In a Heartbeat (27 page)

In the prologue we see scenes of his youth. A good family, a good kid, he studies, he does his homework and plays football. The calendar flips forward to 1977. We now see Max as a teen with his girlfriend, let’s say a blonde with plaits, a flowery dress and clogs. He’s wearing bell-bottoms and they’re just leaving the cinema. What’s showing?
Saturday Night Fever
.

You can hear the Bee Gees singing “Staying Alive
.
”

As they walk, a group of students wearing helmets marches by. Clashes with the police, Molotov cocktails, shots fired in the air. Max’s girlfriend screams as he stands stock still and stares as if he’s just seen the Virgin Mary. A golden light surrounds him.

The voices sing
The International,
the communist anthem.

Max becomes the hardest of the hard-core. We see him yelling at the meeting: Let’s Go, Comrades! Then we see him going out breaking shop windows. He’s protecting his face from tear-gas with a red bandana soaked in lemon juice. Then we see more demonstrations and meetings, free love and joints. A gratuitous sex scene is always a must. Maybe even a threesome. But …

Drum roll.

It’s 1978. On the news we see that they’ve kidnapped the former prime minister, Aldo Moro. Then he’s found dead in the boot of a car. Max escapes while the cops raid communist headquarters all over Italy. Max sees his girlfriend’s mug shot on the front page of the newspaper. She was also known as Comrade Maria, head of the Red Brigade. She seemed so sweet. It turns out she was more hard-core than he was.

Voices: ‘Oooohh.’

We see Max at a meeting, only a few comrades left. Max is marching, a handful of demonstrators surrounded by cops while people jeer
get a job.
Max closes the headquarters with a padlock.

Voices sing Bandiera Rossa, humming.

The calendar flips forward, alternating images, Max/calendar.

1982. Max is back in the piazza. Now he’s selling hash.

1983. Max breaks into a car, with some difficulty.

1984. Max is cool now; it takes him a second to steal a car. He’s dressed like one of Duran Duran … Voices sing ‘The Wild Boys’ in the background.

1987. Happiness. People are dancing in discos, models, and pimps. Max is blowing lines; he’s dressed well and feeling very
Miami Vice
. He’s got people all around him.

1990. Max breaks into a house. He then goes out dancing and shuts himself in a bathroom and shoots heroin.

1991. Max goes to Oreste’s and meets yours truly. (I’d like to have an actor worthy of my character, like a young Al Pacino.)

From that moment the real adventure begins. Sex, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll. Let’s throw in a car chase that never has been, and add a shootout with the Marseille gang. Max argues with Al Pacino. They part ways, goodbye old friend. Max then loses it all, he runs from creditors, pushers, he bounces cheques. Then we see him walking in the park at night, someone’s following him. Who’s there? Max screams. Two big guys with baseball bats. They beat the hell out of him. No please, God, no!

Voices: crash.

Max is in the hospital in need of a fix. Withdrawal; he vomits and craps himself. We see him covered in bandages breaking into the medicine cabinet while the duty nurse watches television. Max swallows everything. Max collapses. Later, Max limps out of the hospital. Two months have passed. The house is a mess. Maggots crawl out of the fridge and flies are having a party in the sink. Max shakes his piggybank. Two coins and a single stamp fall out.

We see him getting a package on credit from a dealer with a patch on his eye. Then another package and another and another. The one-eyed dealer gives him a list of what Max owes and shows him a knife. Pay or … Max is desperate; Max doesn’t know what else to do. A light bulb goes on in his head, brilliant! He knocks on a door. Al Pacino/Trafficante opens and he smiles at him. Please come in. Let’s do a couple lines.

Voices: You idiot!

A blow to the head. Al Pacino falls and white dust kicks up. Max takes his money. He dances, showering money in the air like Donald Duck’s Uncle Scrooge. He flees to the countryside and Al Pacino is after him. He sees his friend as an enemy. Al Pacino makes it to the farmhouse; his eyes are filled with rage just like Dustin Hoffman’s in
The Marathon Man
. Max is armed. Max shoots him. Max steals his wallet. Max throws him in the cellar. Al Pacino crawls.

Voices: Maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaas.

Yeah go ahead thanks, keep messing with me.

Voices: You deserve it, Trafficante.

Max blows Al Pacino’s cash and is also blowing two grams a day. Max is broke again. Max looks like a bum that everyone avoids. No more discos, no more chicks. The cars are more difficult to break into. Alarms and electronic keys. He’s too trashed to scale fences. Chemists, the last resort. They bust him. They let him out. Chemist, jail, chemist, jail.

Let’s also let Alfredo make an appearance, a conversation in the prison courtyard. ‘Remember the old days? Man, we had fun!’ Chemist, jail. The tests. The prison doctor, ‘I’m sorry to tell you that you’re HIV-positive.’ Max yells, ‘Nooooooooo.’ Dissolve. Black. White. The countryside. The Treatment Programme at the Holy Blood.

Voices: Be praised my Lord, through all your creatures.

Max is dressed in white and gathers eggs and drops one. Max is tied inside a pig stall. Max stealing an apple. Max being whipped by a guard. Max hanged by his thumbs. Max kneeling on corn kernels.

Max on the straight and narrow. He’s like a robot with a blank stare, his head bowed, and he says yes sir. Max packs Cibosanto packages without raising his eyes. Max praying in church. Max in a group photo with the other detainees. While the photo is being taken, a car entering the courtyard distracts him. A black Porsche. A well-dressed guy comes out arm in arm with a haughty woman. The guards greet them. The detainees applaud. The camera focuses on the guy. It’s Al Pacino, now fat and old. He looks at Max without recognising him and pats him on the head, ‘Good job, keep up the good work, God loves you.’ Max growls and seethes with envy and wants revenge. Max has a sparkle in his eyes, just like old times.

Calendar. 2005.

Voices. Psssst. Psssst. Here we go.

Me: Shut the fuck up! Let me think for a second. If he’s still there at the community then he couldn’t have tried to kill me but if he got out …

Voices: If he got out
…

Me: If he’s out then I’ve found who moved the balance of the blades.

I made it to the car. I tried to grab the handle but I couldn’t. I lay down on the bonnet and looked at the stars. The full moon had Max’s face in it. I got up and fell on the pavement. Max’s reflection was in the puddle. I got up and fell against the car window. I concentrated and stood up straight. I tried to push the right button and the car alarm went off … another button and it stopped. The doors unlocked. I stumbled into the driver’s seat. I closed the door on my ankle. I tried to light a cigarette with one already in my mouth. I threw it away and the carpet started burning. Get it together, man, shit. I put the flame out with my heel.

I put the key in.
Vroooom!
The car jumped forward and scared the hell out of me. The adrenaline woke me up a little. And now? Spillo was in custody and there was a chance the cops would be waiting for me at home. They’d also be there at Monica’s. Cops stop by twice a day to check and see who’s staying at the hotels. I had a car that was worth a hundred thousand euros, platinum cards but no place in the world where I could go. I put the iPod on,
Vertigo,
“Miracle Drug
.
” The windshield seemed covered in a glaze. I turned on the defrost button but nothing happened. I opened the windows and drove with my head outside. The cold air was
bbbbbbeautiiiiiifuuuuuuul.

At five in the morning, I was in front of a burnt out intercom with an anarchy ‘A’ spray-painted across the wall. U2 were singing “City of Blinding Lights.” I pressed all the buttons to the rhythm of the music, and the door opened. I walked up the stairs singing at the top of my lungs. On the first landing a small group had gathered and looked at me, seriously pissed off. They yelled without making a sound. They tried to hold me back. I fought and yelled as I fell.

Last Day

1

‘Get the hell off me!’ I howled. My head was killing me. Not all of it, just the left side, and it was getting worse. Something had died inside me, probably half my brain. I opened one eye and light peeked in. I closed it again. I felt something sticking in my back; I slipped my hand underneath and took out the iPod that was stuck to my skin. The earphones were wrapped around one of my ankles.

‘Are you awake?’

I opened my eye again and it began to water. I turned on my side and Salima was next to me on the bed about a centimetre from my face. She was naked but I wasn’t in the right condition to appreciate it. Up close, you could see that her belly was slightly rounded. My son … or my daughter. Oh, my God. ‘No, I’m really dead.’

She caressed my face. Her fingers were cool. ‘You almost died last night. Do you remember what happened?’

‘My memory hasn’t been the best these past few days.’

‘You woke up the whole building and then you assaulted my neighbours. They tried to talk you down but you were wearing earphones and couldn’t hear them. You kept on screaming
leave me alone you damn dirty Arabs
.’

I vaguely remembered. ‘I thought it was kind of funny.’

‘It’s a good thing that I came before my neighbours beat the hell out of you. They don’t have a sense of humour. How do you feel?’

‘Hmmm.’

‘Do you want a massage?’

‘Do you have any aspirin?’

‘I don’t use medicine. Turn over.’

She rolled me onto my stomach and almost brought me to tears. She straddled me and began pressing along my spine until she got to my neck. Then she went back down again. After the third wave, I began to feel slightly better. ‘I think it’s working.’

‘It’s been working for two thousand years, even for stubborn people like you.’

‘You know that it seems to … ahhhh … be working.’ I groaned as she touched a sensitive point.

‘It was the first time I’ve seen you drunk.’

‘What?’

‘You know it’s not too bad knowing that you can let go every now and then.’

‘Every now and then. Usually, my problem is the opposite … yes, right there … Hey, how much do you earn with your job?’

‘The gym pays me fifteen hundred euros a month. Sometimes more. It depends on how many clients I get as a personal trainer.’

‘Can you get by on that?’

‘I can live with it.’

‘Why?’

‘You know about the trouble I’m in, don’t you?’

‘I read it in the newspapers. On a scale of one to ten how much should I be worried?’

‘Twenty. If I make it out of this you’ll have to keep me afloat until I find another job. I hope that this happens before you’re too
big
to put on your gym pants.’

Her hands stopped at my neck. ‘Are you serious?’ she whispered.

‘First you had a successful businessman and then wound up with an unemployed ex-drug dealer.’

‘Dealer?’

‘It’s a long story. It just means that we won’t be able to eat caviar for a while.’

‘Look at me.’

‘I can’t as long as you’re on top of me.’

She moved and I rested on my elbow. Her face looked more worried than mine. ‘Why?’

‘What do you mean “why”?’

‘You know why.’

‘I don’t know how to explain this. I can’t go back to what I was, and it disgusts me to see what I’ve become.’

She sighed. ‘Do you love me?’

‘I’ve only known you for three days, but I do like you, and it’s more than I can say for everyone else I’ve met so far. If that’s enough for you … ’

It seemed like she was about to say something, then she shook her head. ‘I’m going to make some dandelion tea … to cleanse.’

‘Oh, shit.’

It tasted disgusting and made me pee big time. After the fourth trip I was almost human again. I got dressed. Sally had an apartment with two rooms that were heated with electric heaters here and there. Her place was crammed with stuff. Every part of the floor was covered with rugs. The walls were covered with paintings, photos and batiks; every piece of furniture had something on it. A corner of the dresser was reserved for me. There was my picture, taken with a Polaroid while I was sitting on Sally’s bed. I’d been tying my tie. She’d obviously caught me by surprise after sex. Under the photo in a glass bowl, there was a shirt button and a fountain pen that I recognized. Mont Blanc. I took it and looked at it.