pool.
The last time Leonardo had been there, six months before, the health center was already closed and the superstore had been transformed into a depository for scrap metal, but the houses still looked attractive with well-kept gardens, windows decorated with vases of flowers, and brightly polished brass doorbells. Everything had given an impression of serenity and quiet living.
As he approached, he began to be aware of the coming and going of people walking and cycling at the edge of the road, all carrying a wide variety of objects. A kilometer further, the first stalls appeared, and the throng of buyers and sellers grew until the road was completely blocked. Leonardo drove into a field that must once have been used for soccer, where hundreds of cars had been parked randomly. He left Bauschan in the car, the leash was broken and he was afraid of losing him in the confusion.
He moved through the mob with tiny steps because of the pain in his back. People were pushing and shoving as they struggled to get a look at stalls displaying clothes, furniture, electrical goods, lamps, alcoholic drinks in bottles, plates, tablecloths, curtains, sanitary appliances, and every kind of household goods.
At the beginning of their relationship, Alessandra had sometimes dragged him to villages and small towns where dealers in used goods and simple ransackers of cellars and attics displayed their merchandise, amusing themselves by haggling and claiming emotional links with horrible paintings and ancient chamber pots of every description. But what Leonardo saw now was quite different. Many of the sellers looked as if they were trying to make a little money by offloading things they would not be able to take away with them. The bargaining was fast and ferocious and colored the proceedings with a dismal air of misfortune and speculation.
In front of the racetrack gates were several armed guards who seemed to be neither from the police or the National Guard but from some sort of private militia specially created for the occasion. They were distinguishable by their orange caps and badges.
He crossed in front of their arrogant gaze and, passing through a tunnel, came out on tiers of steps. A huge crowd was circulating among tables displaying merchandise, producing the same indistinct buzz or hum as a swarm of insects.
Dizziness forced him to lean against a wall and, like a drowning man, he grabbed the nearest arm. The man jerked himself free and began moving away then changed his mind and turned back. Leonardo apologized.
“I’m looking for cigarettes,” he said.
The man smiled, showing a gold tooth.
Half an hour later Leonardo was driving toward the hills, the town now behind him. On the rear seat were four cartons of cigarettes for which he had paid more than two hundred lire, an excessive price even allowing for the fact that they were foreign, possibly Turkish; they were undoubtedly remainders stored long past their sell-by date, but he believed the village’s smokers would welcome them just the same.
He left the cigarettes with Elio, telling his friend to sell them at whatever price he could get; it would be enough if he could get back what he had spent on them. Elio, noticing he was having difficulty with the steps, asked him what had happened. Leonardo said he had strained a muscle getting out of the car and needed to lie down for a bit.
When he got home he found his most recent letter, mailed a month earlier, had been accurately returned to sender, evidence that for some bizarre reason the postal system was still working, at least in his case. Somehow the familiar disappointment comforted him and his backache seemed less painful.
As he prepared Bauschan’s lunch, he hummed Brahms’s song “
Gestillte Sehnsucht”
and then, while the dog ate, collapsed on the sofa and closed his eyes.
When he woke up it was dark. He had no idea of the time but looked neither at the watch on his wrist nor the clock on the wall. He simply
The last time Leonardo had been there, six months before, the health center was already closed and the superstore had been transformed into a depository for scrap metal, but the houses still looked attractive with well-kept gardens, windows decorated with vases of flowers, and brightly polished brass doorbells. Everything had given an impression of serenity and quiet living.
As he approached, he began to be aware of the coming and going of people walking and cycling at the edge of the road, all carrying a wide variety of objects. A kilometer further, the first stalls appeared, and the throng of buyers and sellers grew until the road was completely blocked. Leonardo drove into a field that must once have been used for soccer, where hundreds of cars had been parked randomly. He left Bauschan in the car, the leash was broken and he was afraid of losing him in the confusion.
He moved through the mob with tiny steps because of the pain in his back. People were pushing and shoving as they struggled to get a look at stalls displaying clothes, furniture, electrical goods, lamps, alcoholic drinks in bottles, plates, tablecloths, curtains, sanitary appliances, and every kind of household goods.
At the beginning of their relationship, Alessandra had sometimes dragged him to villages and small towns where dealers in used goods and simple ransackers of cellars and attics displayed their merchandise, amusing themselves by haggling and claiming emotional links with horrible paintings and ancient chamber pots of every description. But what Leonardo saw now was quite different. Many of the sellers looked as if they were trying to make a little money by offloading things they would not be able to take away with them. The bargaining was fast and ferocious and colored the proceedings with a dismal air of misfortune and speculation.
In front of the racetrack gates were several armed guards who seemed to be neither from the police or the National Guard but from some sort of private militia specially created for the occasion. They were distinguishable by their orange caps and badges.
He crossed in front of their arrogant gaze and, passing through a tunnel, came out on tiers of steps. A huge crowd was circulating among tables displaying merchandise, producing the same indistinct buzz or hum as a swarm of insects.
Dizziness forced him to lean against a wall and, like a drowning man, he grabbed the nearest arm. The man jerked himself free and began moving away then changed his mind and turned back. Leonardo apologized.
“I’m looking for cigarettes,” he said.
The man smiled, showing a gold tooth.
Half an hour later Leonardo was driving toward the hills, the town now behind him. On the rear seat were four cartons of cigarettes for which he had paid more than two hundred lire, an excessive price even allowing for the fact that they were foreign, possibly Turkish; they were undoubtedly remainders stored long past their sell-by date, but he believed the village’s smokers would welcome them just the same.
He left the cigarettes with Elio, telling his friend to sell them at whatever price he could get; it would be enough if he could get back what he had spent on them. Elio, noticing he was having difficulty with the steps, asked him what had happened. Leonardo said he had strained a muscle getting out of the car and needed to lie down for a bit.
When he got home he found his most recent letter, mailed a month earlier, had been accurately returned to sender, evidence that for some bizarre reason the postal system was still working, at least in his case. Somehow the familiar disappointment comforted him and his backache seemed less painful.
As he prepared Bauschan’s lunch, he hummed Brahms’s song “
Gestillte Sehnsucht”
and then, while the dog ate, collapsed on the sofa and closed his eyes.
When he woke up it was dark. He had no idea of the time but looked neither at the watch on his wrist nor the clock on the wall. He simply
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