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The Ball
«Tarty?»
«Yes» he replies, laughing.
«It’s a nice definition» I smile and take another sip of my wine. «However, it is possible that they were all unlucky. Certainly, the environment plays a big role too: the upbringing, that’s what it is. You would never allow your daughter to be so loud. Bad-mannered, I’d say.»
I look at the bubbles in my glass; the shrill voices of the girls seem to have lowered a bit, while the notary is silent and grabs an olive. «However, in my opinion, if a gene is that way, it’s difficult to adjust it and modify it. It would take centuries, thousands of years» I add, looking at him.
«Have you been studying genetics long?»
«No. I haven’t studied it that much. Some time ago I have just done a test to find out where my genetic make-up comes from.»
«Interesting», the notary says. «How does it work?».
«You send off a DNA sample: a file of saliva, basically; then they process them and after a few weeks they send a detailed account.»
«Brando, shall we have two more?» the notary asks pointing at the empty glasses on the table.
«Sure, why not.»
Alessandro nods at somebody behind me.
«What did come out of that test?» he asks then
«Nothing major: the prevalent genes, almost 20%, are Sardinian; just under that are Basque country and Fennoscandian genes; the other percentages are low and stem from the Orkney Islands, western Siberia and India».
«Here is your fill up» the waiter says while he puts two new glasses on the table and place the empty ones on the tray.
«Thank you, Gigi. This rosé wine is really good» the notary says.
«Really good: drinkable» I confirm.
«I am glad you like it: it is produced by a small wine farm but their wines are excellent» the waiter says. «I apologize for the crowd sitting at the table near you» he adds leaning over the table.
«No problem at all, Gigi, don’t worry about it» the notary replies in a hushed voice.
«I tried to see if they have a switch to lower down the decibel but I don’t think they do» the young boy says.
«Probably underneath their hair» I whisper.
«As soon as they call me over, I will give it another check» he says going off.
1.3 IMPULSES - THREE
After about twenty minutes, the girls stand up at last and walk to the way out. We can now hear the music in the bar, in the background.
«It is so quiet now» the notary says, relieved.
«Sorry, gentlemen, can I get you anything else? Now you can talk without raising your voices.»
«As a matter of fact, it is really quiet now, Gigi» the notary says smiling.
«What do you say, Brando, shall we have another round so that I can put an end to my delightful waiting?» he asks me.
«Yes, sure, I’d love to.»
«Excuse me Gigi, can I ask you a personal question?» the notary says.
«Sure, go ahead.»
«Brando and I were talking about the five girls sitting at the table next to us and the generational perception of human universe, especially female.»
«Yes» the waiter says, «I get it.»
«Gigi, can I ask you how old are you? You must be about twenty-five, right?»
«Twenty-four and a few months, as a matter of fact.»
«Great, you could be my son.»
«I would say so, my father is fifty-five.»
«Excellent, he is three years older than me» the notary says. «So, we needed a feedback from a peer. To make a long story short, Gigi what do you think when you are dealing with five customers like those ones?»
«In general?» the waiter asked doubtfully.
«Yes: do you find them nice, attractive, well-mannered? How do you see them?»
«Ah, I got it. I find them okay as customers: they drank and they paid for it, so it’s quite alright. Maybe a little rude, but no different from other people.»
«Fine. From a more personal point of view, you find them nice or attractive?» the notary asks.
«I wouldn’t say nice, looking at them, I wouldn’t want to hang out with them. The girls I like to go out with are different, less frivolous.»
«Attractive?» the notary asks.
«I wouldn’t say that, I don’t find them attractive: you would look at them because they were half naked.»
«Good. Thank you Gigi, and I apologize for all the questions: we just wanted to have a whole picture from three different points of view.»
«You’re welcome, no problem at all. Please allow me to ask you what conclusion did you come to? Do you find those five girls nice?»
«No, we are both in agreement» I say.
«Yes, unanimously» the notary says, «well beyond every generational gap.»
«However not all the ladies coming here to the bar are like this. There are standard, well-mannered people.»
«I have no doubts about it, Gigi: we were just having a chat, while sipping our wines and sitting next to loud and rude girls.»
«For instance, nice and mannerly people almost always come here from your office.»
«Really?» the notary asks.
«Yes, it is a statistical data. You know, I mind other people’s business, this is part of my job too. I know Mauro well too, your doorman: he is quite nice too.»
«Actually, I don’t hang out with many people from the building, I greet them in the lift, but they all look like standard people» the notary says, looking for approval off me. I acknowledge it.
«I don’t know» the waiter says again, «it came into my mind because today at lunchtime, there were two girls from your building sitting where you are sitting now: they were women, maybe, more than girls. Anyway, one of them comes here often, she is quite tall, blonde hair, not fair or platinum blonde hair, a honey colour, let’s say. A bit wacky, but nice and mannerly. I have seen the other one very few times here but she is very cheerful and kind too.»
«This gossiping about our building is very enjoyable» I say reaching for the glass.
«Where do they work, Gigi?» the notary asks.
«I don’t know exactly, it could be a holding company. Anyway, I am sure they work in the same building as yours: I saw them cross the road today, they were hugging and then they went into the building. I saw them because I was cleaning up the tables for smokers outside» he says pausing for a moment and then he goes on saying: «To tell the truth, I went out to clean them up when they went out of the bar».
«Do you follow the female customers, Gigi?» the notary says sarcastically.
«Sure I don’t» he says laughing, «just a coincidence.»
«Are you sure, Gigi?»
«Alright, maybe a little: they had such a strange way of talking among themselves, so placid and pleasant, and such a graceful bearing that got me very curious.»
«I see, Gigi. So, you wanted to make sure that their manners would be pleasant and graceful outside the bar too, just to confirm the impression that you had inside the bar» the notary added, amused.
I take a sip of my wine and I look at the glass in my hands.
«Sure» the waiter says, «my job entails a careful monitoring of our clientele behaviour.»
«I didn’t think that you were also asked to carry out further burdensome chores in work» the notary says.
«Alright, if you want to know the truth: the other lady, the one together with the blonde lady» he says, pausing with a blank look at the glass window in front of him. «Actually, I wouldn’t say she is pretty, she comes from another planet: she is so elegant, she has such a gracefulness, I don’t even know how to describe her. She is well beyond this world.»
I drink a good gulp of dry wine and I look at Gigi with his eyes lost in the darkness beyond the glass window.
«Is there someone like that in our building and we have never noticed her?» the notary asks again.
«Clearly we miss a few things going on, there in our office» I reply. «We should leave some deeds of sale and concentrate more in public relations with people from the other offices.»
«Alright now, I leave you to it and I go back to work, enough with my nonsense. I just wanted to say that not all the people coming here are rude and unpleasant».
«That’s for sure, Gigi: there are also so many nice people in the world.»
The waiter goes off.
«You see, Brando: we spend twelve hours in there and we don’t even know half the things Gigi knows.»
«You are quite right, I said it: we should do less deeds of sale and have more wild parties in the office» I reply a bit pensive.
«Let’s get back to it, my dear Brando: have you ever chased a woman in the streets?»
«I haven’t. Do you know that it could be considered harassment?»
«Yes, Gigi with his striped apron tailing two customers could be quite disturbing. Anyway, to sum it all up, if you look around, you can see that there are four or five tables like ours, but they are occupied by people who look like couples: don’t you think that it is, how can I put it, quite natural? Nevertheless, I am sure you have noticed over the years that when a new human being is born, that usually happens because two people have joined together.»
«Really? I didn’t know that children were born this way, I was still convinced that the stork brings them along: this explanation seemed plausible to me.»
«Sure, Brando, the story of our big feathered friend is not true, sorry to tell you.»
«I don’t know, I am just not happy to be with a person on a steady basis, it makes me feel that I am giving up a part of me, that is my freedom: I do think that I am not happy to be paired with someone.»
Bloody hell, the euphonic ball again: the two halves that stick together, kept together by a magnetic force.
One half that does not exist for me.
«I don’t know, Brando, your point of view does not convince me completely, it seemed to me that there is a piece missing to make sense of it: I am still doubtful. Can I ask you a stupid question?»
«As you wish, but I doubt you can ask stupid question, surprise me.»
«Do you like women?»
«Definitely.»
«In your rating of life, when you think about something nice, where would you place a person from the opposite sex?»
«Should I quickly make up a list of my priorities, putting in people from the opposite sex? Like playing golf, cars, red wine, white wine, sparkling wine, whisky, women? Something like that?» I say puzzled.
«Yes, correct. Even with less alcohol. When have you taken up golf?»
«I have never played it.»
«Exactly. Now, whereabouts is the female world?»
«I can’t make up a list now: how can I compare activities, objects and people in one list only?»
«It’s a simple hedonistic list, let’s say. Think about all the things that give you pleasure...»
«It depends on the situations.»
«You are nearly there. Are you telling me that you would rather have a good wine than an old Fiat Uno Diesel?»
«Yes, sure.»
«Do you prefer a Nebbiolo wine to a Vermentino wine?»
«Without any doubt.»
«Alright. Are you telling me that you would rather sip a good islay, on your own, at home than spending the evening with one of those five girls?»
«I don’t know, maybe if you are with them on their own, they wouldn’t be as bad: the prettiest one, maybe after dinner, two hours at the most, if she was not talking. Are you talking about an islay, a good one? One with a strong peaty tang?»
«A very strong peaty tang» the notary says.
«I think I would surrender to the whisky with a peaty tang in the end: less hassle.»
«It’s okay: I would go for it myself, with no hesitation whatsoever, but the half generation gap that separates us plays in your favour.»
The notary takes a sip of his wine and puts it back down on the table while I do the same. «Anyway, your strong list of priorities seems already unstable because of a young girl dressed like a hooker. You were referring to the girl sitting at the head of the table, with her bare shoulders, weren’t you?»
«Sure, but I don’t think I said hooker, I think I have just figured it out in my head.»
«No, I said it, don’t worry. Anyway, we have a priority list that can overturn any minute, in constant turmoil because of wine varieties, and new issues of Auto Express magazine. It could be adjusted: if you think about it, you could come up with something better.»
«Yes, I have just said the first things that have come into my mind, but I do think that I wouldn’t know anyway.»
«We are not talking about moral issues, anyway.»
«Uh, music» I interrupt him.
«Music: good, great indeed. You can see that with a little bit more commitment, the priority list improves.»
«Northern Europe, Norway» I interrupt him again.
«Anything else?» he asks.
«No, it’s enough, for the moment, I think.»
«Fine: let’s add it all up to the priority list. The point is another one, it is not the priority list itself. I mean, what is the connection in this priority list?»
«I am not too sure: alcohol, maybe. And some music to listen to travelling by car around northern Europe. Can you see the connection in all of this?»
«Yes, Brando. Why do you like music?»
«I love listening to it, I love the sounds put together properly.»
«Excellent. Why do you like northern Europe?»
«I love the scenery, the tranquillity. I am drawn to those places. I feel a bit of a northerner myself, as if I come from there: it is probably the story of the fennoscandian genes.»
«What about the alcohol?»
«I don’t know: it gives me a sense of peace, it relaxes me, when I feel the need to relax and get away from it all, I think it is a useful thing in those situations. Just the taste of it...»
«Here, we are getting there. Passion, attraction, desire: they are emotions that everybody feels. Do you know how all these feelings together are called?»
«In one word, do you mean? Are we heading back to lexical semantics?»
«No, it’s not that difficult: they are called love.»
I look at the glass and the bubbles whirling and spiralling upwards. I take a sip and I look at the notary staring at me.
«Fine. Love is attraction, passion and desire: right... Anyway, where is the female sphere?»
«Sorry but what do you match with love? If you think about love, what is the first thing that gets into your mind?»
«Instinctively? I don’t know. I would say a woman. I associate love with a woman.»
«You see, we have gone back to our primary list. It is not only at the top, but it takes up all the positions.»
I grab my glass again while I realize that this rosé liquid is not enough to deal with the notary, a stronger chemical substance is now necessary, as I had already considered in the afternoon, right after the discussion over the slut.
«I got lost a little in the logics of the primary list. Passion and feelings trigger everything and I would agree with that, but what if passion was not connected to the female sphere? People can be passionate about going fast with the four wheels underneath them, propelled by a four- stroke engine; for sure that is pure passion, attraction, desire to meet or overcome one’s own limits. If we put the three feelings together, we get love: love for speed, love to run on a stripe of tarmac. It’s okay so far and I think it is all romantic but what has the attraction for a woman or for another person got to do with all this?»
«It’s love! You don’t have to force it into all this: it is already in, it is the feeling that triggers everything off. Everything works because of love. It is already in us and it interacts with the outside world: we do not make that feeling by ourselves» the notary said.
«So, there is nothing without love? And that is because love triggers off everything. So, you run around a racing track in your own matt black car because you are unconsciously pushed by love?»
«Yes, Brando, you are getting my point. If you want to go back to lexical semantics, which you seem to fancy so much, we could put èros into play too.»
«Love is èros: they are not synonyms, Alessandro.»
«Not quite. Èros is always a life instinct, impulse, desire: love is the same feeling, the same life impulse.»
The notary takes a sip of wine.
I look at my glass and at the few bubbles left.
«Passion, attraction, desire, impulse: love, eros. It all makes sense, Brando.»
«Èros pushes everything: I could almost agree with you» I say. I look out the glass window: two youths are hugging each other walking up the street, towards me. The blue glow materialises again in my mind. The vision I had in the morning is certainly perfect to trigger off a considerable feeling of attraction: an urge, a simple instinct not slowed down by a lengthy neuronal processing.
«Why almost?»
«Not to make you feel that you are quite right.»
I take my glass and I get rid of the bubbles left. There could be more to it, though. Life is not just based on impulses, there is more to it, a bunch of different feelings and emotions, without taking into account the reason and all the rest of it.»
«Brando, look at this table between us: it is square and wooden. Look at it all, in its whole.»
I push my vertebrae against the back of my chair, I move the chair a few centimetres back and I look at the table.
«Can you see the table completely from where you are?»
«Yes, notary. I can see it all, in its whole.»
«How many legs has it got?» he asks laughing.
«I’d say four» I reply, looking at him askance.
«Are you really sure?»
«Yes, I am sure» I reply, shaking my head a bit as a sign of disapproval for his sneaky and vindictive rhetorical question.
«Do you know why you see four?» he asks. «Because this table has four legs, like the one in my office: sic et simpliciter!»
1.3 IMPULSES - FOUR
I lower down the windows of my car a bit. The cool air lashes my face, while I set the volume on 24; this morning I played the Solstafir album, it is not that bad.
I glance at the display, looking for the title of the track now playing, and I identify it as Sjúki skugginn1. As I have already done now more than twelve hours ago, I think that each track should have a meaning, no matter how difficult the language is. I am going to read the lyrics again, or at least to give the titles some sort of meaning.
Bass guitars play really low: let’s higher up to 32.
I overcome the humps and I swirl to the left, I cut through the roundabout, keeping an eye on the central kerb, I merge onto the avenue that leads to the university. The lanes are all free from traffic.
I get it into second gear, driving along the wide roundabout of the emergency room and I press my foot on the accelerator. In about three hundred metres, as soon as I get to the roundabout of the baseball field, I have to drive along it and take the third exit, towards the avenue leading to my house.
When the engine is around 4.700 revolutions, I take a wide turn on the right and I see an electric blue car coming in front of me, in the opposite direction. It seems quite slow and quite far away: it will get to the roundabout after me.
I press my break and I put my car into second gear to prepare for the narrow roundabout, while I am looking at the porphyry stripe that borders the central island, where I want to drive over with my two inner tires. I steer to the left, while I just feel a sudden tingling in my nose: I sneeze. The air that comes out so suddenly from my lungs makes me jump. My left hand swerves the steering wheel and brings it back to the standard position.
Bloody hell, I lost control, I ended up in the camellias. The car jolts a little. I go straight and I slow down. I stop by the roadside, and I put the hazard lights on.
The electric blue car drives past me and goes on.
I get out of the car and I head to the porphyry stripe which runs around the camellias. I made such a mess. I have driven over the three plants on the outer side.
I squat down and I reach out to the plants: they snapped, crushed into the soil, broken up. Poor them.
I get back to my car, feeling sad.
The electric blue car too has stopped with the hazard lights on beyond the roundabout. I look at it for a few seconds: the LED light bulbs off the lamppost light it up from up above, making it a more sparkling blue.
I make a U-turn and I take the road leading to the university. I drive to the very end, I turn left and drive into my driveway.
1 Sólstafir (artist), Svartir sandar (album title), Sjúki skuggin (track title), 2011 (year)
2.1 INTRO
I say hi to Mauro, busy reading the Giornale di Brescia every morning in his small glass house, and I head for the lifts.
A dark spot materializes down there. I continue with a slow pace and reach the area in front of the push button panel. The black spot greets me and I reciprocate. Maybe I smiled too much, but I did it naturally, surprised by the friendliness of a character with such a gloomy appearance.
The central lift reaches the ground floor and we go in. I’ve never seen him, but he behaves as if the place is very familiar to him, so I don’t think he’s an occasional visitor in the building. His gaze is gentle as he asks me what floor I’m going to.
«Seven, please» I smile. Maybe too much again. But this time I smile because of his hair, really messy.
After pressing the buttons, he sticks his two thumbs into the pockets of his jeans. His other fingers stroke his thin legs, not very masculine, which look perfectly straight though, inside his tight jeans.
I am examining him. His appearance looks a bit dark to me, but with an implicit elegance: educated and from a good family, quite probably. The body is lean and his height is probably a few centimetres above average. He has green, almost phosphorescent eyes. I think he may be an alien.
The elevator reaches the seventh floor.
«Hello.»
The black spot wishes me a good day. I get out and walk to the office.
I get a sense of restlessness and warmth all over my body: if I weren’t stoned, I would think that I had never seen anything so amazing.
2.2 LIFE
2.2 LIFE - ONE
I take the keys out of my bag and put the long one in the lock, placed under the writing Sbandofin in gold lettering. Four turns of the key and I open the door.
The office is still empty: the foggy light that filters through the windows makes it even more sleepy than it appears at this time.
It is only the second day that, after so many years, I see the office in this new light, after so many years. With the clock gone back, everything is postponed: I no longer arrive at nine, but an hour earlier, so I can leave the office at 1:00 pm instead of 2:00 pm. I always work five hours, but I have the whole afternoon to do what I want. I don’t know why I didn’t think about it before: all it took was asking Teresa to change the timetable, and so it’s much handier.
I have got here early because there is no traffic at this time, so a cup of coffee, drunk in peace and quiet, can help me kill the twenty minutes left till the official start of my working day.
I sip the squeezed espresso and look out the windows, staring at the fog and the slow setting in of the sun. The landscape looks rather bleak to me.
Amedeo also made me nervous last night: he is increasingly jealous and pictures ridiculous stories in his mind, he accuses me of having flings and of betraying him, even just on a mental level. It will be the fault of work, indeed, of his non-work, but he is more and more unbearable.
We’ve been together for just over seven years now. The first few years went by quite smoothly and happily. We were in love and I always thought of him as my only serious relationship. There had obviously been other previous individuals, but nothing significant, just a few short-lived acquaintances, randomly scattered over my thirty-five years of life. Then, I began to long for a lasting relationship, I felt mature enough to handle it.
