25

 25

WHEN THE PALE-BLUE CINQUECENTO appeared in the courtyard, the children stopped their ball game and went to inspect it close up, the older kids pushing in front of the younger ones.

“Don’t scratch it, okay?” Sister Annangela begged while she adjusted her veil.

There was no lift at the Big House so she had to walk up to the fourth floor. The skylight of glass bricks in the stairwell screened out light, but sounds echoed. A girl, panting, overtook her doing two steps at a time and gripping the banister to give herself a boost, as if stair-climbing were a competitive sport. Sister Annangela heard her turning the key in the lock a floor or two above and a voice asking, “So where have you been?”

“Where do you think I’ve been? Streetwalking?” the girl replied, slamming the door.

Sister Annangela stood outside Giovanna’s apartment to catch her breath before knocking. Giovanna’s mother opened it wearing an apron, a dish towel in her hand. She was tall and blond like her daughter, and her smooth, pink cheeks stood out like petals between the creases around her eyes and mouth. Her eyes looked artificial, as if she’d dug them out and replaced them with two pieces of painted ceramic.

“I’ve been doing the cleaning,” she explained.

“Oh I won’t come in, don’t worry. I only wanted to bring you my condolences and those of the whole school. I couldn’t do it yesterday in church.”

“There were so many people.”

“Yes, so many people wanted to pay their respects.”

“Please come in, Sister. Come in. I’ll put on some coffee for you.”

“Really, I don’t want to disturb you.”

But Giovanna’s mother was already in the kitchen, banging the coffeemaker against the sink to empty it, so Sister Annangela went in and sat down with her. There was a big container of bleach next to the cooker, sponges and steel wool worn with use. At one stage Giovanna’s mother got up to put everything back in a cupboard.

“Are those your children downstairs in the courtyard?”

“Yes—the little one is five.”

“Then he’ll start school next year.”

“We’re going to send him to the De Amicis on Via Orfanotrofio with his siblings. It’s closer, when it comes down to it.”

“Of course.”

“He asks after his sister. He doesn’t really understand.”

“What did you tell him?”

“That she went to heaven. That she jumped out of the window and flew up like a bird. He says, ‘Well then why doesn’t she come down?’ I told him she can’t anymore and that she’s okay.” She spoke hurriedly, in great bursts, as if she were afraid of stalling and not starting up again.

“I believe that’s actually the case.”

“We have to believe it, right? Otherwise I’d have drunk that bleach already,” she said with a faintly savage smile. “I feel so sorry for Miss Canepa. Poor thing. She called to tell me not to shout at Giovanna. Poor thing. She’s reacted badly. It’s not as if she’s her mother.”

Sister Annangela ignored the note of resentment in her voice—or maybe it was envy because Silvia had disappeared, might be dead and therefore at peace. Envy, too, because Giovanna wasn’t Silvia’s child, after all.

“How long would she have been in her room?” Giovanna’s mother went on. “Maybe five minutes . . . even less. I didn’t think about it. I didn’t think to open the door again right away. I said to myself, ‘Let her calm down.’”

“No one could have imagined it.”

“What should I do with her things? I can’t stand seeing them around and I can’t touch them to put them away either.”

“Maybe you should let a little time go by. You don’t have to do it now. Or ask someone to help you.”

“I’m afraid of taking off her sheets and finding some trace of her, a hair. Did you know she left her slippers on the windowsill? What am I going to do with those slippers now?” She leaned her head back, raised her eyebrows, and swallowed two or three times.

Sister Annangela wondered if she was going to collapse right then and there, and she tried to prepare herself: she seemed on the verge of it but maybe she was like those dangerous buildings that stay upright much longer than expected.

“How is your husband?” she asked.

“He’s not speaking, can’t sleep. If you ask me, he’s hoping he’ll have an accident at work to put an end to things.”

“Your other children need their parents.”

“I know.”

The coffee had been ready for a while and it smelled burnt. Giovanna’s mother took it off the burner but forgot to pour it out.

“I’ll show you something,” she said.

Sister Annangela followed her into the room where her children slept in two bunk beds pushed against the wall. There was a single shelf with a few objects on it and a toy box on the floor: a doll, slings, miniature cars. Giovanna’s mother pointed to the shelf.

“Miss Canepa gave those books to Giovanna. And that jar.” She picked it up. “Three years ago. It’s sand from Australia.”

The sand was snow-white and fine, luminescent.

“It looks like sugar,” Sister Annangela observed. She brought it up close to her glasses. Among the grains she could make out sharp nacreous pieces that must have been shells.

“Do you want it?”

“Oh no, no. Keep it for your youngest. He might like it.”

They were interrupted by someone fumbling with the doorknob on the landing.

Both turned their heads quickly, but instead of going to open the door they stayed and listened to the strangled sobs and gurgling. It had to be a horrible prank because it sounded like someone drowning, the ghost of the drowned returning to the family. Giovanna’s mother couldn’t budge. She sat there, drained and blinking, the cords in her neck tight, her mouth half open. Sister Annangela decided it was up to her to do something.

Giovanna’s three brothers stood before her at the door. One had blood running from his nose and was dabbing at it with the hem of his pullover while the other two stood beside him looking sullen. Even they knew they didn’t need more trouble. Even the tiniest problem would be too much for the family at that point. With their long fringes and black nails they looked neglected to Sister Annangela, but maybe it was just the end of the day.

“He fell off the wall but it’s nothing,” the eldest said defensively.

Their mother arrived, wearily reproaching them and taking them to the bathroom where she began to wash them haphazardly. “This was all we needed,” she said, not noticing that the boys were upset about it. She was distracted but would occasionally come around, washing and rewashing an earlobe or the ear canal between two fingers with enormous and excessive care. She put two cotton-wool stalactites in the little one’s nostrils. The water was still running, so Sister Annangela turned off the tap.

“For fuck’s sake, Gino, you look like a vampire,” said the middle brother, sizing up the little one.

“Why?”

“A vampire with teeth in its nose. And blood on top instead of at the tip.”

“What a creepy comparison,” the eldest brother proclaimed.

“What are we going to do now, Nando?” the other two asked.

“Leave me alone for a while.” He yawned. In the blink of an eye he’d became the eldest. Giovanna wasn’t there anymore to keep them in order.

“Let’s play Shanghai,” the little one suggested. But from the way the other two rapidly shot him a reproving look, Sister Annangela knew that it must be a game associated with their sister, a game they could no longer play.

She had an idea: she’d ask them to come for a ride in her Cinquecento and she checked with their mother.

“Can I take out the cotton wool first?”

“No, c’mon. Go out like that because it’s funny,” said the middle brother.

“You’ll make the chickens laugh,” said Nando.

“Let’s take it out, come here. Your name is Gino, am I right?” Sister Annangela stepped in.

“Yes, Gino.”

“Nando, Gino, and . . .”

“Alberto.”

They went down the stairs. Other tenants were coming and going now and there were strong smells of cooking. Sister Annangela’s round eyes swept in front of her toward the tip of her little potato-nose. She was sweating and had to dry her face with her veil.

Once in the car, the boys became animated, asking lots of questions she couldn’t answer about the engine, cylinders, and tires. They went to the church of San Cassiano and lit a row of candles. They bought agnolotti at the pasta shop in the piazza and on the way back they fished in the sack and ate a few of them raw, dusted with flour.

“Who’s paying for these?” asked the eldest boy.

“Oh, don’t worry about that. They’re on the convent,” Sister Annangela replied.

“I found a piece of salami in the filling!” the little one exclaimed.

“No way. It’s roast meat inside,” Nando contradicted.

“But I can taste it with my teeth. It’s saltier.”

“It’s a bogey that fell in by mistake.”

“You mean from the lady in the pasta shop?”

“Yep.”

Gino spat his mouthful in his hand and threw it out of the open window while the others jeered and made fun of him.

“Children,” said Sister Annangela, since they were expecting it. She made them jump for joy when she turned into the wide opening to the courtyard, barely slowing down.

“But can nuns drive like this?” Gino asked.

“Clearly they can,” she said.