Step and Pollo were leaning against the fence. They were watching from the field side as their soccer team trained. Nearby Schello, Hook, and a few other friends cheered, all of them enthusiastic for the same team colors. Frenzied fans, ready to cause trouble for the hell of it. Along the drive of the stadium in Tor di Quinto, a number of more moderate fans were watching the friendly match from the comfort of their automobiles.
Along the edges of the field, a roar rang out from the bystanders. One of the new team hires, a young Slav with a hard-to-pronounce surname, had just made a great goal. Young men with light blue and white headbands and small silk scarves in the same colors tied around their necks hugged and rejoiced. They sang the team anthem, gripping the fence, rocking back and forth. They called out the player’s name, getting the pronunciation completely wrong.
Step was holding on to the fence with both hands. Without letting anyone else see what he was doing, he pulled back the left sleeve of his jacket, sneaking a look at his watch. One thirty. Babi must have just gotten out of school. He imagined her in her mother’s car, on Corso Francia, on her way home.
Better than a goal by Stankovic. He reckoned the timing. Maybe if he left now, he could run into her.
He noticed that Pollo was staring at him. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Pollo threw both arms wide. “Why?”
“Then what the fuck are you looking at?”
“Why, can’t I look?”
“Just watch the game, no? I brought you all this way and what are you doing?”
Step turned to look at the field. Some of the players wore training vests over their team jerseys and were passing the ball quickly from one to the other while a miserable loser in the middle was trying to take it away from them.
Step turned to look at Pollo again. He was staring at him. “Still! So you really don’t want to listen to me!” Step lunged at him. He grabbed his head with both hands and, laughing, slammed it against the hurricane fence. “That’s what you’re supposed to look at.” He pushed Pollo’s head a few times. “There, there!”
“Ouch.” Pollo bounced against the fence with his nose stuck in one of the holes and his mouth crammed into the hole next to it. He pushed back with both hands, trying to free himself from Step’s grip.
Schello, Hook, and the others jumped onto the two of them, just for the fun of a little mayhem. A general brawl broke out. Other superfans pushed in against the gate among them, making noise. One guy with a rolled-up newspaper in hand and a whistle in his mouth pretended to be a cop, dealing out billy-club blows right and left.
After a while, the group spread, with fans running in all directions, laughing. Step climbed onto his motorcycle. Pollo jumped on behind him and they skidded away, wheels kicking up showers of gravel. Step wondered whether Pollo had guessed at what he’d been thinking about earlier.
“Hey, Step, what a pity…”
“What is?”
“It’s too late now. Otherwise we could have gone by and picked Babi up at school.”
Step said nothing. He could sense Pollo smiling, behind him. Even his thoughts no longer had any secrets from him. Or maybe it had been dumb luck?
Pollo drove a fist into his ribs. “And don’t get smart with me, understood?”
Step leaned forward, in pain. No, it hadn’t been dumb luck, and as if that wasn’t bad enough, Pollo could also deliver incredibly painful punches.
The afternoon passed slowly that day for both of them, though neither knew that was true of the other.
* * *
Step was all alone, driving around the city on his motorcycle, when it started to drizzle. He looked up. Menacing dark clouds sailed quickly overhead, swirling. As a distant clap of thunder sounded, he accelerated. He didn’t want to get soaked.
The air around him suddenly turned chilly. Another thunderclap. Bigger drops, one after another, constant, thicker and faster. Now it was really coming down, so he sped up on the wet road.
He splashed through a puddle. A few drops of water hit the hot engine, and steam swirled around his legs. His Tobacco Motorwear trousers darkened, spattered by the rain. His jacket was getting wet. He could feel the rain pour down his neck.
Via Bevagna. Step decided to pull over. He braked to a halt in front of the market, which was closed now. He rode up onto the sidewalk and stopped in front of the newsstand. Plenty of water was already rushing past in the gutter. He looked at his jeans. They were drenched below the knee. A car went past fast, leaving behind it wet patches and the reflection of its headlights.
The rain was showing no signs of stopping. Step lit a cigarette and, before he knew it, found himself in the nearby phone booth. He had a crumpled sheet of paper in his hand.
Moments after that, the phone rang at Babi’s place. Daniela immediately punched the button on the little wireless handset that she kept next to her on the sofa cushion. “Hello?” She stared at Babi, stunned. She couldn’t believe her ears.
“Oh, yes, I’ll put her on.” Babi turned unruffled to look at her sister. “Babi, it’s for you.” It only took that instant, a quick glance, the look on her face to make it all clear. It was him.
Daniela handed Babi the telephone, doing her best to maintain her self-control in front of her parents, who were watching TV with them on the sofa. Babi took the phone delicately, as if fearful to touch it, as if one vibration too many might cut off the call, making it disappear forever. She slowly lifted it to her lips, emotionally stirred even by the utterance of that simple “Yes?”
“Ciao, how are you?” Step’s warm voice directly reached her heart. Babi looked around, appalled, worried that someone else might have noticed what she was feeling, her heart racing at three thousand kilometers an hour, the happiness that she was desperately trying to conceal.
“Fine, you?”
“Fine. Can you talk?”
“Hold on a second. I can’t hear myself think in here.” She got up off the sofa, carrying the phone with her, her dressing gown fluttering behind her. It’s hard to say why, but with certain telephones, you can never hear a thing when you’re around your parents.
Her mother watched her leave the living room and then turned suspiciously toward Daniela. “Who was that?”
Daniela was fast on her feet. “Oh, Chicco Brandelli, one of her admirers.”
Raffaella stared at her for a second. Then she relaxed. She turned back to the movie. Daniela, too, turned to the television with a faint sigh. It was over. If her mother had stared at her just a little longer, she would have collapsed. It was difficult to meet that gaze. It always seemed as if her mother knew everything. She paid herself a silent compliment for the idea of Brandelli. At last, that knucklehead had served some purpose.
Then Daniela grew emotional as she thought about her sister. Step had called her, not to be believed. She wondered what kind of a look Giulia would have on her face when she told her all about it tomorrow morning. Happy now, Daniela got comfortable on the sofa. No doubt, Giulia would eat her heart out.
The lights were off in Babi’s bedroom. She was leaning against a pane of glass, streaked with raindrops, the telephone in her hand. “Hello, Step, is that you?”
“Who else do you think it could be?”
Babi laughed. “Where are you?”