Now what’s he going to tell me? That he won the Tour de France? Flora’s heart sank.
‘At Riccione. The Casanova Cup.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Let’s say I made the highest number of scores in one summer. An all-time record, in fact.’
‘The highest number of what?’
‘Scores! Pulls!’ To Graziano it seemed the most obvious thing in the world.
But Flora didn’t understand. What was he talking about? Pulls? Did he work in a bar or something?’
‘Pulls?’ she repeated, bemused.
‘Women pulled.’ Graziano contrived to sound both guilty and self-satisfied at the same time.
At last it dawned on her.
I don’t believe it! This man’s a monster.
They had competitions to see who could sleep with the most females. There was actually a place in this world where men competed to see who could bed the most women.
It’s really true, you shouldn’t be surprised at anything in life.
‘You mean there’s a contest, a sort of championship? Like in football?’ she asked, and she noticed that her tone was strangely airy.
‘Yes, it’s an official event now, people come from all over the world to take part. At first there were only a few of us. A small group of friends who met at the Aurora beach club. Then gradually it became more important. Now there are points, a federation, judges, and at the end of the season there’s a prize-giving ceremony in a disco. It’s a very nice evening,’ explained Graziano very earnestly.
‘And how many women did you … pull? Is that the word?’ She couldn’t believe it. This man, in the summer, competed in pulling contests.
‘Three hundred. Three hundred and three, to be precise. But those bastards of judges didn’t confirm three of them. Because they were in Cattolica,’ replied Graziano with a sly smile.
‘Three hundred?’ Flora jumped. ‘It can’t be true! Three hundred! Swear it!’
Graziano nodded. ‘I swear to God. I’ve got the cup at home.’
Flora burst out laughing. And she couldn’t stop.
What on earth has got into me?
She went on shrieking with laughter. One little glass of whisky and she was already drunk? She knew she couldn’t take alcohol, but she had only drunk two fingers. In her whole life she had got drunk a couple of times. Once on a jar of cherries pickled in alcohol which she had been given by the mother of one of her pupils, and another time when she had gone out for a pizza with her class and had one beer too many. She had returned home decidedly merry. But she had never been as drunk as this.
Certainly, though, this pulling business was very amusing. She felt an urge to ask him a question, a rather vulgar one, I shouldn’t, but what the hell, she said to herself, here goes. ‘And how do you score a point?’
Graziano smiled. ‘Well, you have to have complete intercourse.’
‘Do everything?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Absolutely everything?’
‘Absolutely everything.’
(Are you out of your mind?)
A voice echoed in her head.
She was sure it was her mother’s.
(What are you laughing about? Look at you, you’re completely drunk.)
I can’t look at me. What am I doing?
(Behaving like a slut. That’s what you’re doing.)
Please be quiet. Please be quiet. Don’t call me that. I don’t like you calling me that and now, please, I must do a calculation. Let me see, now … This man scored three hundred points, didn’t he? That means he inserted his male sexual organ into three hundred female sexual organs. If with each of them he moved it, back and forth, let’s say, an average of, how many times must it be? two hundred times each, more or less, give or take a thrust he made an average of six hundred, no, not six hundred, three hundred. Three hundred times two hundred makes six hundred. No, it doesn’t, wait a minute. It’s more than that.
She was totally confused.
A wind of images, lights, mangled thoughts, meaningless numbers and words was swirling in her head, yet she felt strangely elated and joyful.
‘Damn your whisky,’ she exclaimed, thumping her fist on the table.
She eyed him squarely for a moment.
Suddenly she felt an absurd desire.
(Are you crazy? You can’t say that to him! Nooo, you can’t …)
Oh yes I can.
She wanted to confess something to him, something secret, very secret, something she had never told anyone and had no intention of telling anyone for the next ten thousand years. In an instant Flora felt all the weight of that uranium secret and wanted to be rid of it, to vomit it out to him of all people, this fellow, this stranger, this Mr Three Hundred Points who had won the Casanova Cup for his prowess as a seaside stud.
I wonder how he’ll react?
How would he take it? Would he laugh? Would he say he didn’t believe it?
It’s true, though, I assure you. Would you like to know something, my dear Seducer, would you like to know how many points I’ve scored in my whole life?
Nul!
Zilch!
Not one teensy weensy little point. Once, a long time ago, my uncle tried to score a point with me but he didn’t succeed, the dirty old man.
How many points have you scored in your life? Ten thousand? And I haven’t even scored half – at the ripe old age of thirty-two I haven’t even scored half a point.
Impossible, you think? It’s true.
Who knows, had Flora made this revelation to Graziano our story might have taken a different turn. Perhaps Graziano, despite the Spiderman and that primitive, monitor-lizard-like determination which held him in thrall and made his life a mere series of aims to be achieved, would have desisted and in gentlemanly fashion stood up, taken his CV and withdrawn from the scene. Who can tell? But Flora, who possessed a natural reserve, which had been strengthened by sufferings and sorrow, held out like some infantryman in the trenches under the bombardment of those insidious molecules that could alter your psyche and loosen your tongue and make you confess the unmentionable.
She had another fit of giggles and admitted: ‘Oh dear, I’m so drunk.’
She noticed that Graziano had moved closer. ‘What’s this, are you moving in for the kill?’ She took off her spectacles and eyed him for a moment, swaying on her chair. ‘Can I tell you something? But if I do, you must swear you won’t be offended.’
‘I won’t be offended, I swear.’ Graziano put his hand on his heart and then kissed his forefingers.
‘Your hair doesn’t suit you like that. Do you mind my telling you? It’s looks terrible. Not that the way you had it before was much better. How was it? Black? Short on top and long at the sides? No, that didn’t suit you much better. If I were you, do you know what I’d do?’ She paused for a moment, then added: ‘I’d have it normal. It would suit you.’
‘How do you mean, normal?’ Graziano was very interested. He was always interested when people discussed his appearance.
‘Normal. I’d have it cut and not dye it, just let it grow, normally.’
‘You know the problem, Flora? I’m beginning to get a few grey hairs,’ Graziano explained, in the tone of one who confides a great secret.
Flora spread her arms. ‘Well? What does that matter?’
‘You mean I shouldn’t worry about it?’
‘I wouldn’t.’
‘Go for the George Clooney look, straw and hay?’
Flora couldn’t contain herself. She bent over the table and shrieked with laughter.
‘Wouldn’t suit me, eh?’ Graziano smiled, but he was slightly offended.
‘It’s not straw and hay! That’s fettuccine! Pepper and salt, you mean.’ Flora had laid her forehead on the table and was drying her tears with her fingers.
‘Oh, yes. You’re right. Pepper and salt.’
79
Wow, that Spiderman packed a punch.
Graziano
was ripped.
He hadn’t realised the pill was so strong.
Damn Mullet, damn him.
(Think how that poor girl must be feeling.)
I gave her two. Maybe I overdid it.
Indeed the schoolmistress had her head on the table and was giggling away.
It was time to go.
He glanced at his watch.
Nine thirty!
‘It’s very late.’ He stood up and took a good deep breath, hoping to clear his head.
‘Are you leaving?’ asked Flora, barely raising her head. ‘Good idea. I can’t even stand up. I’m worried because I can’t stop laughing. I think about something serious and I feel like laughing. You’d better go. If I were you, I’d rewrite the CV and add the story about the reintroduction of red deer into Sardinia.’ And she collapsed in another fit of giggles.
At least it’s had a positive effect on her, thought Graziano.
‘Flora, why don’t we go and get something to eat? I’ll take you to a restaurant near here. What do you say?’
Flora shook her head. ‘No thank you. I can’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘I can’t even stand up. And anyway I can’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘I never go out in the evening.’
‘Come on, I’ll bring you home early.’
80
‘Nooo, you go to the restaurant. I’m not hungry, I’d better go to bed.’ Flora was trying to be serious, but she burst out laughing.
‘Come on, shall we go?’ Graziano pleaded.
It was a bit tempting, the idea of going out.
She felt a strange urge. To run, to dance.
It would be nice to go out. But this guy was dangerous, don’t forget he had won that contest. And you could bet your life he’d try and notch up a point with her too.
No, it’s out of the question.
But if she went to the restaurant, what could happen? Besides, a bit of fresh air would do her good. It would clear her head.
Mama has bathed and eaten, she’s all right. I don’t have to go to school tomorrow. I never go out, where’s the harm in going out just for one evening? Here’s Tarzan asking me out to dinner, I’d be Jane for one evening riding in a pumpkin drawn by horses – no, deer, Sardinian deer – and I’d lose my slippers and the seven dwarves would have to go looking for them.
She was expecting a negative response from her mother, but it didn’t come.
‘We’ll be home early?’
‘Very early.’
‘Swear it.’
‘I swear. Trust me.’
Go on, Flora, one little outing. He’ll take you to the restaurant and you’ll be home again.
‘All right, then, let’s go.’ Flora leaped to her feet and almost collapsed on the floor.
Graziano grabbed her by the arm. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Not very …’
‘Let me help you.’
‘Thank you.’
81
She was in the car. With her seat-belt fastened. And she was holding on to the safety handle. There was a nice flow of hot air warming her feet. And this Spanish music wasn’t at all bad, she had to admit.
Now and then she tried shutting her eyes, but always had to open them again at once, otherwise everything started spinning round and she felt as if she were sinking into the seat, between the springs and the foam rubber.
It was raining hard.
The sound of the rain drumming on the roof blended wonderfully with the music. The windscreen wipers went back and forth at an incredible speed. The nose of the car insatiably devoured the dark, winding road. The headlights made the rain-lashed asphalt glitter. The trees on either side, with those long black branches, seemed to reach out to grab them as they passed.
Occasionally the road opened out and they drove through ink, then the trees began again.
It was absurd, but Flora felt safe.
Nothing could stop them and if a cow should suddenly appear in front of them they would simply drive straight through it, leaving it unscathed.
Usually she was frightened when other people drove, but Graziano seemed an excellent driver.
I can see how he came to be competing in a rally in… where was it?
He didn’t drive slowly, it was true. He forced the gears and the engine screamed but the car, as if by magic, remained perfectly glued to the middle of the road.
Goodness knows where he’s taking me.
How long had they been in the car? She couldn’t work it out. Maybe ten minutes, maybe an hour.
‘Everything okay?’ Graziano asked her suddenly.
Flora turned towards him. ‘Yes. When will we get there?’
‘Soon. Do you like this music?’
‘Yes, I do.’
‘It’s the Gipsy Kings. This is their best album. Do you want one?’ Graziano took out a packet of Camels.
‘No, thanks.’
‘Do you mind if I smoke?’
‘No …’ Flora found it hard to keep up a conversation. It wasn’t polite to sit there in silence, but what the hell. If she kept quiet, with her eyes on the road, she felt incredibly good. She could sit there like that for ever, in that little box, with the elements raging outside. She should have been anxious, with a stranger driving her to goodness knows where, but she wasn’t at all. And her drunkenness seemed to be wearing off too, she felt clearer in the head.
She looked at Graziano. With that cigarette in his mouth, intent on driving, he was handsome. He had a decisive, Greek profile. His nose was large but perfectly in harmony with the rest of his face. If only he would cut his hair and dress normally he could be attractive, a good-looking man. Sexy.
Sexy? What a word … Sexy. But if you can sleep with three hundred women in one summer … You must have something, mustn’t you? What can it be? What has he got? What does he do?
(Stop it, you idiot.)
Suddenly she heard the tick tack of the indicator, the car slowed down and stopped on a Trough parking lot in front of a small house in the middle of the blackness. Above the door was a large sign. Bar and Restaurant.
‘Are we there?’
He looked at her. His eyes shone like mica. ‘Are you hungry?’
No. Not in the least. The very thought of eating made her feel sick. ‘No, to be honest, I’m not really.’
‘Nor am I. We could have a drink.’
‘I’m too tired to get out. You go, I’ll wait in the car.’
Never leave the magic box. The idea of entering that place, where there was light, noise, people, filled her with a terrible anxiety.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes.’ While he was in the bar she would have a nap. Then she would feel better.
‘Okay. I won’t be a minute.’ He opened the door and got out.
Flora watched his departing figure.
She liked the way he walked.
82
Graziano entered the bar, took out his mobile and tried to call Erica.
He got her voicemail.
He ended the call.
During the journey he’d begun to feel depressed, it must have been the effect of that bloody Spiderman. He hated synthetic drugs. He’d started thinking about Erica, their last night together, the blow-job, and his head had begun to spin around, tormenting him. He had felt a desperate longing to talk to her, it was utterly stupid, he knew, but he couldn’t help it, he so needed to talk to her.
To understand.
It would be enough if he could understand why she’d said she wanted to marry him, why the hell she’d said she wanted to marry him and then gone off with Mantovani. If she would give him a simple, rational explanation, he’d understand and accept it.
Only the damned voicemail.
And there was the woman in the car, too.
It wasn’t that he didn’t like her or didn’t find the situation exciting, it was just that with that slut in his head it all seemed more squalid and mundane.
And the
truth was that he’d had to slip her a Spiderman to get her to come along.
And that wasn’t his style.
And it was pouring with rain.
And it was bitterly cold.
He ordered a whisky from the teenage barman who was watching television. The boy reluctantly got up from the table where he was sitting. The place was sad and empty and as cold as a refrigerator store.
‘I’ll take a whole bottle, please.’ Graziano took it and was about to pay, but then he had an afterthought. ‘Have you got any limoncino?’
The teenager, without saying a word, pulled up a chair, stood on it, scanned the row of drinks above the fridge and pulled out a long, tapering, phosphorescent yellow bottle, gave it a token wipe and handed it to him.
Graziano paid and opened it.
‘Enough of these thoughts!’ He went out, took a swig of limoncino and grimaced in disgust. ‘Ugh, it’s revolting!’
Yes, the bottle was going to come in useful.
83
The silver-haired koalas were cutting her toenails with their clippers. Only they weren’t very accurate with those big paws of theirs, so they were getting flustered. Flora, sitting on the couch, was trying to calm them. ‘Slow down, boys. Slow down or you’ll hurt … Be careful! Look what you’ve done!’ A koala had sliced off her little toe. Flora saw the red blood spurting out of the stump, but amazingly, it didn’t hur…
‘Flora! Flora! Wake up.’
She opened her eyes.
The world started lurching this way and that. Everything was swaying and Flora felt dizzy and the sound of the rain on the roof and it was cold and where was she?
She saw Graziano. He was sitting beside her.
‘I dozed off … Have you had your drink? Are we going home?’
‘Look what I’ve bought.’ Graziano showed her the bottle of limoncino, took a swig and passed it to her. ‘I got it specially for you. You said you liked it.’
Flora looked at the bottle. Ought she to drink? She was already in such a state!
‘Are you cold?’
‘A little.’ She was shivering.
‘Have a drink, then, it’ll warm you up.’