Only later, when they’re still lying down, with no bodily contact between them, does Flavia begin talking again. She doesn’t waste a single word to label what has just happened, to consider its implications or justify herself. Instead, she wants to hear about the desert, what their days were like and how long their guard duty shifts lasted, what they ate, and who led them to commit the ill-considered act of leaving the base, as if she were asking Salvatore those questions on any ordinary night. She wants to know if her husband still kept his closely trimmed beard or if he sometimes shaved it off, if he mentioned her, and how often, and in what context.
René fills her in, patiently. He feels a miraculous absence of embarrassment in talking about the senior corporal major, lying there on his half of the bed after another performance that should be judged awful according to his old criteria but that, on the contrary, has satisfied every nerve in his body. He is equally surprised to find that he doesn’t feel guilty about having once again stolen Salvatore Camporesi’s place to sleep.
The next night, in the BMW’s air-conditioned bubble, he awaits a signal. Everything is repeated in the same order: they have sex like strangers, hypnotized and rank with sweat, and when their bodies are drained of grief they start talking. It goes on like that for the rest of the summer.
On August 6, Flavia grills him about the details of Operation Mama Bear and when she meets with his resistance, she becomes angry and accuses him of being a slave to stupid rules, like all the others. On August 9, she tells him about all the anxiety Salvo kept bottled up inside him, and how he released it only at night after falling asleep, through violent muscle spasms. Had he noticed? No, not really. On August 28, she hammers him about a leather bracelet, which, naturally, René doesn’t remember at all. Still, he swears he saw it on Salvatore’s wrist every single day spent at the FOB, of course, every day, he never took it off. He’s forced to lie to her frequently, especially when she keeps asking (August 31, September 7, 9) about the appearance of the body, which they didn’t allow her to see. But what can he tell her, that they weren’t even sure the remains were Salvatore’s and that in any case there was no trace of his hands or his eyes? That her husband had been blended together with the others? On September 13, Flavia gives him a lesson on responsibility and on the consequences that the affection of the people around us have on each of us, whether we care to recognize it or not. René only pretends to understand. On September 26, she screams at him to get out and threatens to call the police—what does he want from her anyway? There’s nothing for him here, only misery. He should turn his goddamn car around and go find someone sunny and cheerful, forget these damaged goods. René swallows the outburst with bitter sorrow, but for the first time he considers the possibility that their seeing each other may have to do with something more than loneliness and grief.
On September 30, the marshal stays until morning, because Gabriele has a high fever and Flavia is anxious. In the middle of the night the boy wakes up wailing. He’s wet the bed. René holds him in his arms while Flavia cleans up. The child’s body is smooth and limp, as though lifeless. On October 5, he has to make an extreme effort to talk Flavia out of believing that Zampieri and her driving are completely to blame for what happened. Who knows where she got such an idea—he himself probably suggested it, when he presented his own version of the days in the valley. Other nights he just listens to her cry and when that happens he doesn’t try to stop her.
On November 18 they’re still awake, listening to the howl of a blizzard outside. René feels that something has changed. He’s told her everything—everything he could—and there isn’t a single corner of the FOB left unexplored for Flavia. He could kiss her good-bye and leave for good; he knows she wouldn’t try to hold him back. Instead, he finds the nerve to invite her to dinner again. She replies after a long silence: “Do you know what we’re in for?”
“I think so.”
“No, you don’t know. I’m not alone, René. I have a child, if you haven’t noticed.”
“I like Gabriele.”
“The problem isn’t whether you like him, but whether he likes you. You see? You already got it wrong.”
“I can make it right.”
“You don’t know anything about it.”
“I know all I need to know.”
“René, let’s not get into a mess like that.”
A pellet of ice hits the window. “And if I want to get into it?”
Flavia hesitates. “If you want to come into my house, you have to leave the barracks first.”
“You know I can’t do that.”
“Then I can’t either. I don’t want to have anything to do with war anymore.”
“Flavia . . .”
“Either you promise me right now or leave, and starting tomorrow don’t come back.”
Marshal René is about to put up an argument. The army is his whole life; he’s sacrificed for years to get where he is. He opens his mouth to object, but suddenly all his aspirations seem to have lost their importance. The unwavering stars that guided him since his youth and led him here, to the room of a woman who doesn’t belong to him and her silent child, all those stars are now topsy-turvy, unrecognizable. René is ready to let them go in a second.
You’ll go back to being the man you were. What happened to that man? He’s evaporated, or he’s taken a long leave of absence. He’s definitely not there with him now. The marshal sees a blank slate before him, a future waiting to be filled in.
“All right,” he says. “I’ll make the arrangements.”
The Evolution of the Species
“Because, look, you’re young and you’re new here, you don’t know how things work in the platoon and not only that—now it all seems perfectly clear to you, you have a plan, you say I’ll do this and I’ll do that and I’ll go straight to where I want to be, maybe you think you’ll end up a marshal or a lieutenant, right? How much do you lift at the gym?—two hundred is pretty good, it’s not exactly the greatest, but it’s good enough for your size. And how do you do on the rifle range?—I watched you, yeah, you have a tendency to ease off the supporting foot and lean backward, you always hit too high, but it’s a fault that can be corrected, you just have to learn a few tricks—however, there are two or three much more important things you don’t know and the first is that you’ll never become what you want to become, get that into your head. It’s tough to swallow, but you have to accept it sooner or later, better you should know it, it’s like aiming too far afield, you follow me? If you’re not going to finish that chicken give it to me, plop it right here. Every weapon has its range, see, and you have to know what yours is, you have to aim at the right target, so at least you won’t waste any shots and you’ll know when the asshole who wants to hassle you is close enough to fire at. Keeping your feet steady is certainly a big advantage—I can give you a hand if you want, stay and watch me—do you have a girl? That’s important, it keeps you anchored, there was a guy here before you, you remind me of him a little—well, this guy looked like you, he too had a long, long head like an eggplant and his eyes—I don’t know, you have something in common, who knows what, but the point is that he was a complete washout when it came to girls, too timid, and his timidity screwed him. I mean, he never really tasted the things in life that are the most delectable, as we two know, so I’m glad to hear you have a girl, it’s a good start—if you need any advice in that regard just ask yours truly, the Cederna information desk is open twenty-four/seven, I know all about it—hey, we could go have a beer some night, I know a place that’s not bad, they have five hundred different types, well-known brands, imported from Belgium and Germany—well, maybe it’s because you haven’t yet found one that’s right for you, in that place you’ll find one for sure, they also have British ales—anyway you can drink something else, they don’t only serve beer, what the hell, that way we can shoot the breeze a little, I’ll give you some tips—are yo
u fucking kidding me? And who is she? Does she handle your calendar? You’re still too young to be tied down, give yourself some time, man, explore a little, believe me, you need someone who can teach you how to deal with women, if you give them too much leeway you’re done for—go get me another dessert, would you—the same, yeah—so let me tell you, last night I was with my girl, we had just finished . . . Well, you know—what the hell do you care what her name is?—Agnese, her name is Agnese, happy now?—so as I was saying we’d finished and I don’t know what came over me, you know how it is with us guys, those times when you don’t feel like staying there and cuddling and shit, when you just can’t stand being in that room a minute longer or you might suffocate, you know, right?—you have no idea what I’m talking about, I can tell from your eyes—no, you don’t know, but it didn’t used to happen to me before either, I was always . . . well, never mind—no, it has nothing to do with not being able to get it up, are you listening to me, damn it? This happens later, afterward, when she expects you to hug her and whisper sweet nothings to her, well, so there comes a point when you can’t stand being stuck to another body anymore, because what she’s demanding of you is too much, it seems ridiculous, I know, but it happens, it’s natural evolution, a physical thing, you need some peace and quiet—I left, simple, I put on my shoes and shirt and beat it, cleared out of there to get some air, to breathe the scent of the night a little, at this time of year it’s fantastic, you should go out and smell it these nights, it charges you up—some time ago I rented a cabin in the upland valley, it was a time when I didn’t feel like seeing anyone, I’d even taken a break from Agnese and I stayed up there all by myself, recharging my batteries, only there was no heat and when winter came, well, with all the damn snow I couldn’t even get to the barracks—yeah, the pipes even froze, a friggin’ disaster—so anyway, I go to spend the night there, minding my own business, and this morning when I get home I find her sitting on the couch, in a snit—the lunatic has been sitting there the whole time, can you imagine?, on the couch, waiting, her eyes red from crying so hard—she tells me, ‘If it happens again I’m the one who’s leaving, got it?,’ and I say, ‘No, I don’t get it, shut your mouth’—that’s how you deal with them—we’re getting married next year—what? You say that because you’re young and you don’t know anything yet, how old did you say you are?—exactly, wait till you hit thirty, you’ll see how things change, it’s the thirties that back you against the wall and put a gun to your forehead, like this—sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you, you sure are delicate—I could call you that, delicatezza, what do you think?, Delicate Flower, or maybe Eggplant Head—let’s get out of here, do you have any change for coffee? I’m broke—anyway, age thirty is the most fucked-up time of your life, because you already have some real . . . responsibilities, that’s the word, responsibilities that you don’t really want but that you can’t just shrug off, it’s time to start a family and get going with everything else, kids and so on, otherwise it’ll be too late and you’ll have disobeyed the demands of the species—the human species, kid, you have to be prepared when you get to thirty, you have to be—on the mark—and realistic, you know what realistic means? It means, I don’t swallow anybody’s stories, that I don’t buy into the fantasy about how everything is dandy, I see things as they are and decide my own version—in the end it’s all about having balls, those who don’t have them don’t survive, it’s evolution, Darwin said it—get me one of those too, the chocolate one, I’ll pay you back later—there’s a whole slew of people who go bonkers after thirty, you can’t even imagine, take the commander of our old platoon—no, you didn’t meet him, it was before you got here—I told you, you didn’t meet him, damn it, his name is René, Marshal René, happy now? Listen to what he did, he went and saddled himself with a family that wasn’t his, he took a woman with a kid—a kid who isn’t his, Eggplant Head—I mean, it isn’t natural, it seems obvious to me, spend a night, okay, but to get hitched—that bastard took someone else’s family, the family of a dead soldier, and now he makes believe it’s his—he never shows his face around here anymore, the crummy opportunist—he’s a waiter in a restaurant, a dive, I’d never set foot in there, I guarantee you—where was I? I was explaining something important—give me a cigarette—right, age thirty, well, the point is that it’s not easy by any means and it’s not what you expected, you follow me?, and though it all seems crystal clear to you now, as if you could control each piece and say, Hey, guys, lookie here, look how great I am, and tell yourself that everything will turn out just fine, well, we’ll talk about it again in ten years, champ, and we’ll see if I haven’t told you the god-awful truth, we’ll meet again right here and you’ll tell me, You know what, Senior Corporal Major Cederna? You were right on all counts, goddamn it! Life gave me a good kick in the ass and landed me where I never thought I’d go—no, she has nothing to do with it, otherwise why would I be getting married?—anyhow, if you need any advice you can come to me, I won’t hold back, I can give you a hand, maybe we’ll go have that beer we’ve been talking about—tonight, what do you say?—what about tomorrow?—well, whenever you like, I’m always ready—no, it’s that I don’t have much to do at night—because a lot of things lose their appeal, that’s why, and you can’t do anything about it, even though before you liked going out and meeting a million imbeciles like yourself, and every time you went on leave all you thought about was getting as drunk as possible, later on you don’t feel like it anymore—it’s not you, it’s your body that’s changed, it’s evolution, shit, it orders you to quit doing all that crap, you know how much I lifted on the bench at your age?, shoot—no, sir, 130 per arm, 260 total, two sets of ten, and if you ask me I could still do it, but I don’t feel like it, you know?—anyway, there are too many nights, one after the other, one after the other, nonstop, you don’t know how to fill them anymore—you’re gonna see a lot of things, kid, things you won’t be able to get out of your head anymore, you’re young, you’re just getting started.”
Other Mountains
The disciplinary committee, as it is pompously referred to in the summons, is composed of three members. Two are external: a major and another officer who isn’t wearing stripes, both with southern Italian accents—Egitto doesn’t know them. The chairman seated in the center is Colonel Matteo Caracciolo, with whom the lieutenant has an association that goes so far back it can easily be mistaken for friendship, though it’s characterized by a certain impenetrable distance. In words, at least, Caracciolo is on his side. If Egitto leaves it all to him—the colonel told him yesterday in private—everything will all work out, the incident will soon be reabsorbed (he used that very term, reabsorbed, as if he were talking about a brain trauma). Afterward, however, he refused to clarify the exact nature of the allegations, as if he were embarrassed—but of course Egitto could sleep peacefully! According to Caracciolo, it would be all a bunch of nonsense, the usual minutiae typical of the army.
The colonel continues addressing him familiarly in front of the other committee members, even though they give the impression they don’t appreciate the lack of formality. He opened the hearing by making it clear that he finds it completely pointless to rehash circumstances dating back more than a year, when they’re already talking about a new mission for his brigade. But what can you do? The bureaucracy’s pace does not necessarily coincide with that of human beings—in fact, the two almost never coincide.
An oppressive pall hangs over the overheated room, whose space is almost entirely taken up by a rectangular dark wood table. Egitto longs to close his eyes. Despite Caracciolo’s reassurances, he didn’t sleep at all last night and now he feels sapped, exhausted, irritable. He’s afraid this is not the right morning for an investigation into his actions—being tired always makes him disinclined to cooperate. Moreover, he now realizes that he’s drawn to the freedom sometimes granted when life is suddenly turned upside down. He’s sure he’ll find a way of screwing everything up before they even get into the
discussion.
The dossier that’s been opened on him concerns his actions at FOB Ice during his second tour of duty there and the way in which his conduct may have in part—Caracciolo stresses “in part”—contributed to events in October. For a moment Egitto, distracted, lets his mind pursue that expression. So that’s how they decided to dissociate themselves from the men who died in the valley: “events in October,” as if equally significant events existed for December, April, June, August . . . He wonders what this month’s events will be. For sure, they won’t have anything to do with the current investigation.
Caracciolo is careful to list the lieutenant’s commendable actions before moving on to the more—here he pauses a moment, searching for the most appropriate adjective, and, after finding it—“controversial”—looks at the other members for approval, which they withhold. He moves on, as he was saying, to the more controversial aspects. He cites an episode of a child zonked out on opium whom Egitto miraculously saved, along with three other less exemplary actions that he’s forced to fictionalize a bit. Egitto is not particularly grateful for the favor.
The major, charged with taking minutes, is making very few notes. Egitto is only half listening—they haven’t gathered at ten in the morning on this milky gray day to compliment him. He’s roused suddenly, though, when Caracciolo mentions First Corporal Major Angelo Torsu being wounded in battle. It’s clear to Egitto that they’ve reached the crux of the discussion.
The soldier’s family—which consists only of his father and a host of more distant relatives (first, second, and third aunts, uncles, and cousins) since Signora Torsu recently passed away—has filed charges against the lieutenant. With the gathering of testimonies from Torsu’s fellow soldiers, it came to light that at the time of the convoy’s departure the first corporal major was recovering from a severe case of food poisoning caused by eating local meat, in blatant violation of the health regulations, among other things (an irresponsible act for which the doctor in charge should be held accountable, although, Caracciolo is quick to point out, that charge is not the specific focus of the interview; everyone present understands that demands in the field of operations can’t be judged a posteriori, since each of them has been there—they all know that, right?).