In a Heartbeat (5 page)

Now it was time to fit the pieces together.

2

I went down into the building’s underground garage in search of my new wheels. I couldn’t find them. There were at least thirty identical closed garages, and none of them had a name on the doors. I pressed the remote on the key chain hoping to hear the alarm, but nothing beeped. I’d have tried the lock on every garage, but too many people were passing by. I gave up and went back to the ground floor.

The doorman was an old skeleton with a hat like the kind that taxi drivers used to wear in the fifties. He sat in a booth decorated with stickers; he waved a bony hand as I walked past. He didn’t lift his eyes from the newspaper he was reading. If he thought that he was going to get a Christmas tip from me, he was going to have to wait a while.

I jumped on a tram that stopped right in front of my building, convinced that it was the best way to get a better feel for my surroundings. I sat by the window and watched. The new Milan was a lot busier, dirtier and smellier than the old one. I had already noticed this a little the night before during my excursion, but it hadn’t been that important considering the state of mind that I was in. Now I looked at things more carefully.

It felt like New York City.

A sea of Africans and Chinese people gushed from every corner. The windows were full of flashy and expensive things, and the buildings were covered with advertising. The adverts were filled with models who looked like sad heroin addicts. The broken, rusted cars that ran around the streets in my time had been replaced by egg-shaped toys. There were black and white two-seaters, four-wheeled motorcycles, silver electric scooters and motor scooters shaped like cockroaches along with huge multi-coloured plastic trams. The one that I got on had doors that opened with a bright orange button. Very convenient but very slow.

As soon as I found a place to sit, I saw a fat guy dressed in a heavy camel-haired coat running towards the tram. He was panting; his face was red from the effort. As he waved his hands the driver ignored him, closing the doors. He left him behind like they always did, relishing the moment. The fat guy stood at the curb and looked at me strangely though the window.

He seemed annoyed at me.

Maybe I knew the guy and made him feel bad because I hadn’t got off and given him a hug. There had to be a whole load of people that the Ad Exec knew. I had a feeling that I’d been called an arsehole often.

The tram came to the end of the line behind the Duomo. It was covered in scaffolding with statues that popped out everywhere. Piazza del Duomo, however, looked like a Christmas manger. There were Christmas trees, fake reindeer and even an ice rink in the shape of a frozen lake where children glided around to the sound of waltz music. The monument of Vittorio Emanuele on horseback was covered in pigeon shit and surrounded by giant television monitors. I stared blankly as a video-game commercial burst onto the screen. It was light years away from the Atari games that I used to play. Technology had taken a giant leap forward. Hello, Obi-Wan Kenobi!

I came across a group of Japanese tourists taking pictures with miniature cameras, pressing themselves around a souvenir stand full of postcards and various knick-knacks. I pushed through and bought a wool cap with
I Love Milano
written across it, plus a pair of wrap-around sunglasses. I put them on and looked at myself in the mirror that the guy waved in front of me. I wasn’t really unrecognisable, but they would do. I made a mess with the money like one of those old people who make you curse if they’re in the queue in front of you. I used the large, heavy coins to buy a pack of cigarettes from a vending machine. It spat out a pack with the words ‘Smoke Kills’. The taste, however, was the same. Thank God!

I got to a line of spotless taxis and slipped into one that looked like something out of the future. The old taxis were nowhere near as aerodynamic and flexible. The bright numbers on the meter were reflected on the rear-view mirror so the passenger could see them. Another improvement.

‘Where to, boss?’ the driver asked. The cab drivers however hadn’t improved. They always seemed to take pleasure in ripping you off.

‘Via Ricciarelli.’

‘Here we go.’

Here we go like hell. It took five minutes just to get out of Piazza Fontana; between turns and one-way streets the trip took almost an hour. Not even Hong Kong was this congested with traffic. Calculating the new exchange rate I paid an alarming amount for the fare.

I got out in front of Ines’ building on Via Ricciarelli close to the San Siro stadium. In my time, the area had been a mess. There was mainly public housing with old men in wifebeaters and little kids who threw stones. Now, it had been given a lick of paint.

Paying a visit to my old friend Ines had seemed like a good idea last night. I was beginning to have some doubts, however. Smoking a cigarette to kill some time, I made a move and went up the stairs. It was cleaner than last time. The walls were painted bright pink, and most of the graffiti was gone. There was also a brand new lift that I only noticed about halfway up. I kept walking, out of breath. Shit, I really needed to get into shape.

Ines’ front door was a nice, bright brown with a welcome mat that looked fresh out of the washer. I rang. A girl in jeans and a cut-off T-shirt with a hoop through her navel opened the door. I saw the belly ring first and then her face. I had to get used to these new trends.

‘Yeah,’ she said annoyingly.

‘Excuse me; I was looking for a woman who used to live here. Her name is Ines.’

The girl blew the nails on her right hand. She was painting them black to match her lipstick and was about halfway through. ‘Mamma! Someone’s here for you.’

Mamma?

When Ines came to the door I almost didn’t recognise her. She was thin, and her face was dried up like a prune. Her grey hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she looked like one of those old ladies that you see walking to church every morning.

‘Can I help you?’

I suddenly forgot the words. ‘I … I … ’

I watched her swallow. ‘Trafficante? Is that you?’

I couldn’t say anything. She stretched her hand out to touch my face, but I stopped her halfway. ‘Santo … You’ve changed. You’re … a gentleman.’

‘Time flies.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Can I come in?’

She glanced over her shoulder. ‘What do you want?’

‘I just want to talk.’ I gestured inside. ‘May I?’

‘Wait here; I’ll come out. My daughter—’

‘No problem.’

As she put on her coat, I tried to gauge her reaction. She seemed scared. We went down to a café that used to be an ironmonger. We ordered two beers and I lit a cigarette. The bartender yelled, ‘Hey, there’s no smoking in here.’

‘Where the hell, are we, in a hospital?’

‘Go and tell the guy that made the law.’

I dropped the cigarette on the floor and put it out with my heel. Ines chewed on her necklace without saying anything.

‘I didn’t know that you had a kid. You look different,’ I said.

‘She was sent to foster homes, but I got her back.’

‘Your husband? Did he leave you?’

‘He had kidney cancer. They sent him home to die.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘That’s life. Santo, why did you come here? I’m clean now.’

‘How long has it been since we’ve seen one another?’

She grew more anxious. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘Please don’t ask me questions.’

‘It’s been ten years.’

More than I thought.

‘Did you come here looking for Max?’

‘Max?’

‘Yeah. You came to my place one night, completely out of your mind. You had blood all over your face, it looked like someone had broken your nose, and you were yelling for Max, saying that he’d ripped you off and so on. I hadn’t seen him for a while, and you didn’t believe me and trashed my house. It took me a while to throw you out. You stood there on the landing screaming until the neighbours came out and got rid of you.’

‘So, it was fourteen years this August.’

‘If you say so.’

‘And then we never saw one another again?’

‘No. You had some of your things at my apartment but never came by to get them.’

I lowered my voice. ‘The coke?’ I had left her about fifty grams.

‘I got rid of it. I couldn’t keep it forever.’

She wasn’t lying to me; I could feel it. But leave her the coke? I don’t think so. ‘Do you know why I never came back, Ines?’

She lowered her eyes, ‘No.’

This time she was lying, and I told her so. She got up on her feet and would have bolted out the door had I not grabbed her by the arm.

‘What’s got into you?’

‘Nothing. I have to go back to my daughter.’

‘You can go later, Ines. Don’t piss me off. Tell me the truth.’

Ines looked at the bartender, but he wasn’t interested in our troubles; she’d get no help from him. She sat down, shaking.

‘Promise me that whatever I tell you, you won’t hurt me.’

‘Who the hell do you think I am?’

‘Promise me.’

‘I promise.’ I didn’t know what the hell was going on. ‘So?’

‘It’s because of what happened to you.’

‘What the hell happened?’

‘You don’t really remember, right?’

A thin chill went down my spine. ‘Answer me.’

‘They put you in a mental hospital, that’s what happened.’

3

It was a shock, I have to admit. I tried to shrug it off by drinking my beer, but my throat was closed shut and I almost choked to death. Shit. A nuthouse. No wonder I was out of circulation.

‘Why did they put me in there?’

‘I only know what I heard, but it could be all bullshit.’

‘Tell me anyway.’

This was the story as far as she knew. One fine day some cop found me wandering around, delirious, with my trousers full of my own excrement. First they took me to the hospital and then, seeing that I was still out of my mind, they took me to the psychiatric ward. How long had I been in there? Ines didn’t know. When did I get out? She didn’t know that either. When she saw me at her front door she was convinced that I had just been released.

‘And Max?’

‘Max what?’

‘Where the hell is he?’

‘He stopped hanging out. If he screwed you over, he must’ve taken off somewhere and spent your cash, or maybe they broke his legs again. You weren’t the only person who was after him, you know. Anyway, he didn’t leave a trace.’

I finished my beer; Ines hadn’t touched hers. I got my wallet out and took out a hundred-euro note. ‘For your time,’ I said, giving it to her.

She didn’t touch it. ‘I don’t want your money.’

‘So what do you want?’

‘I don’t want to ever see you again. I left that life, you understand?’

I nodded. ‘Understood.’

She left, and I ordered a sambuca. An asylum. Is it possible that the blow I got to the head was that bad? I was half drunk and high when Max gave me that beating. The fact that I had barked and yelled at Ines seemed likely. And then what? Had I kept walking around yelling and screaming until they came and took me away? I drank the sambuca without tasting it. Maybe the amnesia was only the first sign that my brain was cracking up. Maybe in a while I’d be making puzzles with my own crap again.

The fear from the night before came back. Everything could disappear in a puff of smoke, the café and the table where I was sitting. I could drift away and never come back again. I dug my nails in my palms, and the pain brought me back to reality. I wasn’t disappearing. I was alive, breathing and reasoning, but how long would it last?

As I reflected, a shadow slid past on the other side of the street. It looked familiar. I paid the bill then went outside for a better look.

A cold, damp wind kicked up and the sky was dark. The guy was walking, keeping the flaps of his camelhair overcoat closed. It was that fat guy from the tram. I had no doubt that he was following me. My foul mood turned into anger. I ran up and grabbed him from behind. My idea was to turn him around and punch him in the nose, but he weighed a ton and my body didn’t move like it should’ve done. I felt like I was moving underwater, slowly and clumsily. He fended me off with a slap, and I fell on the pavement.

‘Denti, what the hell are you doing?’ he asked.

I got up, slipped under him, reached, and punched. Slow, too slow. He warded off my swings easily, and then he grabbed me by the arms, pulling my face towards his. Underneath the fat he had muscles, unlike me.

‘Enough.’

‘Let go of me!’ I tried to knee him, but he pushed me away.

‘Enough. Goddammit!’

I looked at him, panting. I couldn’t beat him. I calmed down.

Keeping an eye on me, the guy wiped his mouth with a napkin. He was the type that frothed at the mouth like my secondary school maths teacher who we all avoided because of his bad breath.