A strawberry cone.
Where are you going, love? Stay here.
We have to get up: my parents are waiting for us at noon.
How boring, always with these schedules to respect, even on Sundays. And then it's only nine o'clock.
I don't like beswedesing late, you know. But you can sleep a little longer, if you want: I have to shower, shave... Go back to bed, you look tired.
Should we tell the whole honeymoon story?
All, day by day; and project slides, too.
God, no: what a banality.
Banality why? It's a way like any other to share beautiful things with loved ones.
Should I also mention that I vomited throughout the cruise? It wasn't a great experience.
We'll gloss over this. It's strange though, you've never suffered from seasickness: maybe you should get a check-up.
It's nothing, don't worry: it's the fault of those long waves. Will you wake me up when you're ready?
Sure, my love.
...
There is the congested traffic on Sunday mornings and the suffocating heat typical of the month of July: construction sites are almost everywhere, you can't move. My city is unrecognizable, distorted by senseless changes to the road system; the urban planning criteria of this council are incomprehensible to any person with normal common sense, if only for the fact of having altered the perfect geometry of the original Roman camp. Even if I consider optimism a necessary exercise of rationality, I admit that crossing the center of Turin has become torture for me: Piazza Castello full of shelters and barriers, the Cartesian elegance of Piazza Vittorio distorted by strange rounded objects that emerge from the original porphyry pavement, Corso Vittorio ruined by the barriers of the so-called light metro: it's all absolutely horrendous for someone like me, accustomed to what was once the "little parlor" of Europe. I can't imagine what other horrors I'll have to get used to. The annoyance combines with the sultry heat to make the situation unbearable for me; luckily the Saab has an excellent air conditioner. I stop at yet another red light.
Don't keep the air conditioning vent pointed directly at your face, Antonia: you'll get sick.
But it's terribly hot.
Then don't complain if you get a cough. While we're at it, you should really get into the idea of wearing a seat belt.
You know I can't stand it. I'd rather pay the fine.
Saab is also protesting, do you hear?
What a drag these Swedes are.
She takes the belt and passes it behind the seat, inserting the hook into the appropriate slot to stop the beep-beep. Typical of Antonia.
You won't be able to piss me off, you know?
I am experiencing a magical moment. But don't take too much advantage of it.
During the cruise to Greece she relaxed and enjoyed herself, her health was completely restored, physically she flourished again: she put on a couple of kilos in the right places, she is tanned and full of small freckles which look very flattering on her. However, she has not yet fully returned to her senses: she is often distracted, indifferent, apathetic, even in bed. I think she's worried about not being able to give me a child: I purposely never touch that button. Maybe we will try to adopt one, even if in Piedmont it is almost impossible to do so. I don't know why, but we Italians enjoy the singular privilege of always finding the wrong people in the wrong place in all the main control sectors: in particular this is an endemic disease of the public sector, and the so-called social services are the best proof of this.
However, Antonia seems happy, satisfied, as if she had suddenly achieved her goal. Her perpetual restlessness has disappeared: she lets herself float in a lazy torpor, like a cat curled up in the sun. If on the one hand this pleases me, on the other it makes me suspicious, because it's not like her. I'll try to test the waters:
When will you start university again?
At the end of September, there is time.
Aren't you taking it a little too easy?
In what sense?
In the sense that you should prepare for the competition, right?
I should. But it's all parceled out, you know. I quote my rapporteur's words verbatim: "You're good, Antonia, but without a party card we wouldn't even hire Dante Alighieri."
A really good example.
It's not her fault, they're all like that.
Well, take the party card.
Oh please, Michael: I would feel ridiculous.
I'm serious.
Do you know the legendary Collina?
Who?
The one from Professor Perona's conference.
Ah yes, I remember, the art history one. Perona had built the entire exhibition on the discovery of an alleged Guercino, but Collina dismantled the attribution in ten minutes. Perona made a terrible fool of himself.
Precisely him. Collina will never win a university competition, precisely because he is too good: he has everyone against him; if he wants to succeed he must go abroad.
And why doesn't he go?
Maybe he will. For now he works with private galleries and is a consultant for an important antiques dealer.
Coming back to us, love, if you need a party card there's no problem. I could also try to get a recommendation from...
Thanks, no.
She abruptly interrupts the speech, crosses her arms and closes herself in a stubborn silence that does not bode well. I take advantage of the Gran Madre parking lot to stop the engine and start a conversation. I turn to her and look at her seriously:
Antonia, is there something wrong?
No, why?
You're weird. I see you as absent, unmotivated, you never have anything to say to me, you no longer communicate. Once upon a time you talked for hours, now I'm the one who has to take the words out of your mouth. Does this seem normal to you for two who just returned from their honeymoon?
What are you saying? I am fine.
Look, I'm not taking away any of your freedoms, the fact that you are now my wife doesn't change anything. If the university in Turin doesn't work out, you can try Professor Mostarda: write to him, tell him that you would like to work for him. It was your dream, wasn't it?
But it's very far away.
I know it's far away, but you could work part-time.
Michael, we've been married for a few days and you already want to get rid of me?
No, love. I just want to see you happy.
But I 'm happy.
I see you're happy, but I find you strange. Even…
Even in bed, I know. Don't worry, these are the aftermath of the operation: I'm still a little scared.
It's normal, you need your time to recover.
Look, but we can't stay here without air conditioning: this heat is killing me. Would you get me an ice cream?
I parked right next to our favorite ice cream shop. Turin's ice cream makers are masters, each with his own unmistakable style, like the great painters: he can be compared to a Tintoretto.
Yes, of course.
Get some for your relatives too.
Good idea. Wait for me in the car, I'll leave the windows down for you. What do you want?
A strawberry cone.
But you never liked strawberries.
I know, but now I feel like it. I've changed my tastes.
I return with one hand occupied by a packet of ice cream and the other by the strawberry cone, which is melting on the cuff of my shirt. I hand it to her through the window.
Thank you. What tastes did you take for your family?
Fruit and cream.
What, just cream? No chocolate?
No: my parents don't like chocolate.
Emmanuel likes it.
Ah, right. How stupid, I haven't told you yet.
What?
Wait a minute, I'm going to pay.
...
Left?...
How?... did he leave?
Yes, for Tuscany.
And the exam?
He didn't show up for the oral exam.
But why?
You couldn't follow him because you had wedding preparations and he didn't open a book. Now don't feel guilty, huh? You did what you could, it's his fault. My brother is crazy, you know.
But where?
I told you, in Tuscany, near Siena. He says he needs a change of scenery, but he doesn't tell it correctly. The truth is that he had a crush on that blonde girl at our wedding.
But who?
You don't know her, she's the daughter of Benvenuti, a business partner of dad's. Her name is Arianna. He went to stay with her; he says for a while, but I guess we won't see him again anytime soon.
But when?
I told you, he met her at our wedding and two days later he left, while we were in Corfu.
And your parents?
Obviously they were furious about the exam. But then they calmed down a bit when Arianna came to visit them: she is a respectable, pretty and reassuring girl. And she is also intelligent: she knew how to hit the right buttons, she swore that she will prepare for the final exam together with Emmanuel and she gave her word of honor that next year he will be promoted. Better for you, right? This way you will no longer have to follow him around to make him study.
And your parents let him go?
My brother is now an adult, Antonia, he can do whatever he wants. And then, I tell you honestly, it's better this way: I was starting to get worried about him. He's pale, he has bad dark circles under his eyes, you can tell he's not well. In my opinion Michelle is still involved, even if he would never tell me. That girl has something I don't like; Arianna, on the other hand, seems to me like someone with her head on her neck. All's well that ends well, let's not think about it anymore. The only one who took it badly is Teresa: since he left, she always has a funeral face. Who would have thought that that woman was so fond of him.
But, love, why aren't you more careful? You spilled all the ice cream on your skirt.