The Girl with the Crystal Eyes (20 page)

    'What
are you doing, standing there in the middle of the room?'

    'I
was waiting for you.'

    'Aren't
you going to give me a kiss, then?'

    Viola
walks towards him. She can feel the packet between her legs.

    'Is
that all?'

    'I've
got a headache.'

    'A
headache. A woman's favourite excuse. What did you get up to today?'

    'The
usual.' She moves away from him.

    'Good,
good. Let's go and have a shower together.'

    'I've
just had one and, anyway, I told you I've got a headache. You go and have one.'

    He
comes closer. 'You know you're even more sexy when you have a headache?'

    'I'll
go and make dinner.'

    Viola
feels hounded. She hurries into the kitchen. After a minute he's there behind
her. Her hands shake.

    Marco
turns her round and leans her back against the cold steel surface of the hob.

    'No…
really. I don't feel well.'

    He
starts to kiss her neck while she tries to wriggle free.

    'No,
not now. Leave me be.'

    He
pins down her hands so she can't move, and seeks out her mouth. Then he starts
to caress her breasts. She is wearing a cotton T-shirt with long sleeves.

    She
is warm because of rushing around, while playing her game of pass the parcel.
But now the game seems to have become a treasure hunt.

    The
packet. The fucking packet.

    'Marco,
no. I said no.'

    He
moves away for a second, then smiles. He is visibly aroused.

    
Why
should something from that silly magazine prove to be true now?
'Say no and
he'll take the first step.' Damn her pig-headed hope that some piece of their
advice would turn out to be true. It serves her right.

    He is
pressing against her now, trying to pull her trousers down. He slides a hand
between her warm thighs and keeps on kissing her face and throat.

    'No.'
She tries to get free of his grasp.

    He
turns her round as if she were an object. He pushes himself against her, her
stomach pressing against the steel surface, which doesn't feel cold any more,
and starts to move his fingers between her legs. 'Tell me you like it.'

    He
has never done this before. A hot, wet sensation, as if a piece of ice were
suddenly melting. Her trousers and knickers have slid to her feet while his
hand moves faster.

    'No,
stop it. Please.'

    She
doesn't have time to sense it coming. A strong, spontaneous orgasm that makes
her shout out and arch her body backwards. She feels her legs give way. She
falls to the floor, as he drops down on her so as to take his own share of
pleasure.

    Viola
thinks about the packet that she just had time to slip into the coffee
percolator. Then she reflects that orgasms really do exist. Those magazines
aren't so silly after all.

    How lovely.
I've never seen such a beautifully laid table,' Eva says, enchanted. 'And the
napkins! They're wonderful; they look like swans.'

    'The
maid does all this. My father only employs highly qualified staff.' Giulia
assumes a superior tone of voice whenever she mentions their servants.

    'But
she's marvellous. What's her name?'

    'Who?'

    'The
maid.' Eva strokes the swan-shaped napkin with the tip of her finger.

    'How should
I know? I just call her Giovanna. She's got one of those oriental names that
you can't pronounce. We're in Italy so I call her an Italian name,' Giulia
replies sharply.

    'But
are you celebrating something?' All this luxury has aroused Eva's curiosity.

    'No,
it's just a dinner for my father's business associates. Nothing out of the
ordinary. I can't imagine what you'd say if you saw the table laid out for our
New Year's Eve dinner! Last year there were Swarovski crystal snowmen to hold
the place cards. Come on, I'll get changed then we'll go to the gym. And then
I'm seeing Andrea, so I'll have to take along something sexy to change into.'

    Giulia
starts to undress. She lets her clothes fall on the floor without taking her
eyes from her reflection in the mirror. In bra and pants, she pirouettes on
tiptoe while continuing to gaze at herself with a critical expression.

    'I'll
just be a minute, Giulia. I left my gym bag in the dining room,' Eva says,
feeling bemused.

    'Off
you go, but be quick. We're already late, and you've still got to help me
decide which outfit to take.'

    Eva
follows the long corridor which has its walls covered with paintings. There's
one that always makes her feel uneasy: the portrait of a woman wearing a sullen
look. The brush strokes convey a sadness that reaches out to the viewer, and
Eva wishes she was able to speak to the woman in the painting.

    'Why
are you sad?' she asks, without waiting for a reply, as she then skips down the
stairs, taking two at a time.

    She
goes into the dining room. The maid is arranging a centrepiece of flowers and
exotic fruit.

    'Sorry,
it's only me.' Eva smiles. 'You're really clever, you know? Where did you learn
to fold the napkins like that?'

    'My
mother taught me when I was a girl. It's a tradition in my country.'

    'You
really are good. I'm hopeless at doing things with my hands…'

    She
is a very young girl, not very tall, almond- shaped eyes and long, fine black
hair bound in a plait.

    'Thank
you, miss.'

    'Pleased
to meet you. I'm Eva.'

    'I'm
Jin Holin,' and she bows. Eva does the same, before adding, 'I can't stay. If I
don't go, Giulia -'

    'Where
have you been hiding. Come on, I'm ready.' Giulia mood has already altered. All
it takes is for her to lose control over the people around her for a second and
she becomes irritable.

    'Sorry,
I got lost.'

    'Do
you like my new tracksuit? I'm wearing something for my jazz class underneath -
short and sexy. The tracksuit is just for getting to the gym.'

    'It's
lovely. Red suits you.'

    'Of
course. Everyone knows that blondes look good in red.'

    'And
the barman? Aren't you going to that bar near the Two Towers any more?'

    'Oh,
he's
old
news.' Giulia answers, clearly annoyed because he didn't pay her
as much attention as she would have liked. 'I think he's gay,' she adds, to
reassure her ego.

    
What
a shitty day.

    
A
really shitty day.

    
But
if he thinks he's going to cheat me out of my patch he's making a big mistake,
that bastard.

    He
brought them up himself, those idiots: the first joints shared on the steps,
the first highs. He had known them when they still had milk round their mouths
and didn't even know how to roll a joint. He had had to roll the first one for
them.

    
Who
is it who puts himself out there to fix things for the clients? No one - except
me. But why the fuck should I send them? It's not just that I've built up a
personal relationship - which helps keep the clients grateful - but, as soon as
they can, they'll try to fuck me over.

    And
then, when you think about when they started on the hard stuff - the phone
calls at all hours, which was never enough… Always him to wipe their arses.

    And
now that shit, Fabietto, so sure of himself as leader of the gang that he's
going to buy stuff direct from the Albanians and sell it back to the group. The
shit they've got, those Albanians. But they're used to eating shit, those
idiots. They wouldn't even recognise the good stuff from drugs that are cut
again and again, they've been stoned for so long.

    
But
if he thinks he's going to steal my business he's wrong.

    
I'll
see to it that he never even thinks about that again
.

    He
walks quickly while he talks to himself, with his mouth closed. The words are
sitting on the tip of his tongue but all that escapes is an angry hiss from
between clenched teeth.

    He
knows where to find Fabietto. He's moving quickly. He's almost there.

    
And
then that fucking cop with the story about the INPS. But what do they think,
that I'm stupid
?

    
That
I haven't worked out that something's going on? First at that whore's house and
now at my own. They're even coming to my home. The cops don't know how to do
their job any more. They come to your home. Perhaps they even expect you to
make them a cup of tea
.

    He
has arrived in Piazza Otto Agosto. He waits for a moment, with clenched fists,
outside the arcade.

    He
goes in and sees him straight away. He has a plastic pistol in his hand and is
shooting, leaning from side to side to dodge invisible bullets, and he's
swearing.

    He is
almost on top of him. It's managed without any effort…
Fuck,
the bastard
sees him, and doesn't even allow him time to realise that the boy has stopped
shooting before he is already swerving round the other lads dressed in short
bomber jackets with baseball caps on back to front.

    He is
leaving by the other door, his skateboard tightly in his hand. The doors are
next to each other. Marco retraces his steps to try to cut him off.

    'Out
of my way, jerk!' A thin boy with teeth missing holds up his arms as if to
apologise.

    Fuck!

    He's
already in the square and pushing himself off on his skateboard.

    'Stop!'

    Marco
starts to run. It's Thursday morning and, in the square next to the entrance to
the car park, there's a small group of stalls selling knick-knacks. Collectors
and people clearing out their basements.

    He
slams his side into the corner of a wooden table.

    'You
little scoundrel!' An old man with a white beard shouts at him in dialect,
before he bends over to pick up the military ribbons and medals of Mussolini
that have been knocked to the ground.

    The
boy enters Via Maroncelli. Marco is gaining ground. Then he dives into Via
Alessandrini, and in a second he's back in Via Irnerio. Marco's breath seems
like smoke coming out of his mouth, because of the cold. He looks like a
dragon. Perhaps he could finish him off with a burst of flame.

    He's
getting closer. He thinks he can smell the sour odour of sweat mixed with fear.
The boy's heading towards a woman with a large basket full of cheap goods
purchased from the discount shop at the end of the street. She's appeared from
nowhere, and now she's in his way.

    It's
just like a videogame. People materialise - zombies with staring eyes - and he
has to avoid them. But it's as if he's reached an advanced level, where
everything happens twice as fast. He instinctively swerves to the right, missing
the woman but hurtling into a parked car.

    The
boy looks round and sees Marco just behind him. Marco is the monster at the end
of the game, the boss that's hardest to kill. He turns his skateboard and hurls
himself into the middle of the road. A car brakes and the driver swears.

    Fabietto
has passed to the next level. The monster is left standing with his mouth open,
in front of the police car now stationary in the middle of the road.

    Next
to the driver, who is still cursing, the man from the INPS is staring straight
at Marco through the lowered window.

    
Fuck
!

    Marco
turns and starts to walk towards the portico.