The Purple Room by Mauro Casiraghi

before
Silvia finally recognizes it.
    “There it is! That one.”
    Two women are getting out of a nearby car and coming toward us. Even
though it’s dark, I recognize one of them by her athletic figure. It’s
Antonella. I wonder if she left the dating agency and is back to her old method
of picking up guys in clubs. For her sake, I hope so. Her new way of choosing
men like a soccer coach— this one
yes, that one no —was pretty intimidating.
    I’m considering going and apologizing for that phone call when she
recognizes me, too.
    “Look, Miriam!” she says to her friend. “That’s the guy I was telling
you about.”
    Silvia is next to me, waiting to get into the car. Antonella looks her
up and down, then turns to me with a vicious smile.
    “So I was wrong, then. You’re not an impotent fag. You’re an impotent
manwhore.”
    She looks back at Silvia.
    “If you’ve been going out for a while, then you should know that this
bastard cheated on you. We slept together last week. If, on the other hand, he
picked you up tonight, I should warn you that he’s a lot of work. You’ll have
to go down on him for half an hour before you can really get started. And I’d
advise kicking him out the second you’re done. Otherwise tomorrow you’ll find
yourself waking up next to a worm.”
    Silvia glances at me, wide-eyed, scared, confused.
    “Get in,” I say, opening the door for her.
    “You don’t think I’m going to let you get off that easy, do you?”
Antonella takes a step toward me.
    “Come on, forget it,” says Miriam, taking hold of her arm.
    “Fuck that!” She wriggles free. “I’m not letting this go.”
    It occurs to me that Antonella and I have something in common: failed
marriages. Two, in her case. We’re both veterans of ruthless wars, atrocities
committed on both sides. Now, suddenly, facing her rage, I feel like I’m
fighting with my wife again. Here we are, back in the trenches. I wonder if
Antonella feels the same way. If she’s reliving all the worst moments of her
past marriages. The outbursts of anger, the furious shouting, the verbal
violence. The physical violence.
    “I’m sorry about what happened,” I try. “I don’t know if Luisa explained
it to you, but I only said that stupid thing because—”
    “Luisa said you were sick and a lot of other bullshit. It’s pretty clear
how sick you are!”
    She glares at Silvia through the car window and adds, “You really will
fuck anything with legs, won’t you?”
    “Watch it, that’s my sister.”
    “Your sister ?” she says
scornfully. “You’re not a man, you’re a gutless liar. A sewer rat. A
disgusting, fucking rat. You know what you deserve?”
    Her handbag slams into my temple. It doesn’t hurt much. It must be
mostly empty. Two or three more hits follow, equally painless. I figure I might
as well let her keep hitting me with her bag until she runs out of steam, but
then a punch lands on my ear. That hurts. I shield myself with my arms and take it, hoping that someone will come
to my rescue. Miriam tries to drag her away, but Antonella keeps punching me.
    The horn makes us all jump.
    Silvia is throwing her weight into it, pressing down on the wheel with
both hands. The sound is deafening. I take advantage of the confusion and
scramble into the car with her. I lock the doors. Antonella takes off a shoe
and pounds it on the windshield.
    “Coward! Get out of the car!” she screams.
    “Let’s go!” begs Silvia.
    I manage to get the key into the ignition. I rev the motor and turn on
the headlights. Antonella plants herself in my way, hands on the hood.
    “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”
    “Move!” I shout from inside the car.
    “You want to run me over? Go ahead! You limp dick! Do it!”
    I take my foot off the clutch. The car lunges forward.
    “He’s trying to kill me!” shrieks Antonella, backing away. “The bastard
wants to run me over!”
    She slides her shoe back on and takes off through the