In a Heartbeat (8 page)

My present social position, however, permitted me to avoid the wait. I was received like a welcome guest directly by my physician at the Capitanio Private Clinic. Monica had persuaded him to be at our disposal after normal working hours. At nine that evening, dressed in only socks and underwear, I was put into what looked like a huge white washing machine. The doctor tied me to a bed which slid back and forth inside a tunnel. Electronic sounds whirred around me. I felt nauseated and like I was suffocating. Luckily, it didn’t last long. I went to wait for the doctor in his surgery while he got the CAT-scan results.

Monica was with me. She said that I could call the doctor by his first name, Giulio, and that I played squash with him every now and then. She explained exactly what squash was.

Giulio came back after twenty minutes with a medical chart in his hand. He was in his fifties, with glasses and long salt and pepper hair.

‘Good news. You don’t have anything.’

‘Are you sure that’s good news?’

‘Sure,’ he smiled. His teeth were too bright to be real.

‘Episodes of retrograde amnesia can be caused by tumours, post-traumatic lesions or conditions such as dementia. From what we see here, you’re fine.’

‘And the electric shock?’ Monica asked.

‘Honey, an electrical shock can provoke confusion. And in some rare cases amnesia, but it’s limited to the events immediately preceding. It’s one of the consequences of electric shock, but normally it regresses after a few hours and it doesn’t normally provoke extensive time lapses.’

‘Maybe it was a serious shock?’ I said.

‘A high-voltage shock provokes cardiac and respiratory arrest. You’re still alive and you don’t have any organ damage. We can do other tests, but … ’

‘So you’re telling me that the shock has nothing to do with this?’

‘No, I don’t think that the cause is biological. Technically, what you have is what we call lacunar amnesia; in other words the complete cancellation of a certain sequence of events.’

‘Fourteen years is quite a lot.’

‘That is uncommon, but the diagnosis is still the same. Lacunar amnesia is rarely due to physical causes. Our brain isn’t a tree where you can see the rings. We can’t cut away a specific year, let alone fourteen years. We still know very little about its function, but long-term memory isn’t organised along our synapses in a linear way.’

I understood about half of what he said.

‘Anything else?’

‘Yes, let me ask you a few questions.’

‘OK.’

‘If you want we can ask Monica to wait outside.’

‘I’m staying,’ she said.

I shrugged my shoulders. At this point …

‘Fire away.’

‘Have there been cases of Alzheimer’s in your family?’

‘Not as far as I know. My grandfather was a drunk and was run over by a tram.’

‘Irrelevant. Do you use drugs or have you used in the past?’

‘No,’ Monica said.

‘Yes,’ I said.

Monica gasped. ‘You never told me.’

‘Now you know.’

‘Was it a joint every now and then or something harder?’ Giulio asked.

‘Coke, speed, some acid, ’shrooms, and one time peyote, and man, that was a trip!’ It lasted for three days, and I spoke directly with the Inca King Atahualpa. He gave me the numbers for the lottery, but they didn’t come out. ‘I can’t tell you right now if I’m clean.’

‘Of course you are!’ Monica said.

‘Ah, youth.’ Giulio was beginning to get on my nerves.

‘Alcohol?’

‘Yes.’

‘But you don’t drink anymore,’ Monica quickly added.

‘Until yesterday,’ I said.

‘OK, from what you remember have you ever had any similar problems in the past?’

‘No.’ Monica said.

‘Yes,’ I said.

Monica: ‘What the hell was I doing with you?’

Me: ‘What, a prick like me?’

‘Excuse me,’ Giulio interrupted. ‘I’d like to finish. Santo, would you please be more specific?’

‘I was put in an asylum when I was twenty-six.’

Another gasp from Monica.

‘They’re not called asylums anymore, maybe a mental hospital or the psychiatric ward of a normal hospital.’

‘I don’t remember.’

‘What were the symptoms?’

‘I was literally shitting myself.’

A double gasp from Monica.

‘And from what I understand I didn’t remember anything then either.’

‘Interesting.’

‘Yeah, interesting for you.’

‘Do you know what triggered the event?’

‘A blow to the head.’

‘Strange. A head trauma can cause disorientation, but for the symptoms that you’re describing you would have suffered cerebral damage. The CAT scan, however, shows no sign.’

‘I was also pretty wasted.’

‘Hmm. Do you think that I could get my hands on the medical chart? Maybe the diagnosis could help.’

‘I can check at home, but I can’t guarantee anything.’

‘You can ask your father, maybe he knows?’

Yeah, him.

‘So he’s still alive?’

‘You didn’t tell me that he died. Monica?’

‘Yes, he’s still alive.’

The doctor hesitated, fiddling with his pen. ‘One more question: have you been under any stress recently?’

‘Yes.’

‘Problems big enough to seem unsolvable that may have frightened you?’

Like a murder perhaps?

‘Yes.’

‘From what you’ve told me now and about your past, I’m willing to exclude a physical cause to your condition.’

‘Please translate.’

‘It’s not my field, but I believe that you forgot because you wanted to forget. Electric shock is a coincidence, even assuming that you actually received a shock.’

‘I still have the mark.’

I showed him the palm of my hand.

‘Put some cream on it.’

‘Thanks.’

‘Take it up with Freud. It’s an escape mechanism. You had problems, and you went back to when you didn’t have these problems. It was an easier period for you.’

‘It wasn’t that simple, believe me.’

‘Let’s say that it was a happier time. My advice is that you get some rest. Stay home and relax.’

‘It’s not the right time.’

‘The memories will come back a little bit at a time. I can write you a prescription just to help you stay calm, but it would be better for you to do without it.’

‘How long do you think it will take?’ asked Monica.

Giulio shrugged. ‘I don’t know, but the last thing that Santo needs right now is to be put under stress.’

I’m already under stress buddy,
I thought, but I didn’t tell him. He wrote me a prescription and handed it to me. Lexotan.

‘One more thing. It probably has nothing to do with this, but were you ever in the army?’

‘I was supposed to go, but I failed my probation. Anxiety depressive syndrome.’

Monica gasped yet again.

‘But I was faking, and they fell for it. I was at the barracks for two days and then they discharged me.’

‘So, no Gulf War?’

‘No way! Why?’

‘I’ll show you.’ He took an X-ray from the medical chart and put it on the light display.

‘This is your chest.’ You could see the bones and internal organs clearly; it didn’t look like the kind of X-rays that I remembered. Giulio pointed to a small dark dot near the top of my left shoulder.

‘Look here; it’s calcified, so it’s an old fracture that’s at least ten years old.’

‘Did I break something?’

‘I noticed a scar there while I was examining you. You told me that you broke your shoulder skiing but inside the calcification there’s a foreign metal object. It could be anything, a piece of nail, it’s hard to tell … but, if I didn’t know you, I would say that it’s a bullet fragment.’

7

When Monica and I got outside, we were a sorry sight. We both had long, sad faces. She didn’t say anything until I got to my car. It was where I’d left it, in Garage 6. It wasn’t at all what I’d hoped for when I’d first seen it. It was a kind of black truck that looked like a hearse with four exhausts. A Cayenne. Getting around the crowded streets of Milan with that beast was a pain. It was also an automatic, which really took the fun out of driving; I kept looking for a clutch that wasn’t there.

I unlocked the doors and got in.

Monica stood there stiffly on the sidewalk.

I leaned over and opened the passenger door.

‘Are you OK?’

‘I’m not coming.’

‘What’s wrong now?’

‘What’s wrong?
What the hell is wrong?
’ She sniffed a few times, then burst into tears and ran away.

I ran after her.

‘Please, let’s not do this again, not in public.’

A taxi passed, and Monica flagged it down.

‘C’mon, Monica.’

Monica opened the door, but I closed it.

The cab driver got out. He was about two metres tall.

‘Is there a problem, Signorina? Is this man giving you any trouble?’

‘Yes,’ Monica said.

The cab driver came around the car and stood in front of me.

‘So, you like bothering women?’

‘She’s my girlfriend, and we’re having an argument. Monica, say something.’

‘I don’t know this man.’

The cab driver pushed me away and reopened the car door.

‘If you don’t leave I’ll call the police.’

‘Monica … ’

The taxi driver gave me another push and opened the door. ‘Signorina, please get in.’

Monica sat in the back.

‘You can’t leave me like this. C’mon baby, let’s talk.’

Monica closed the door. I tried to get her attention through the window, but she ignored me, cold as ice. The taxi sped away. I got back into the beast and went home.

The gate of my building opened with a remote control not much different from the ones from my time, a little smaller maybe. I went down the ramp, thinking about smashing myself into the wall. How long would it take for them to come and get me? One day, maybe two days or a week, and then I’d be in jail for life without even knowing if I really deserved it or not.

I parked the car in my garage that also contained a bicycle with flat tyres. Then I tried to remember the way back to my apartment. I noticed a strange odour. After a few seconds, it came to me … chlorine. It came from a flight of stairs that led to another level under the garage. I went down until I came to a closed metal door. The sign read: ‘
Use of the pool is reserved for residents between 9am and 9pm.
’

It was after eleven; damn. I looked at the lock. Yale. Not too difficult. I went back to my garage and rummaged through the toolbox. All I needed was some wire and a thin nail. It took less than a minute to pick it. It’s always like that. You either open it in a flash, or you have to go and get a crowbar.

It was dark inside, but I found the light switch. The ceiling lights flickered on. White marble steps, a few showers and a pool about half the size of an Olympic one. More signs.
Use of the pool is reserved for residents only. Swimming caps are mandatory. Showers are obligatory before using the swimming pool. Topless swimming is prohibited.

What the hell!

I took off my clothes and jumped in.

Fantastic! I always loved to swim. I used to go to a public pool near the San Siro Stadium. It was always full in August but there were rarely any cops around so you could roll a joint on the lawn without anyone coming to bother you. Who knows whether it was still there or had become another construction site?

I slowly swam a few laps, trying to steady my breath. My body reacted well and my movements were fluid. Then I swam a few more laps freestyle, accelerating. At every stroke, I seemed to leave everything behind me. Trafficante, the Ad Exec, Spillo, the mental hospital, and the world where everything went wrong.

I began to cry as I swam until I ran out of breath. I grabbed the ledge, panting, exhausted and reborn.

A metre away I saw a pair of legs. I recognised the feet that moved around above the water. I raised my gaze. Monica.

‘Hey,’ I said.

‘Hey. I knew that I’d find you here. You always come here when you’re stressed out. You love to swim at night.’

‘In some ways I haven’t changed.’

‘Did you find the key?’

‘No, I picked the lock. Do I have a key?’

‘You have a copy that the doorman gave you. He’ll do anything for you since you got him the job.’

I pushed myself away and backstroked along the width of the pool.