Later, sitting on a rock—wrapped in the bathrobes of Amarildo and Sigfrida, they guessed—they gazed dreamily up at the thousand stars overhead, at the moon, the night, and the dark and peaceful sea.
“It’s beautiful here.”
“This is your home, isn’t it?”
Babi shook her head. “You’re crazy! But I’m so happy. I’ve never felt so happy in my whole life. How are you?”
“Me?” Step wrapped his arms around her, hugging her tight. “I’m great.”
“So great that you could reach up and touch the sky?”
Step smiled at her and shook his head. “No, not like that.”
“What do you mean, not like that?”
“Much, much more than that. At least three meters higher than the sky.”
* * *
The next day, Babi woke up at home at the usual time. As she rinsed the last traces of salt water from her hair in the shower, she thought back with fondness to the night before.
She ate breakfast, said goodbye to her mother, and climbed into the car with Daniela, ready to go to school like any other morning. Her father stopped at the traffic light before the Corso di Francia bridge.
Babi was still sleepy and distracted when it suddenly caught her eye. She couldn’t believe what she was looking at. High up, well above all the other graffiti, on the bridge’s white column, was a string of words that dominated all the others, indelible. There it was, on the cold marble, as blue as her eyes, and as beautiful as she’d always dreamed it would be.
Her heart started racing. For an instant, she thought that everyone else could hear it, that everyone could read those words, just as she was reading them at that moment.
They rose high, unattainably so. Up there, where only lovers can reach: You and me, three meters above the sky.
Chapter 34
Step was awake. Actually, he’d never gone to sleep at all. The radio was playing, tuned to Rock Dimension. His head hurt, and his eyes were tired. He turned over in bed.
Sounds were coming from the kitchen. His brother was making breakfast. He looked at the clock. It was nine in the morning. Who could guess where Paolo was going at that hour of the morning on Christmas Eve.
He heard the door slam. Paolo had left. He felt a sense of relief because he needed to be alone. Then a strange feeling of suffering swept over him. He didn’t need to be alone. He was alone.
At that idea, he felt even worse. He wasn’t hungry, he wasn’t sleepy, he didn’t feel anything at all. He lay there like that on his belly. He couldn’t say how much time had passed. Little by little, he glimpsed that room in happier times. How often had he awakened in the morning and found Babi’s earrings on his nightstand, how many times had he found her watch, how many times had they been there, together on that bed, embracing in love, lusting for each other?
He smiled. He remembered her icy feet, those frozen little toes that Babi laughingly wedged under and between his much warmer legs. After they’d made love, when they were just lying there, talking, looking at the moon out the window, or else the rain or the stars, equally happy whatever the case. Caressing her hair, whatever might be happening outside, in spite of the problems of the world.
He had watched Babi head for his bathroom, and deeply in love, he admired the light patches on her skin, the shade of a swimsuit just removed or a bra undone. He had heard her laugh through that shut door, saw her walk in that funny way of hers, her hair hanging down, running embarrassed to his bed, diving onto him, still cool from the water, from shy washings, still scented with love and passion.
Step turned over again on his bed, looking up at the ceiling. How many times, reluctantly, had he seen the time arrive to get dressed again, to take her back home. And then, silent and close together, they’d sit on that bed and start to get dressed again, slowly, occasionally one handing the other something that belonged to them. Exchanging a smile, a kiss, slipping on a skirt, chatting as they bent over tying shoes, leaving the radio on, just for a few minutes, just the time to run her home.
He wondered where Babi was at that moment. He wondered why. He felt a stab of pain to his heart, knowing all the answers already.
* * *
During the holidays, people feel either sadder or happier than usual. And people don’t know what to do with certain thoughts.
“Dani, do you want this? If not, I’m getting rid of it.”
Daniela looked at her sister. Babi was standing in the door to her room with a dark blue jacket in her hand.
“No, leave it here. I’ll wear it.”
“But it’s coming all unstitched.”
“I’ll have it mended.”
“If you want it.” Babi left it on the bed, and Daniela watched as she left the room. Given all the times that she and Babi had fought over that jacket, it never would have occurred to her that Babi might just toss it out one day. Her sister certainly had changed. Then she dismissed that thought and started packing the last few gifts.
Babi was almost done clearing out her closet when her mother came in.
“Good girl. You’ve gotten rid of a lot of stuff.”
“Yes, here, take this. It’s all the stuff I’m throwing out. Even Dani doesn’t want it.”
Raffaella took a few outfits that were lying on the table. “I’ll make a package for the poor. The charity should be coming around later today for a pickup. Shall we go out together later on?”
“I don’t know, Mamma.” Babi blushed slightly.
“Whatever you prefer. Don’t worry about me.” Raffaella smiled and left the room.
Babi opened a few more drawers. She was happy. She’d really been getting along well with her mother recently. How strange, she thought to herself. Just six months ago they couldn’t look at each other without fighting.
She remembered the end of the trial, when she had left the courthouse and her mother had come running after her, catching up with her outside. “Have you lost your mind? Why didn’t you tell them what really happened? Why didn’t you tell them that that juvenile delinquent beat up Accado without any justification?”
“As far as I’m concerned, things went exactly the way I said they did. Step is innocent. He had nothing to do with any of it. How do you know what he’s been through? What he felt at that moment? You don’t know how to justify, you don’t know how to forgive. The only thing you’re capable of doing is judging others.
“For you, life is like playing a game of gin. Everything you don’t know is just an inconvenient card that you wish you’d never drawn. You don’t know what to do with it; it’s burning a hole in your hands. But you don’t stop to ask why someone is violent, why someone does drugs. What do you care?” Babi asked. “Instead, this time it does mean something to you, Mamma. This time your daughter is dating a guy who has some real problems, who isn’t only interested in driving a sixteen-valve VW Golf GTI, wearing a Rolex Daytona, or vacationing in Sardinia. He’s violent, that’s true, but maybe it’s just because he can’t figure out so many things in this life, because he’s been told so many lies, because that’s the only way he has of reacting.”
“What are you saying? This is all nonsense…Plus, can you just imagine? What are people going to think? You’re a liar. You lied in front of everyone,” Raffaella said.