Time Ages in a Hurry (5 page)

He sat there, with the coins in hand, staring at the phone booth, there’s a world of difference between saying and doing, and doing was saying: listen, I’m back, I’m here at the hospital, no, I’m totally fine, well, not
totally, the fact is these three years have heaped up one on top of the other as though they were all just one day, actually just one night, I know I’m not making myself clear, I’ll try to be clearer, think of plastic bottles, the ones for mineral water, the bottle makes sense as long as it’s full of water, but when you’ve drunk it you can scrunch it up and throw it out, that’s what happened to me, my time has scrunched up, and my vertebrae too, if I can put it that way, I know I’m jumping around but I can’t express myself any better, be patient. And while he was thinking of what he’d come up with, he noticed a nurse in white pushing a wheelchair coming out of the low pavilion not far from the coffee bar, its glass door opened from the inside. And on the door closing behind them was a yellow sign with three blades, like a fan. The nurse was moving forward slowly because the path from the pavilion to the coffee shop rose slightly, and in the wheelchair was a boy, or at least from a distance it seemed a boy because he had no hair, but gradually as they approached he realized it was a girl. The features of the face, even though it was a childish face, weren’t male, because the difference is already clear at ten or twelve, which seemed roughly the age of that boy, which is to say, that girl, and also the voice was already female, since at that age the vocal cords are well differentiated, and she talked with the old nurse pushing the wheelchair, although from there he couldn’t make out what they were saying, he caught only the sound of the voices. He’d stood up with the coins in his hand aimed at the phone, rather he’d almost stood, he half stood, just like the day
before getting out of bed, when the same razor blade cut into his back again, slicing all the way down to below his navel. He stood very still, like that figure of Pontormo he liked so much, whose face is a landscape of pain almost as though he were bearing the cross instead of the one destined for such a task. The two female voices were still too feeble to be deciphered, but they were cheerful, this he got from the tone, they seemed to be twittering back and forth, like two little sparrows telling each other something, he shut his eyes and the twittering became a squeak and he thought instead of mice chattering together in their cage, those white mice that scientists experiment on, they were two guinea pigs for the science of so-called life, the most agonizing science of all, one of them was being subjected to it prematurely, the other, the old one, had endured the experiments and gone on. They fell silent, perhaps because the woman pushing the wheelchair was getting tired and the girl didn’t want to wear her out, but as soon as they reached the top of the path the girl began talking again, and must have been responding to something the nurse had said, from her tone of voice it was clear she was affirming something, a solemn affirmation that nobody could prove wrong. Her voice was joyful, full of life, as when life, through the voice, is willful and affirms itself. The girl repeated what she’d said just as they were passing him, and while she spoke a broad smile lit up her face: but this is the most beautiful thing in the world! But this is the most beautiful thing in the world!

The path continued down toward a clinic in the middle of the grounds. They’d stopped talking, but he could hear the noise of the
wheelchair rolling over the gravel. He wanted to turn around but was unable to. The most beautiful thing in the world. That’s what the girl had said, this bald girl, being hauled in a wheelchair by a nurse. She knew what the most beautiful thing in the world was. He, however, did not. How was it possible at his age, with all he’d seen and experienced, that he still didn’t know what the most beautiful thing in the world was?

– You stay here in the shade all day, said the young girl, don’t you like going in the water?

The man gave a vague nod that could have meant yes or no, but said nothing.

– Can I use
tu
with you? asked the girl.

– If I’m not mistaken, you just did, the man said, and smiled.

– In my class we also use
tu
with adults, said the girl, some teachers allow it, but my parents won’t let me, they say it’s impolite, and
lei
, sir, what do you think?

– I think they’re right, responded the man, but you can use
tu
with me, I won’t tell anybody.

– Don’t you like going in the water? she asked. I think it’s special.

– Special? the man repeated.

– My teacher told us we can’t use awesome for everything, that sometimes we might say special, I was about to say awesome, for me going in the water at this beach is special.

– Ah, said the man, I agree, it seems awesome to me too, even special.

– Sunbathing’s awesome too, the young girl went on, in the first few days I had to use the
SPF
forty cream, then I went to twenty, and now I can use the golden bronzing cream, the one that makes your skin sparkle like it has little gold specks all over it, see? But, sir, why are you so white? You came here a week ago and you’re always under the beach umbrella, don’t you like the sun at all?

– I think it’s awesome, said the man, I swear, to me sunbathing is awesome.

– Are you afraid of getting sunburned, sir? asked the young girl.

– And what do you think? answered the man.

– I think you’re afraid of burning, sir, though if a person doesn’t start out slowly, he’ll never get tan.

– That’s true, the man confirmed, it seems logical to me, though do you think it’s mandatory to get tan?

The girl mulled this over.

– Not entirely mandatory, nothing is mandatory except for mandatory things, but if someone comes to the beach, doesn’t go in the water, and doesn’t get tan, then why is he coming to the beach?

– You know what? said the man, you’re a logical girl, you have a gift for logic, and that’s awesome, to me the world today has lost its logic, it’s a real pleasure to meet a logical girl, may I have the pleasure of making your acquaintance? What’s your name?

– My name is Isabella, though my close friends call me Isabèl, but
with the accent on the e, not like the Italians who say Ìsabel, with the accent on the i.

– Why’s that, you’re not Italian? asked the man.

– Of course I’m Italian, she objected, totally Italian, but I care about the name my friends give me, because on television they always say Mànuel or Sebàstian, I am totally Italian like you and maybe even more than you, sir, but I like languages, and I also know the Mameli anthem by heart, this year the president of the republic came to visit our school and talked with us about the importance of the Mameli anthem, which is our Italian identity, it took so long to unify our country, for instance that political guy who wants to abolish the Mameli anthem, I don’t like him.

The man didn’t say anything, he was squinting, the light was intense and the blue of the sea and the sky merged, swallowing the horizon line.

– Perhaps, sir, you didn’t get who I’m referring to, said the girl, breaking the silence.

The man didn’t speak, he kept his eyelids half closed, the young girl seemed to hesitate, drawing squiggles in the sand with her finger.

– I hope you’re not in his party, sir, she went on, as though encouraging herself, at home I was taught that one must always respect others’ opinions, but that guy’s opinion, I don’t like it, am I being clear?

– Perfectly, said the man, one must respect others’ opinions yet not disrespect one’s own, above all not disrespect one’s own, and why don’t you like this guy?

– Oh, well … Isabella seemed to hesitate. Apart from the fact that when he talks on television, he gets some white foam at the corners of his mouth, but this I could forget, the main thing is he swears a lot, I heard him with my own ears, and if he swears, I wonder why they yell at me when I swear, but luckily the president of the republic is more important than him, otherwise he wouldn’t be president of the republic, and he explained to us that we ought to respect the Mameli anthem and sing it like the national team does at the world championship, with our hands on our hearts, at school we sang it together with the president, we read the copies our teacher gave us, but he didn’t read, he knew it by heart, I think that’s awesome, don’t you agree, sir?

– Pretty special, confirmed the man. He dug into the bag he kept next to his beach chair, took out a glass bottle, and put a white pill in his mouth.

– Am I talking too much? she asked, at home they say I talk too much and might annoy people, am I annoying you, sir?

– Not at all, answered the man, what you’re saying is even special, please go on.

– And then the president gave us a history lesson, since as you know, sir, we don’t study modern history at school, in the last year of junior high the really good teachers get us up to World War One, otherwise we don’t make it past Garibaldi and the unification of Italy, but we learned a ton of modern things, because our teacher’s been great great, but the credit should go to the president, because he’s the one who gave the input.

– Who gave the what? asked the man.

– That’s what they say, explained Isabella, it’s a new word, it means someone starts and drags the others along with him, if you want, sir, I’ll repeat what I’ve learned, really a ton of things that not many people know, d’you want to know them?

The man didn’t answer, kept his eyes closed, and was completely still.

– Did you fall asleep, sir? Isabella’s tone was shy, as though disappointed.

– I’m sorry, sir, perhaps I chattered so much I made you fall asleep, it’s also why my parents didn’t want to buy me a cell phone, they claim they’d have to pay an astronomical bill because I talk so much, you know, in our house we can’t afford anything extra, my father is an architect but he works for the municipality, and when you work for the municipality …

– Your father’s a lucky man, said the man, his eyes still closed.

Now he spoke in a low voice, almost a whisper.

– Be that as it may, he continued, the profession of building houses is beautiful, much better than the profession of destroying them.

Isabella gave a little shriek of surprise.

– My god, she exclaimed, there’s a profession of destroying houses? I didn’t know that, they don’t teach that at school.

– Well, said the man, it’s not that it’s really a profession, you can also learn it in theory, like at a military academy, but then moments arrive when a certain knowledge has to be put into practice, and when all’s said and done that’s the goal, to destroy buildings.

– And you, sir, how do you know this? asked Isabella.

– I know it because I’m a soldier, answered the man, or rather I was, now I’m retired, let’s put it that way.

– So,
you
destroyed buildings, sir?

– What happened to
tu
? the man replied.

Isabella didn’t answer right away.

– The thing is, I’m naturally shy even if I don’t seem so because I talk too much, I asked you, sir, if you destroyed houses once too.

– Not personally, no, said the man, and neither did my soldiers, to be honest, mine was a war mission for peacekeeping, it’s kind of complicated to explain, especially on a day like this, but, Isabèl, I’d like to tell you one thing that maybe they didn’t tell you at school, in the end the story can be summed up like this: there are men like your father whose profession is to build houses, and men of my profession who destroy them, and things go on like this for centuries, some build houses and others destroy them, build, destroy, build, destroy, it’s a little boring, don’t you think?

– Very boring, answered Isabella, really very boring, imagine if there weren’t ideals, fortunately there are ideals.

– Sure, confirmed the man, fortunately in history there are ideals, who told you this, the president or your teacher?

Isabella seemed to mull this over.

– Now I’m not sure who told me.

– Perhaps the president gave the input, said the man, and what can you tell me about ideals?

– They are all respectable if one believes in them, answered Isabella, for example the patriotic ideal, then maybe someone makes a mistake because he’s young, but if his intentions are good, the ideal is valid.

– Ah, said the man, this is something I need to think about, but it doesn’t seem the right day for it, today is so hot and the sea looks so inviting.

– Then get in the water, she prodded.

– I don’t really feel like it, responded the man.

– That’s because you aren’t motivated, I think your problem is stress, you can’t imagine the negative effect of stress on our spirit, I read it in a book my mother keeps on her bedside table, would you like me to get you something at the hotel bar, something for stress? As long as it’s not a Coke, that I wouldn’t get.

– This you’ll have to explain, you really must, said the man.

– Because Coke and McDonald’s are the ruin of mankind, said Isabella, everybody knows it, at my school even the janitors know it.