeezed her in my arms and I knew that I had to take her outside and that I was strong enough to hold her in my arms, like she was an injured dog, and walk with her in my arms along via Aldrovandi, via delle Tre Madonne, viale Bruno Buozzi . . .
Olivia began speaking softly.
‘You’re alive! You’re alive!’ I stammered.
I couldn’t understand what she was saying.
I put a hand behind her neck and I put my ear up close to her month. ‘What? What did you say?’
She gurgled, ‘. . . some sleeping pills . . .’
‘How many did you take?’
‘Two pills.’
‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes.’ She couldn’t hold her head up straight. ‘Much better . . . The Countess had a stash of medicine. Good stuff . . . I’m going to sleep a bit more.’
My eyes hazed over with tears. ‘Okay.’ I smiled at her. ‘Sleep well. Sweet dreams.’
I laid her gently onto the bed and spread a blanket over her.
10
For two days my sister slept, waking up only to pee and to drink. I tidied up the cellar. I killed the mutant and I finished Soul Reaver. I started reading Salem’s Lot again. I was reading about vampiric metamorphoses, haunted houses and courageous kids capable of facing up to vampires, when my gaze fell upon my sister, who was sleeping wrapped up in a blanket. In my den she was safe, hidden away. Nobody could hurt her.
My mother rang me. ‘So, how’s it going?’
‘Everything’s fine.’
‘You never call me. If it weren’t for me calling you . . . Are you having fun?’
‘Loads.’
‘Are you sad that tomorrow you have to come back?’
‘Yes. A bit . . .’
‘What time will you head off?’
‘Early. We’ll go as soon as we get up.’
‘What are you up to today?’
‘Skiing. Do you know who I ran into in Tofana?’
‘No.’
I looked at my sister. ‘Olivia.’
A moment of silence. ‘Olivia? Olivia who? Your half-sister?’
‘Yes.’
‘How about that . . . She came by here a couple of days ago looking for some stuff. Now I get it – maybe she needed some clothes to go skiing. How is she?’
‘Good.’
‘Really? I wouldn’t have expected that. Dad said she’s not doing so well . . . Poor thing, she’s a girl with a lot of problems. I really hope she finds her way . . .’
‘But, Mum, do you care about her?’
‘Me?’
‘Yes.’
‘Yes, I care about her but she’s not easy to deal with . . . Are you being good? Are you polite to Alessia’s mother? Are you lending a hand? Are you making your bed?’
‘Yes.’
‘Alessia’s mother seems lovely. Say hi to her from me and thank her again.’
‘Yes . . . Listen, I have to go now . . .’
‘I love you, sweetheart.’
‘Me too . . . Oh, Alessia’s mother said she’d bring me home when we get back.’
‘Wonderful. Give me a call when you get to Rome.’
‘Okay. Bye.’
‘Bye, darling.’
Olivia was sitting on the settee, her wet hair combed back, and she had on one of the Countess’s floral dresses. She rubbed her hands together. ‘So how will we celebrate our last night?’
After all that sleep she was a lot better. Her face had softened and she said that her legs and arms didn’t hurt as much.
‘Dinner together?’ I said.
‘Dinner together. And what do you suggest?’
‘Well . . .’ I looked at what we had left in the cupboard. ‘We’ve eaten almost everything. Tuna and artichokes in oil? And wafers for dessert?’
‘Perfect.’
I got up and opened the wardrobe. ‘I’ve got a surprise . . .’ I showed her the beers.
Olivia’s eyes widened. ‘You’re a star! Where the hell did you find them?’