The Girl with the Crystal Eyes (29 page)

    'What's
happened? What is it? Come on, tell me, you bastard!' She starts to beat her
fists against his chest. The vampire bites still hurt, so Marconi grabs her
slender arms and holds them still in a grasp that manages to be both determined
and delicate.

    But
the girl cries out with pain, as if needles were hidden in that gentle touch.
He lets go immediately, and sees them.

    'God,
what have you done…?'

    'Keep
away from me. Just tell me what you came for.'

    Purple
streaks across her white flesh. Cries tattooed on to the skin. They don't want
to stay hidden any more.

    She
moves away from him.

    'Marco's
been arrested.'

    For a
second Viola seems relieved. The police officer isn't saying 'He's dead' like
that earlier time she still remembers so well. But then she starts crying
again. 'What has he done?' She stares out at the emptiness that surrounds her.

    Marconi
would like to tell her how Marco sold drugs to children, that he fucked several
Romanian girls in exchange for drugs, and that he has killed a minor, without
showing an ounce of pity.

    He
would also like to tell her that the girl who was keeping him hidden in her
home grassed him up after he had given her a beating. Yes, Marco had made a big
mistake there. He had thought he could treat some untamed girl like he treated
his fiancée. But a girl like that doesn't like being controlled - even Marconi
had realised that when he visited her regarding Mario Rossi, the man with the
name used in the advert.

    Marco
had threatened her, hit her and, to frighten her, had even described to her how
traitors like Fabietto ended up.

    'I'm
not asking much of you - just let me stay here a few days till things quieten
down,' he had said to her, while still dirty. Still covered in blood and filth.

    She
had let him do whatever he wanted. Everything he wanted. She had even let him
touch her with those hands stained with blood.

    But
then, the day after, after preparing a plate of spaghetti for him, after having
smiled at him as she gazed into his eyes, she had gone out to buy some beer.
And then she had called that number, the one written on the crumpled card that
the cop had left her after the death of the man she had been living with, Mario
Rossi.

    But
instead of all that, Marconi says, 'Drugs.'

    'And
that's why he didn't come home to me?'

    'I
imagine so.'

    The rolled-up
sleeves of her jumper, rumpled like the pain showing in every feature of her
face, leave the still raw scars uncovered. They are of different lengths,
different colours. The darkest must be the oldest; the ones that look red
perhaps still smell of blood, the same smell that perfumes Marconi's own aching
body.

    He
would like to hug her tight, but he doesn't move.

    He
looks at her head among the cushions, shaking with her deep sobbing. She is so
fragile.

    'And
the roses?' She asks, still worried.

    Marconi
immediately understands what she is talking about.
The roses.

    He
thinks about how the case has been solved without him even realising it.

    The
phone call to the police station from that woman with a strange accent,
slightly forced, who said she was called Jin Holin and that she was the maid at
the Montanarini house.

    She
had told them that she had found a gun hidden under the mattress of the
daughter, Giulia, while she was making her bed that morning. She had then
begged them not to involve her any further - she didn't want to risk losing her
job.

    Then
they had gone to Montanarini's house. The wife was there on her own, devastated
by the news of her husband's death. It was the maid's day off, like every
Wednesday.

    Signora
Montanarini, answering in one syllable like an automaton, without thinking, and
without seeming aware of anything going on around her, had shown them to her
daughter's room.

    The
gun was there. Hidden under the mattress. And that wasn't all. In the wardrobe,
a dress in an oriental style, just like the one Samantha had described to him.

    In
the drawer of the dressing table, a huge bunch of keys and a metal hairpin
missing one of its red jewels.

    The
jewel that was found in that cul-de-sac, behind the disco.

    A
puzzle put together far too easily. A puzzle where you can see how a piece will
fit perfectly before you even try it.

    And
he doesn't swallow it. It doesn't add up. It's all too unexpected. All too
perfect.

    And
perfection is only an illusion. He can't remember where he heard that, but he's
convinced it really is true.

    Before
he sits down next to Viola, he picks up a threadbare, old teddy bear, lying
abandoned on the armchair, and he rests it on her legs.

    'I
can't be on my own.'

    'You
aren't on your own.' He caresses her with his voice.

    'The
roses were covered in blood.'

    Now
he gently strokes her hair and he pictures the roses again. He pictures
Giulia's face. He definitely hadn't imagined that she would look like that, his
Black Widow.

    'Giulia?
We weren't very good parents,' her mother had confessed, standing in the middle
of the room, holding a photograph of her daughter. 'She was a liar. She has
always been a liar. She always wanted things… she wanted to have everything.'

    'Signora
Montanarini, come with me. Let's go downstairs. Perhaps you should call a
doctor. Have you taken anything yet?'

    'Yes,
I had two of my tablets, but they aren't doing any good. They don't even make
me sleep any more. She wanted a car. She wanted a convertible just like one of
her friends got. She always wanted
everything.
She'd been begging her
father for weeks. Her friend had been given a raise and bought the car, so
Giulia had to have one too. She wanted that car so much… but to do this…'

    She
then burst into tears. On the sofa, she clasped the photo of her daughter, who
now seemed to be sneering at her with that fake smile and all those white teeth
surrounded by a bow of too-pink lipstick.

    'Don't
cry. It's all over.'

    But
Marconi isn't so sure of that.

    He
looks at the moon. It's red, unreal, magnetic. Perhaps it's the moon that
controls women. The girl finally seems calm. She has fallen asleep.

    Eva
is staring at the moon as well. She stares at it, inhaling the light it gives
off. She sees its reappearance, after such a long time, as a sign. She hugs
Miew and thinks that a circle has been completed. She remembers the first time
she did it, to that boy with a red scarf who wanted her money and had
threatened her with an old yellow Stanley knife.

    She
had kicked him, hard. As hard as she could. She had heard a dull thud, and he
had sunk on to his knees, his leg broken. He had tried to get up, and then she
had struck him again in the face, without hesitating. A kick so forceful that
she had shut him up for ever. Then, instinctively, she had picked up the knife
from next to his body and had put it in her pocket, almost like a war trophy.

    From
that day on, she hasn't been able to stop. She does it for herself; she does it
just to live. She needs to spill blood in order to cleanse herself… to clean up
the world.

    As if
every drop spilt fills the emptiness she feels inside her. As if it can silence
her fear, her anger.

    She loves
to tell herself that she does it for all of womankind. For her sister, for the
girl sitting next to her on the bus, and for the girl going home now in the
dark - although tonight the darkness pierced by the moonlight.

    Sometimes
someone has to be sacrificed for the greater good. Giulia's face, glowing in
the light of the coloured candles, appears before her, but almost immediately
Eva turns away from it.

    And
this time she doesn't turn back. Just like the special lady taught her.

    On
the table there's a small rectangular parcel, still wrapped up. Eva sits down,
pours herself a glass of champagne, and unwraps it carefully. A red lipstick,
as red as fire.

    As
red as blood.

    She
gets up and leaves the room to stand in front of the mirror in the corridor.
She glides the colour over her lips.

    She
smiles.

    Then
she goes back into the kitchen and picks up the cat's bowl. She turns it over.

    Stuck
to the bottom with Sellotape is a small black cassette labelled 'CCTV -
Montanarini villa - study', followed by a date… the day that Eva stole the
pistol.

    She
pulls it loose and says to the cat: 'Tonight, Miew, we'll watch a very special
film.'