those new siblings,”
but then,
“They don’t think anything.”
Viberti asked (trying not to sound concerned),
“Does Michela mistreat her brother?”
“No, she’s gentle and protective, they play together, they get along very well, only sometimes she lets off steam and starts shouting, and won’t let him go into her room anymore,”
but then,
“She has a strange way of excluding him, even when she’s not angry with him, every now and then she won’t talk to him and I can hear him asking her the same question ten times,”
but then,
“She helps him do his homework, puts away his toys when she sees him lying on the bed reading, she’s actually very caring—she acts a bit like a mother but she won’t let me cuddle with him, she pesters me until I make him get off my lap,”
but then,
“I don’t think she’s forgiven me for bringing him into the world!”
Viberti asked (wondering if he was overstepping his bounds),
“How can they think that your husband wants to start a new family? Who could have told them that?”
“No one told them, it’s not true, I think it’s the last thing he wants,”
but then,
“No one suggested it to them, the fear of having to share him with other children is so strong they just think that, that’s all,”
but then,
“Their grandparents, his parents, may have told them that nonsense and then forgotten it a moment later,”
but then,
“If you think about it, though, that’s not the strangest thing, the strangest thing is that they’re not worried that I might want to start a new family, they take it for granted that I’ll always be with them, alone, don’t you see?”
“And is that true?” He blushes.
“It is, it is.” She stares into his eyes. “They think that because I let them know it, without having to tell them, for fear of losing them I made them understand.”
* * *
One day, during those weeks, and for the first time since he’d met her, Viberti reconstructed the chronology of Cecilia’s life, going back in time: she must have qualified at thirty, had Mattia when she was twenty-six, graduated at twenty-four, had Michela at twenty-three, married at twenty-two. Married at twenty-two. It seemed incredible to him, and even more incredible was the fact that he hadn’t thought about it before. He asked her to confirm his calculations, and she did, and started laughing. “You look shocked, what’s wrong?” Yes, he said, he was rather shocked. Where had she found the energy to do all those things at once? Cecilia smiled again, and didn’t answer.
* * *
To tell her about Marta, Viberti began with the nightly homecoming scene. For twenty years, ever since he’d moved to another apartment in the building where he was born and grew up, he’d dropped by his mother’s almost every night, at least to say hello, often remaining in the doorway, just to find out if everything was okay, to let her know that everything was okay. Even after his marriage he hadn’t changed that routine; in fact, Giulia often stayed to chat with Marta, and seemed happy in the company of the older woman, who encouraged her, advised her without pressuring her, was a friend to her. When their marriage ended, for Marta almost nothing changed; she received visits from both of them, brought them together by inviting them both to dinner at least once a week.
Years passed and Viberti still went home every night faced with the same dilemma: whether to stop by and see his mother or for once pretend he hadn’t thought of it. If he was very hungry and couldn’t wait to make himself something to eat, he’d hop into the elevator and press the button for the fifth floor, but then he would stop in front of his door and jingle the keys in his hand, making up his mind whether to go in or not. Especially in spring, when the afternoons seemed to go on forever, the light at seven o’clock took on a mellow, tender tone that wore him down, enveloped him,
but then,
“They don’t think anything.”
Viberti asked (trying not to sound concerned),
“Does Michela mistreat her brother?”
“No, she’s gentle and protective, they play together, they get along very well, only sometimes she lets off steam and starts shouting, and won’t let him go into her room anymore,”
but then,
“She has a strange way of excluding him, even when she’s not angry with him, every now and then she won’t talk to him and I can hear him asking her the same question ten times,”
but then,
“She helps him do his homework, puts away his toys when she sees him lying on the bed reading, she’s actually very caring—she acts a bit like a mother but she won’t let me cuddle with him, she pesters me until I make him get off my lap,”
but then,
“I don’t think she’s forgiven me for bringing him into the world!”
Viberti asked (wondering if he was overstepping his bounds),
“How can they think that your husband wants to start a new family? Who could have told them that?”
“No one told them, it’s not true, I think it’s the last thing he wants,”
but then,
“No one suggested it to them, the fear of having to share him with other children is so strong they just think that, that’s all,”
but then,
“Their grandparents, his parents, may have told them that nonsense and then forgotten it a moment later,”
but then,
“If you think about it, though, that’s not the strangest thing, the strangest thing is that they’re not worried that I might want to start a new family, they take it for granted that I’ll always be with them, alone, don’t you see?”
“And is that true?” He blushes.
“It is, it is.” She stares into his eyes. “They think that because I let them know it, without having to tell them, for fear of losing them I made them understand.”
* * *
One day, during those weeks, and for the first time since he’d met her, Viberti reconstructed the chronology of Cecilia’s life, going back in time: she must have qualified at thirty, had Mattia when she was twenty-six, graduated at twenty-four, had Michela at twenty-three, married at twenty-two. Married at twenty-two. It seemed incredible to him, and even more incredible was the fact that he hadn’t thought about it before. He asked her to confirm his calculations, and she did, and started laughing. “You look shocked, what’s wrong?” Yes, he said, he was rather shocked. Where had she found the energy to do all those things at once? Cecilia smiled again, and didn’t answer.
* * *
To tell her about Marta, Viberti began with the nightly homecoming scene. For twenty years, ever since he’d moved to another apartment in the building where he was born and grew up, he’d dropped by his mother’s almost every night, at least to say hello, often remaining in the doorway, just to find out if everything was okay, to let her know that everything was okay. Even after his marriage he hadn’t changed that routine; in fact, Giulia often stayed to chat with Marta, and seemed happy in the company of the older woman, who encouraged her, advised her without pressuring her, was a friend to her. When their marriage ended, for Marta almost nothing changed; she received visits from both of them, brought them together by inviting them both to dinner at least once a week.
Years passed and Viberti still went home every night faced with the same dilemma: whether to stop by and see his mother or for once pretend he hadn’t thought of it. If he was very hungry and couldn’t wait to make himself something to eat, he’d hop into the elevator and press the button for the fifth floor, but then he would stop in front of his door and jingle the keys in his hand, making up his mind whether to go in or not. Especially in spring, when the afternoons seemed to go on forever, the light at seven o’clock took on a mellow, tender tone that wore him down, enveloped him,
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