And I willingly admit Roberto thought the more optimistic as he felt the first ring. And also I will get on their knees to apologize if anything happened to her ... and certainly is not. Almost certainly have called the first job and she has not had time to warn us. Or you have forgotten, moreover, is sometimes so careless .
So careless, huh? So why has not gone before today the day when she has not made well in advance in front of schools to bring home Matthew? Especially because the phone keeps ringing and you do not respond? She who is never separated from the phone? In fact they were now about thirty seconds Roberto felt the tuuu extended into the phone without success.
Well, you may have forgotten at home. Indeed, it all comes back: they call to work in a hurry and she ran without telling anyone. If I remember correctly had advised the teacher to bring Matthias from her grandmother if we had not picked him up . That's all. He let the phone ring for another minute, yet perfectly calm. Had kept the doubt and anxiety that it carried with it as an inconvenient baggage is impossessassero him. He saw the glass as half full and had found a plausible explanation for the apparent disappearance of Simon.
He hung up. The secretary turned back, more and more annoyed. "Any problems?" He asked, trying to show how little she cared about the answer. He pulled on his cigarette and exhaled a puff of smoke that covered her fat face and severe.
"No, no. But I must go home ten minutes, my wife has forgotten something important. Would you advise the president, if he comes, that in any case I'll be back for ... "He looked at his watch and saw that it was past one o'clock. "For one twenty at the most?" He accompanied the request with the kindest eyes that did it, but did not think that a woman like that secretary could be an attempt to soften like that. It would take more than that. A fair share of beatings, maybe, but probably would not have been enough.
"Certainly," she said with a fake smile like a crucifix hung in a mosque. He breathed in another puff of smoke. "I feel myself, in the case, but usually does not pass the first two and a half in the afternoon. She still does not put us too, because he knows he does not like when people are away for too long without good reason. "And those last words, uttered with a mocking tone that clearly implied: And you said you do not have any serious problem, true?
"Do not worry," assured Robert, longing to jump on them and beat her up to get rid of that smile from his lips.
"Very well," said the secretary, and returned to his computer work. Roberto moved back into the teachers' room to retrieve the car keys at the same moment he entered the office Mannini teacher, a colleague who taught art history. He did not notice but no one had time to stop and chat: store the secretary had bad thoughts about other issues on his mind. He retrieved his bag from a chair in the staff room and went to the rooms leading to the garage at the school.
***
The journey from high school in his home should not measure more than three or four miles and five minutes later he was stopped at the traffic light in front of the house. Before going home he wanted to go to grade schools, to travel the same path Simona: if something had really happened, it would have been stopped at the roadside, perhaps even intent to complete an accident report for an accident.
The lights went to green and the Focus went screeching tires. Proceeded straight to the next traffic light, turned left and continued on that road up to the schools. The center of the village was deserted, as it was logical at that time where everyone was having lunch. The air was still and the heat was unbearable, especially in the cabin of the Ford, if Bob had not set up on the air conditioning.
He maneuver and returned by the same route, but instead of arriving at the traffic light turned right, just past the cemetery. He was an alternate route, but even here he found the stroke of Simona and even if the first had feared the onset of any doubt, he found that there had been no accident. All right you said. You work as I had thought .
Much more relaxed, drove to the intersection in front of the supermarket. She turned right and then immediately left. Even the road was completely deserted and made quite an impression. How to want to deny, Torvinaia appeared from the direction of a big red truck. Robert stopped the car in front of the same gate through which Simon had gone out earlier. Needless to come, because in a few minutes he had to go back to high school.
Alighted from the car as the truck passed him, and a blast of hot air ruffled his hair and he evoked the image of the fan on the cabinet secretary to school. The immediate and uncontrolled association of ideas made him smile and smile reassured him even more. He opened the gate and walked up the driveway directly to the front door.
He stopped watching half way to the garage. Merely for the sake of the two buttons pressed on a small remote control that had attached to your keychain, and opens the garage door. The garage was empty except for bikes and shelves crammed with junk and unusable, but of which he and Simon were an incredible effort to separate. The Opel Simona there was and there was a big surprise. All expected. Everything is normal.
Roberto came to the door, opened it and entered the house. He looked just the little silver clock on the stand at his right and saw that it was almost one and a quarter. It would not be able to deliver on time as he had assured the secretary, but who cared? Indeed, it was a little revenge, a way to show her that did not make him neither hot nor cold that its done by Robocop , as the children said. And that, as he was concerned, he could go there and make friends with anyone like her.
He placed the bunch of keys next to the clock, behind which there were three photographs: Matthias innamoratissimi Cristina and their parents. All of a few years younger. Higher up on the wall, a large framed photograph that he and Simon had done years before the sea. Every time I looked, Roberto felt the roar of the waves behind them, and the salty smell of the air, saw the clear sky above them, felt the love that bound him to his wife in the form of heat that is transferred from one another through the skin. Even at that moment was in a hurry - you know, rather than go back to school - not deprived of that small, sweet blast from the past.
He then went into the kitchen. The order always impeccably reigned was broken only by the small yellow apron resting on the worktop. Roberto saw the message written on the blackboard and made a mental note. She would soon be forgotten. He shifted his eyes around in search of the cordless phone, and after endless moments of frustraione, found him one of the chairs. She picked it up and looked through the numbers in the phonebook saved in the SIMO WORK. Without further ado, let fly the call and prepared to put an end to the little mystery to this day.
"Hello?"
Roberto had expected a "Ready, brushes Italbrush", which was the standard response that addressed the company's customers, but Simon was not so much to dampen much of its security: the voice was that of a man, so Simon was not to work. Have you seen your optimism about what is served? Throw it in the toilet, believe me! scolded his old self, which had remained hidden until then. No! opposed Roberto. No, perhaps not yet arrived. Maybe ...
"Hello? Who is this? "The voice at the end was clearly annoyed and Robert wondered if it was the receptionist who worked in the morning instead of Simona. In that case, could not entice some customers to contact company.
"Um, hello," he began, not knowing quite what to say. He had expected a different type of call, more like that than an hour and a half before he had had with Simon. "I am the husband of Simona, your receptionist ... what works in the afternoon ... "Strange as the definition: one who works in the afternoon. Diminutive, almost offensively, if addressed to Simon. Because she was more. Much, much more.
"Yes, I know. But I have not seen today. It starts at fourteen, I think. Work ... "
"Yes, he works part-time and usually starts at fourteen, but I found the house and thought maybe you had asked to appear there faster." Suddenly this hypothesis, the same that had hitherto supported the moral Roberto as the stick for the blind about to fall at any moment, the child appeared very fragile. How could you think of something
so trivial? He might as well believe that the aliens had taken and had asked for a guided tour of the Earth.
"No, sorry. No change in plans. "He paused for a moment and cleared his throat. "I guess that probably will not come to work today?" Roberto hated him with all my heart, even more than he hated the secretary of the school. That was his problem: work. He was looking for his wife, research - whatever they say its more "simonesco", which put to the test proved quite weak - seemed to grow more desperate every minute that passed, and that labor was concerned. Possible that that day should have to deal only with people who have no feelings?
"I do not know, to tell the truth." And he was telling the truth even to himself. Perhaps only to himself. "Maybe he is coming now, maybe it will come with a little 'delay ... but I can assure you nothing. Excuse me the trouble, goodbye. "
"Imagine," replied the other, but the tone of voice was saying something else. He said Apology accepted, but not to see again! And hung up.
Roberto did the same and sat down heavily on the nearest chair. He looked straight ahead, but without seeing anything in particular. He stared at the blank as he thought but his thoughts did not have a specific object. It was used mostly to cover up a feeling that lurked below and that he could not control: the spread of an emotion that was neither simply anxiety, or simply afraid. It was more like resignation and this meant that he was not afraid that something had happened to Simon, but that he knew and was already forced to accept it.
"Simo?" Cried without knowing who was doing the house empty. "Simon, darling? Are you upstairs? "Only after a few seconds of silence he remembered the garage and realized the stupidity of his actions. Possible that a small part of him he still thought that Simon was sleeping? His wife was able to convey his positive thinking so deeply? If it was, now what was his last attempt to emerge. Roberto was in despair.
Simon was not there.
His car was not there.
Was he ran away from home? And why should he? What problems did they have? They loved each other like the first day, had a relationship with their children even better. Their family situation was perfect: not without difficult moments, but mostly filled by the harmony. Economic difficulties, if anything, Simona was secretly linked to the material aspect of their relationship, something that Robert felt that he could rule, had never existed. And then what?
Roberto picked up the phone and tried the phone number in memory of Simon. The rings were again unanswered, but at least he found that Simon had brought the phone: he had heard the alarm coming from the living room or their bedroom or anywhere else in the house. That, he thought only briefly, it was nothing to be happy.
He closed the call and sighed. He had to collect his thoughts, if you do not want to lose precious time. Yet there was growing agitation that made her want to start running in all directions and shouting the name of his wife until she finally found someone, or had not stopped and taken to the nearest psychiatrist. On the one hand wished to despair for not letting them overwhelm the other felt that they should regain full control of himself to seek a solution.
He thought to call the police, but gave up quickly. It was still too early. There was a minimum time, if not wrong, in order to declare a missing person, and certainly had not yet elapsed. Above all, it was not entirely certain that Simon was indeed gone, however, different explanations did not come to mind. But how to explain to the police? No, it was still appropriate to call them.
He put down the phone and moved briskly into the living room. Even there, everything was in perfect order: the sofa and two chairs on the large white rug with a central glass table, where another photo of Roberto and Simona remembered the early years of their eternal love, the floors spotless, the kitten, Cloud, sleeping in the empty fireplace hearth, the "table for the big events," as he called Simon, which dined on Sundays or when they had guests. The cat lazily raised his head and looked for a second Roberto with his eyes half closed, then returned to his curled up position.
Roberto turned and went to the stairs. She felt she could not stay still for too long if he did not want to succumb to his own state of mind. Continuously collect new information through the eyes turned away his thoughts from that central core that was growing in the center of his mind: Simona was sick. Something bad had happened. Simon had it not done.
He threw a glance in his bedroom but there was nothing out of place. He did not even notice the top drawer of her nightstand, slightly ajar. He found nothing even in the rooms and Christina Matthias and even went to the bathroom.
"Where are you, Simon?" He whispered, as if to ask himself. Or maybe he hoped that somehow she heard those words, could travel almost blown by the wind blowing from one side of love. "Where are you?"
He got no answer and went back down the stairs, headed to the car.
***
It was one thirty-five. The traffic on the highway was increased. In addition to trucks, cars were circulating of who started with a bit early to be at work at two. Cars traveling in both directions under the scorching sun, maybe a bit 'too hot for the end of May. Had not yet arrived in the summer and already the thermometer marked thirty-two degrees. Could you repeat like a heat wave of 2003?
Thoughts like that did not touch more when Roberto left the gate of his house. The came the overpowering smell of a truck carrying pigs and that was parked at the traffic lights, but almost no one noticed. His senses were blunted as fuel consumed by a fire of ever larger size. It led to the Focus, realizing then that was dropped when he left the door open. May unconsciously was already so worried about not close it?
He entered the passenger compartment where the air was hot and stifling and felt - but as something far away, almost like the body of another - a droplet of sweat slid down my spine. Comedy, if he thought inside was cold.
He was about to close the door when the sound of a horn behind him awoke as from a dream. He returned briefly to reality, he returned a man of integrity and not only did the fatal thoughts. Behind him, two cars behind the truck carrying pigs, a man of about fifty, almost certainly the same who had played the horn, he was cursing and waving their hands in the air before him. Then beat against each other and finally even the horn of his Mercedes that made that annoying noise.
Robert shifted his gaze back to the Mercedes and saw that the queue of vehicles was being stretched. The horn man enraged others were added. He looked at the other side, towards the light, and saw the green. But the truck did not move.
He got out. Took shape in his mind a terrible possibility. He completed a few steps toward the light and saw that the truck stopped in front of other cars there. Four or five. The last two were parked on the roadside, near the ditch that ran along for about fifty meters, but also occupied part of the road, giving rise to delays and the queue of cars ... well as the anger of man in the Mercedes.
He quickened his pace. Then he ran. Before him, just beyond the road that skirted the side of their house, the one that went to the little village of Cadiceto and is crossed by the highway, next to two parked cars were two women and a man. The latter, a young man with blond hair that Bob had never seen, was standing at the edge of the ditch and looked down, shaking his head. The two women, even those unknown, whispering little behind. One of them seemed shocked. The cars passed slowly on the narrow roadway and drivers threw curious glances toward the point of the accident.
But Robert had not seen anything yet. But he already knew everything there was to know. Three more strides racing - the sweat on your back and the rest of the body down copious - and saw the marks on the asphalt blacks. Later she would wonder how could she not notice them when he was past and he would reply that it was so firmly convinced that Simon was okay that he would not have moved even a poster with the funeral of his wife's name printed in big letters. And, when you would have thought, that poster would really existed.
He crossed the road and finally came to the man next to him looking into the ditch. He followed her gaze and felt the tears welling
up even before his brain had recorded every detail of the scene that his eyes had been sent.
"No, sir, he wound up ..." the young man was beginning, going toward him as if to stop him, but his voice sounded just the echo of words spoken thousands of years before light years away from there.
And in any case Roberto did not intend to continue it was more than enough what we already saw, without the need to feel or touch.
Before him, in a ditch full of weeds, and vacuum dried by drought, lay what was left of the Opel Corsa Simona. He must have swerved sharply to the right - and was later confirmed through analysis of burnt rubber on the asphalt - and lost control. The front of the car no longer existed, curled in on itself as one of the many candy wrappers that were in the bottom of that ditch. The windshield was a dense network of cracks that reflected the rays of the sun, high in the sky. Only in a glass was smashed and the relatively small hole in his head sticking out of Simona.
It was mostly covered with long brown hair, dirty and sticky with blood smeared them, but not enough to hide half of the battered face: the right cheek, which was still smooth and soft as that of a twenty year old, despite past forty, was covered by a monstrous network of deep scratches and bleeding, which was replicated in small cracks on the windshield. Just above the cheekbone could be seen small whitish points that had to be the remnant of the eye, whose orbit was occupied by a sharp piece of glass. Came from the lips parted, abandoned like a dog relaxes in the sun, and maybe part of that particular language would be the most terrible, that he would return more often in horrific nightmares Roberto: the corpse of his wife there, with his tongue dangling like when he pretended, and only pretended, to be dead.
"Did you know?" Suddenly asked the young man, who had brought with him. He remained silent for a moment, observing the despair and the tears of Robert. Then he asked this question of which you probably already guessed the answer.