It wasn’t as steep as he recollected, and yet he stopped midway by one of the chimneys because he knew he wasn’t invincible any more.
You OK, Signor Temper? Massimo calling out from the terrace behind him.
Ulysses nodded.
Then don’t let one of the greatest adventures of my life end here. Please come back in. Now.
They gathered in the hallway as the sun dipped west and the last of the shadows cut across the floor. Ulysses held out his hand and thanked Massimo for everything. My pleasure, said Massimo. But we still have business to conclude before we say our goodbyes. We still have to go downstairs.
Downstairs?
Yes. The floor below, Signor Temper. Didn’t you know? That’s yours too.
It was late and kid was asleep, and Cress and Ulysses sat at the kitchen table in the silence Massimo’s departure had left. The two men were worn out by wealth.
If this is what rich people feel, said Cress, no wonder they’re miserable.
The apartment below had been of a similar layout but with simpler décor than the top floor. It had been rented out up until a year ago and Massimo had said he would help Ulysses, should he decide to do the same. Or to sell it. I don’t know what I need to do, Ulysses had said, and Massimo had laughed and slapped him on the shoulder. Call me, he’d said. The sound of his footsteps departing on the stairs.
Ulysses lit a cigarette and handed it to Cress.
We are such stuff as dreams are made on, said Claude.
They turned towards the parrot.
Where does he get it from? said Ulysses.
Cress shrugged. Search me.
They smoked. They listened to the run of water through the pipes, the susurration of the refrigerator. Ulysses went to check on the kid and when he came back he said, What we gonna do, Cress?
Now? Or in a month? Or—？
Now.
Cress thought for a moment. Observe and learn, I reckon. But first, you open the wine and I’ll get the cheese and sausage I kept back for emergency.
Ulysses got up and looked for a bottle opener.
Cress said, We’re embarking on a world of new language and new systems. A world of stares and misunderstandings and humiliations and we’ll feel every single one of them, boy. But we mustn’t let our inability to know what’s what diminish us. Because it’ll try. We have to remain curious and open. Two words for you: ley lines.
Ley lines?
Straight lines of electromagnetic energy criss-crossing the earth at special sites, drawing men and women – and ideas – to their mysterious pulse. We were drawn here, Temps. No two ways about it. As many have been before. That Baedeker book? You know what it said?
Go on.
That ‘even those whose usual avocations are of the most prosaic nature unconsciously become admirers of poetry and art in Italy’。 Would that be so bad? To become an admirer of poetry and art? Until we figure it all out.
It wouldn’t, Cress.
To be infused with all the city has to offer and has offered over the centuries? Our purpose revealing itself like the slow unfolding of an iris flower.
Ulysses grinned. It’s started already, Cress.
What has?
The poetry.
Cress blushed and stood up. I’ll get the cheese, he said.
The following morning, the square was abuzz. You seen who’s back? they all said as they entered Michele’s café. Clara the baker had told the butcher who had told the priest during confession. Gloria Cardinale who sold haberdashery was lighting a candle in the church and had overheard the butcher tell the priest. She couldn’t wait to tell her neighbour the tripe seller who told Signor Malfatti who sold cheese. And of course, Signor Malfatti couldn’t wait to tell me, said the elderly contessa, who was having a very public spat with the man over the contested weight of a single ball of ricotta.
So? she said, leaning over Michele’s counter, drinking her first espresso of the day. A kid and no wife?
And what do you want me to do about that? said Michele.
Just saying, said the contessa, spooning out the last dregs of her coffee. And a parrot, she added. And those shorts.
The parrot was wearing shorts? said Giulia, Michele’s wife.
The contessa scowled at her.
Signora Mimmi came in and before she could say anything, Giulia said, We know, signora – he’s back!
He looks less boyish, no? said Signora Mimmi. A little more drawn here, and she ran her hand down her cheeks. But he still has his dimples. And is that his father with him? His father has a certain— The priest rushed in. You seen who’s back?
Madonna mia, said Michele quietly, knocking back his fourth espresso of the morning.