Step took a drink of his beer. “Sure, why not? Let’s talk. What do you want to talk about?”
“I’d like to know what you’ve decided to do.”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know?”
“I mean that I still don’t know.”
The housekeeper came in with the pasta. She set the serving bowl down at the center of the table.
Step looked at the TV, switched off and silent now. He wondered if Steven Tyler had taken his signature backflip at the end of the video. Forty years old and look at the shape the guy was still in. An incredible physique. A force of nature. Step was going to be in even better shape than that when he was forty.
He looked at his father. Step tried to imagine him doing a backflip just a few years ago. Impossible.
His father passed him the serving bowl of pasta. It was seasoned with bread crumbs and anchovies. That was the kind of pasta he loved best, the kind his mother always made him. It didn’t have a special name. Just spaghetti with bread crumbs, period. Even if it had anchovies too.
Step served himself. He remembered all the times he’d eaten at that same table, in that dining room, with his brother Paolo and his mother too. Usually extra sauce or seasonings were brought to the table in a small porcelain bowl. Paolo and his father never wanted extra, so Step always ate it. His mother would flash him a smile and pour the rest of the bowlful onto his pasta.
He wondered if his father had made his favorite pasta intentionally. He decided not to bring it up. That day, the porcelain bowl wasn’t on the table. In fact, lots of other things weren’t there anymore either.
His father politely wiped his lips with his napkin. “How’d dinner turn out?”
“It was good. Thanks, Papà. It turned out great.”
And it hadn’t been bad, truth be told.
“The only thing is, can I have another beer?”
His father called the housekeeper. He waited for Step to take a drink before resuming the conversation.
“Not trying to be a pest here, but why don’t you enroll at the university?”
“I don’t know. I’m giving that some thought. And anyway, I’d have to decide what major.”
“You could study law, or business, like your brother. Once you’ve finished school, I could help you find a job.”
Step imagined himself dressed like his brother, in his office, with all those file folders. “I don’t know. It doesn’t appeal to me.”
“Why would you say such a thing? You were good at school. You shouldn’t have any difficulty with it. Your score at the final high school exam was a forty-two.”
Step drank another swig of beer. His grades would have been even better if it hadn’t been for all that craziness. After what happened, he’d never opened a book again.
“Papà, that’s not the problem. Maybe after this summer, but right now, I just don’t want to think about it.”
“What do you feel like doing now, huh? You’re always out starting trouble. You’re constantly on the street, and you get home at all hours. Paolo tells me about it.”
“What the hell does Paolo know about it? What did he say?”
“No, maybe he doesn’t know anything, but I do. Maybe it would have been better if you’d done a year of military service. At least you could have gotten your head on straight.”
“Yes, that’s the one thing I needed, a year in the army.”
“Well, if I managed to get you an exemption just so you could hang out on the street and get in brawls, then you’d have been better off in uniform.”
“Who told you I’m getting in brawls? Come on, Papà. You’re obsessed!”
“No, I’m scared. Do you remember what the lawyer said after the trial? ‘Your son needs to be careful. From this day on, any police complaint, any trouble of any kind, the judge’s decision automatically goes into effect.’”
“Of course I remember. You must have pounded it into my head at least twenty times. By the way, have you seen that lawyer since?”
“I saw him just the other week. I paid him the last installment on his fee.”
He said it grudgingly and emphatically, as if to point out how expensive it had been. When it came to these things, he was exactly the same as Paolo. They were always counting money down to the last penny. Step decided to ignore it. “Was he still wearing that blindingly ugly tie?”
“No, he’s managed to get himself another one that’s even uglier.” His father smiled. That’s how badly he wanted to cajole Step along.
“Oh, come on, that hardly seems possible. With all the money we’ve given him.” Step corrected himself. “Sorry, Papà, with all the money you’ve given him, he might be able to buy some decent ties.”
“As far as that goes, he could revamp his entire wardrobe.”
The housekeeper cleared away their dishes and returned with the main course. It was a steak, done rare. Luckily, that didn’t trigger any memories.
Step looked at his father. There he sat, bent over his plate, slicing the meat. Untroubled. A long time ago, that terrible day, he’d been pacing in that same room.
* * *
“What do you mean, just because! Because you felt like it? Because in that case, I have a violent hooligan for a son, a guy who doesn’t think. You ruined that young man. Do you understand what you did? You could have killed him. Or don’t you even understand that?”
Step was sitting there, looking at the floor, saying nothing.
The lawyer broke in. “Signor Mancini, at this point, what’s done is done. There’s no point shouting at the boy. I believe that there are reasons for it, even if they’re not obvious.”
“All right, counselor. You tell me what we need to do now.”
“In order to construct a line of defense, in order to have an argument when we get to court, we need to find out what those reasons are.”
Step looked up. What was this guy saying? What did he know?
The lawyer looked at Step with an understanding expression. Then he leaned toward him. “Stefano, there must have been something behind this. Some trouble in the past. An argument. Something this young man said, something that made you…In other words, what triggered that outburst of rage?”
Step looked at the lawyer. He was wearing a horrible tie, adorned with gray diamonds against a shiny background. Then he turned to look at his mother. There she sat, in a corner of the living room. Elegant as ever. She was calmly smoking a cigarette. Step looked down again.
The lawyer continued to look at him, remaining silent for a moment. Then he turned to look at Step’s mother and smiled at her in a diplomatic manner. “Signora, have you ever heard that your son had any contact with this young man? Had they ever had any disagreements?”
His mother remained silent for a few seconds and then replied in a firm, confident voice, “No, counselor. I don’t think so. I didn’t even know they knew each other.”
“Signora, Stefano is going to have to go to court. He’s been reported to the police. There’s going to be a judge, a trial, and a verdict. With the injury that young man suffered, it’s going to be serious. If we have nothing to offer in court, no evidence—I mean anything would do, the faintest shadow of a justification—then your son is going to be in real trouble. Very serious trouble.”