The Girl with the Crystal Eyes (18 page)

    'Congratulations!
I'll get you some special nibbles as well then.'

    'I
melt when he speaks. Have you ever seen such a hunk? God, I'll dream about him
tonight.'

    'You
could stop telling everyone it's my birthday,' Eva says.

    'Come
on, don't be your usual sulky self. Life smiles on those who smile at it… or
something like that.'

    Giulia
is always in a good mood when she can spot a new conquest on the horizon. She
likes to find a fresh object of desire fairly frequently: once she gets what
she wants, she has already lost interest in it, and is looking for something
new. She is in a permanent state of euphoric non-happiness.

    'Here
we are,' says the barman. 'The sandwich with the little coloured flag is for
the birthday girl. It's got a special filling, with a dressing I invented
myself.'

    'Thank
you.' Eva feels embarrassed.

    'Don't
be a flirt. Hands off -1 saw him first,' Giulia says, pretending to be joking.
She hands her the shiny black parcel that she has been holding and exclaims
'Happy birthday.' Everyone turns to look at Giulia and she covers her mouth to
pretend she didn't reveal it on purpose, that it just slipped out. She's always
over the top.

    'But
you shouldn't have,' Eva tells her.

    'At
least open it, then you can say I shouldn't have.'

    The
birthday girl scratches off the Sellotape with her fingers. She does it
carefully; the paper is so nice that she doesn't want to spoil it. It's like
the wrappers of those toffees in the fuchsia tin with the picture of a lady and
a cavalry officer on the lid, the sweets her grandmother used to give her every
Christmas when she was a girl. The lady held a lace parasol and wore a bonnet.
Eva can still remember her as if she had the tin in front of her. How soft and
sweet they were, those toffees. They used to melt in her mouth… Her favourites
were the long, thin caramels.

    'Come
on! You're taking ages!'

    'OK.'
Eva tears off the paper and reveals a white cardboard box. She waits a second
before raising the lid, just like when she was small and paused before
unwrapping her favourite caramels. Then she gives in to curiosity and lifts the
lid abruptly.

    A
dress - a dress the like of which she has never seen before.

    'But
were you all in on this together?' she says, thinking of her sister's present.

    'So,
you like it, then? I bought one the same for me. Just so I'm not jealous of any
of my friends, I've learned a trick: if I buy them a present, I buy one for me
as well. That way there's no problem.'

    'Thank
you. It's stunning,' Eva says, even though she doesn't think she'll ever wear
it. She plays with the flag from the sandwich, twisting it between her fingers.

    'Promise
you'll wear it.'

    'I
don't know, but it really is beautiful, Giulia.'

    It's
as if the whole world is telling her that she's a woman, and she can't hide the
fact any longer. Her periods, which have been starting early for a while now,
perhaps even they want to remind her. Tell her that she should stop pretending
that all she needs is a pair of jeans, heavy combat boots and a hood pulled
over her head to hide her from the world.

    A
world that seems to her to resemble a huge cock. A world that, as far as she
can see, isn't the shape it ought to be. It's not round any more, it's a big
cock.

    The
dark keeps her company as she goes home. She looks down at her feet, as usual,
concentrating ort the scuffed toes of her shoes. She has bought a book. The heroine
is a woman detective; the story is set in Bologna.

    
Today
I got lots of presents.
She keeps her gaze on her shoes, racing along
quickly to carry her home - to her Miew.

    She
has just turned the corner of Via dell'Inferno when a dodgy-looking figure
suddenly appears.

    He
has a red scarf wrapped tightly round his neck and is clutching something in
his hand. For an instant Eva feels as strong as an ox. The blood is pounding in
her temples like a hammer, and a strange heat spreads throughout her body.

    'Hello?'

    'It's
me.'

    'Who's
speaking?'

    'Viola.
Sorry to disturb you.'

    'Oh.
Hi Viola. No, you're not disturbing me.'

    'Thank
you for the other day. It probably seemed odd but I didn't want my boyfriend to
know…'

    'I
understand. It's not a problem.'

    'Is
someone dead?'

    'What?'

    'The
photograph, the blood.'

    'Viola,
I can't talk about this. Especially not like this, on the phone…'

    'I
understand. Listen, below my flat there's a cafe, and if you like we could meet
there in half an hour.'

    'Perfect.'

    The
girl wanders round the room in bare feet. The bad weather is almost over; it
will soon be replaced by longer, sunnier days. She loves it when it's cold. For
various reasons.

    She
pulls on a pink stretchy top and a pair of jeans. She has put on weight, a
kilo. She can see it in her breasts - they're enormous.

    She
hates her tits. Too big. Far too big.

    It's
as if they call out to men, as if they say
look at me, I'm female.

    Female.

    She
doesn't even like the word.

    It
makes her think of sex.

    It
makes her think of people having sex.

    Every
day.

    Having
sex every day.

    When
it's her period, she doesn't like having sex, but… Marco tells her that he
likes it, that she smells female when she bleeds. Female.

    She
hates that word.

    She
has always hated it.

    She
changes again. She puts the pink top back in the wardrobe; it's too tight. She
opens the door of Marco's side of the wardrobe and takes out a black- and-green
checked shirt.

    There's
not much time before their meeting. She is nervous.

    Partly
because she has had that dream again.

    Roses
bathed in blood. Cut roses. Death.

    It's
three o'clock on the dot. Perhaps he's already waiting for her.

    She
runs down the stairs. Marconi is sitting at a table. He feels relaxed and
flirtatious - a rare occurrence, it doesn't happen often. He has ordered a
coffee, no sugar.

    'Hi,'
she says, while still in the doorway.

    'Hi.'

    It
feels like their first meeting.

    'Do
you want something to drink?'

    'No
thanks.'

    'What
did you want to tell me?'

    'I've
changed my mind - I'll have a
caffe macchiato.
With hot milk.'

    'OK.'
Marconi raises his arm to call the
barista.

    'There's
no waiter service here.'

    'What?'

    'You have
to go to the counter. Better still, I'll go.'

    'No,
wait, I didn't understand. I'll go.'

    Viola
looks out of the window. She smells Marco's domineering odour on the shirt. She
hugs herself, clasping her hands round her arms and imagining that she is
touching him. There is something in the pocket over her breast. She reaches in
and feels something smooth.

    'Here's
your coffee, miss.' Marconi bows to her like a waiter. He's in a good mood,
which he hardly ever is. 'It's hot today, isn't it?' he adds, sitting down
again.

    'Yes,
too hot - and it's only the end of March.'

    'I
like the heat.'

    'The
eyes are the same.'

    'What?'

    'The
eyes in the photograph. They're the same as in my dream.'

    'I
thought so, from how you reacted the other day.'

    'They
looked like they belonged to a person in my dream, but instead it's just a soft
toy. Only a soft toy. Such a lot of fear for a teddy bear.'

    'Well,
yes.' 'You don't know what a weight you've lifted from me. I mean, I'd much
rather it was a teddy bear. I recognised the floor as well, and the toilet in
the background. Now I understand what it was. It was a toilet.'

    'But
what is it you do with your life?' And he smiles at her with his eyes.

    'I survive,
not much more than that,' and she smiles, too. Then she passes her hand over
the pocket and hears whatever it is crunching. She can't wait any longer. She
has found something. Perhaps a note from another woman. Perhaps she won't be
able to pretend any longer that nothing's wrong. She tries to work out what it
is, feeling the shirt pocket with her hand.

    Marconi
watches her.
She looks sad.

    'I'd
like to get a job.'

    'They
always need shop assistants in town. Have you tried to find anything?'

    'Not
yet. I'm slow in just making a decision, so imagine how long it takes me to
actually do something.'

    'So…
he's your boyfriend?'

    'Yes.'
They stop talking. He plays with the teaspoon. She keeps feeling the pocket to
work out what is hidden inside.

    'OK.
I have to go now.'

    'Can
I walk with you?'

    'Better
not.' She says goodbye to him so she can be alone with whatever it is that's
inside the pocket.

    Today's
the big day,' says Roberto, ironically.

    He
has no doubt about it: he's going to humiliate her again. And he'll punish her
as well, for not staying in her place like he said she should.

    He
also feels sure because the client is a friend of Mariangela's husband, and
because of that he always listens to her advice. Therefore, even if Eva
produces something halfway decent… but then she isn't any good. There's no
doubt about that either. All she's capable of is doing the scanning.

    'Eva,
they're waiting for us in the presentation room. The client is already here,'
he informs her while he adjusts one of his awful ties, this one in shades of
acid green.

    The
girl sits down, frowning, at one end of the long table of light-coloured wood.

    Roberto
is next to her, with a slight, affected smile on his lips. She hates him when
he smiles like that, with his thin lips.

    People
whose lips are too thin are wicked, her grandmother always used to say to her.

    There
are two folders: her yellow one and Roberto's green one. She's sure it's just a
coincidence, but she can't help noticing how it matches his tie.

    Sonia
is working on another project. At the last second they palmed off on her a
newspaper ad promoting a beauty salon, partly because Roberto doesn't like
having too many people under his feet when he wants to win over an important
account.

    Mariangela
picks up the yellow folder and looks through it along with the client, a man of
about fifty with a red face and a shiny nose, thin brown hair and a
white-and-blue striped tie. She is speaking intently and he is nodding.

    Then she
takes the other proposal and starts talking to him quietly once more. The
client nods again. 'I prefer the second one,' the man finally says.

    Mariangela
smiles, pulling back her lips until she is grimacing like a porn star. Perhaps
she's thinking about the bonus she's now going to give Roberto, who is
overjoyed about winning. An extra fuck.