Rage (4 page)

"What kind of a cowardly motherfucking Black Jew?...
Those Bolivians are all the same..."

"He doesn't seem like a Bolivian to me. Tall, for a start."

"Chilean?"

"Maybe Peruvian..."

"Peruvians are also motherfucking Black Jews - and
dwarfs to boot. But this one's a Chilean. If he's not a
Bolivian, definitely a Chilean. What's more I'm gonna
get him. I'm gonna force that motherfucking Black Jew
Chilean to swallow the Malvinas whole!"

As he said this he crossed himself, loudly kissing his
thumb at the end. No sooner done than he began
chewing his thumbnail.

He couldn't believe it. Nor could the doorman. The
pair of them were equally astonished: they'd never seen
anything like it. He was the world champion of cowardice.
Between Maria's cowardice and his speed, neither Israel
nor the doorman could tell which surprised them most.

At that moment, Maria reappeared. First Israel spotted
him, rounding the corner and heading towards them.
This time he came accompanied by Rosa.

"Is that him coming this way again, or is there something the matter with my eyesight?" enquired Israel.

"Yup - it's that motherfucking coward!" exclaimed
the doorman. "Mind you it takes balls to come back this
way... even more so with that girl on his arm!"

"Move back."

"Let's leave it for tomorrow, Israel... the girl's bound to
start screaming and attracting attention... I'll risk losing
my job over the fuss..."

"Nobody's going to put you out of a job. My old man's
president of the Owners' Association. Step back and I'll
take over..."

"Does it bug you if I go inside?"

Israel wasn't answering. He had his eyes fixed on
Maria, now barely twenty yards away. The doorman hesitated an instant (he wanted to stay, he wanted to watch
him destroy the guy), but in the end he opted to protect
his job, and went inside the building.

Israel stopped in the middle of the pavement.

Rosa realized something was up and became anxious.
She said nothing, but Maria felt her clutch his arm more
tightly.

"Calm down," he said. "It's some idiot with nothing
better to do. Carry on walking as if nothing's up."

Israel planted himself in their path.

"Ohh..." murmured Rosa, as if sighing. She was more
bemused than frightened.

Israel addressed her first: "You're the maid at the
Blinder household, aren't you?"

Rosa nodded.

Israel swivelled his gaze towards Maria in order to
address him next, when he felt a sudden blow smashing
his nose up between his eyes. He backed off, lifting a
hand to his face. When his hand fell back it was dripping
blood. Maria leaped forwards and unleashed a headbutt to his forehead, along with a follow-up punch,
this time to the stomach. Israel let out a groan, his legs
buckled beneath him, and he wove from side to side,
finally managing to reach out an arm and prop himself
up against a wall. Maria and Rosa carried on walking.

"Let's go, darling."

Israel collapsed into a sitting position on the threshold
of the building. He left the bloody imprint of his hand
on the wall behind him.

The doorman, who had witnessed everything, emerged
from the building, his eyes round with wonder.

"Police!... Police!..." he started shouting.

But Israel, using the last vestiges of energy remaining
to him, yanked at his leg and said, his vanity still intact:

"Don't wake sleeping dogs, you idiot, can't you see
what state I'm in? Help me inside..."

The doorman took him by the arm, supporting him
until Israel managed to scramble to his feet, then
brought him into his office, closing the door.

Over the following days, every time Rosa left the
mansion to go to the Disco supermarket, she crossed to
the pavement opposite and avoided passing in front of
the building, for fear of coming face to face with Israel.
Not that she actually saw him again, but she was obliged
to pass the doorman more than once, and he followed
her with his gaze, as if to say "I'm going to get you". She
told Maria about this.

"Don't let it worry you. It's nothing to do with you, it's
all my problem."

Always, whether coming or going from the Disco
Supermarket, Rosa made a short detour by the construction site, just to catch sight of Maria for a minute:
there she could hear the racket of the machines,
the blows of the pile-driver, the scraping of spades
in buckets, everything slowing down, as if the film of
reality was slipping in its reel. Rosa wasn't pretty, but
she shone with the glow of a million good intentions,
a light which set off her physical virtues. Her love for
Maria was so obvious that, on leaving his workplace, the
machines, hammers and spades reverted to their usual
rhythm with excessive application, as if in a rage. Just
for an instant, the noise was deafening.

At the end of winter, Senor and Senora Blinder went
on holiday to Costa Rica. Rosa remained alone in the
house. The Blinders' departure signalled the (provisional) end of the absolute control of finances over sexual activity: from then on Rosa admitted Maria into
the kitchen to make love. Now they could make love
on a daily basis, not only on Saturday. So they made
love twice a day, morning and evening. In addition,
Rosa could make him a meal, which Maria would call
in to collect from the house early in the morning: most
often an escalope with potatoes - fried potatoes, roast
potatoes, mashed potatoes. They ate a lot of escalopes
and potatoes. That afternoon, she was waiting for
him with two escalopes and a bottle of wine. They ate
together, and Maria left the house as night was falling.

There was an absolute ban on bringing outsiders
into the house. Rosa knew the rule, of course (before
leaving, the Blinders had reminded her twice over, each
time with a fixed stare), but she was so utterly besotted
with Maria that admitting him into her kitchen was the
lesser evil. In any case, she was cautious: she mounted
a real smokescreen in front of the neighbours; at times
she'd dally in conversation with Maria at the grille by
the tradesman's entrance for a long while before letting
him into the house as soon as she was entirely confident
that no one was watching; sometimes she went outside
to greet him with a rake in her hand, as though Maria
were the gardener... As soon as he was inside, they ate,
made love (only in the kitchen) and watched television
on a miniature set which Rosa brought down from her
bedroom and put on the dining table.

The first time Maria came into the house he was
surprised by its size.

"All this is the kitchen?" he enquired. "It's bigger than
my house!"

The second time he came indoors, he tried to poke his
nose in upstairs, but Rosa prevented him with a daft plea
("Don't compromise my position!" she begged) and he didn't insist. He let three or four days go by. Then Rosa
gave in and took him upstairs to her bedroom.

He followed her down a dimly lit corridor to a small
and poorly ventilated bedroom with an unmade bed
and a lamp without a shade on the bedside table. Maria
was astonished: he couldn't believe that anywhere
inside the villa could be so narrow and dark. While they
were making love, Rosa explained to him, in terms that
would get the discussion over with once and for all, that
this was the service wing, which even she didn't know
from end to end; the rest of the villa was quite different.
Then she asked him to hang on a minute, and went to
the bathroom. When she came out, Maria was no longer
in her room. Rosa went into the corridor, calling him in
a low voice, as if she were afraid the Blinders could hear
her.

She continued on to the end of the passageway. Then
she retraced her steps and ran to the kitchen. Maria
wasn't there either. Rosa became alarmed, agitated, as if
what happened later had already taken place. It seemed
she was running from one end of the house to the other
in a desperate search for him, until she reached the
corridor that led to the living room - a spacious lounge,
with all its windows tightly shut - where she at last could
hear Maria calling her. Yes, it was definitely him calling
her.

"Rosa..."

"Yes, it's me. Where are you?"

"Rosa?" asked Maria, whispering from somewhere
unseen.

"Here I am, Maria! Come out, please, don't play
games!"

"Where are you, Rosa?"

"Here! And you?"

Rosa heard the sound of something suddenly falling
and breaking.

"Where are you, Maria?"

"I don't know, Rosa. I'm lost... I can hear but I can't
see you..."

She found him in the library. Rosa switched on the
light. Maria was standing stock-still at the desk, one
hand resting on the back of Senor Blinder's favourite
chair. In the darkness, he had knocked over a standing
lamp; the light had fallen onto a settle and the light
bulb and its glass shade had shattered. The carpet was
covered in shards of glass, as if the lamp had multiplied
itself in the fall.

Rosa skewered him with a look. Then, as though
afraid to let him go anywhere alone again, even to the
kitchen to find a dustpan and brush, she grabbed an
art-exhibition catalogue from on top of the desk and
used it to sweep up the glass fragments.

"I went to take a quick look around and things got
complicated..." Maria confessed. "I came down the
staircase, took a turning down a passage and then...
Well, you know how this whole house is a labyrinth."

"I told you to stay in the room."

"Don't get cross," said Maria, lifting the lamp stand
up off the floor. "I didn't put a light on because... Just
imagine if someone were to see you..."

"And who would that be, if there's nobody else in the
house?"

Rosa said nothing more. She rose and, closely followed
by Maria, went to the kitchen to throw the broken glass
into the rubbish. It was a real shame: they'd frittered
away their time and now it was getting late, and Rosa
was in a bad mood. Senora Blinder would reproach
her for having broken the glass lampshade - she might even deduct the cost from her wages. Maria collapsed
into apologies and excuses, each time extending a hand
towards Rosa's cheek, but she kept on brushing it away
like a fly. Finally, Maria removed a piece of the glass
from the rubbish bin and assured Rosa that the next day
he would buy her another identical shade. Rosa clicked
her tongue and opened the kitchen door to accompany
him out to the pavement. Maria jammed the door with
his foot and Rosa permitted him to kiss her goodnight.
Then she went to the tradesman's entrance giving onto
the street. She looked to left and right and, when she
was certain there was no one else around, signalled to
Maria to come out. Once at the grille, he kissed her
again.

"I'll come by tomorrow..." He said. "And again, please
forgive me. Bye, beautiful."

"Hi, beautiful," was the first thing he had said to her
the next day. It was so cold that when Rosa embraced
him, he could feel the cool of her hands through his
jumper. He didn't have the lampshade with him.

"I was just listening to the radio and heard that there
was an impressive tornado over Costa Rica," she said,
"only I'm not certain whether they said Costa Rica or
Puerto Rico..."

"There are loads of tornadoes in the United
States..."

"But they didn't say a thing about the United States,
they only mentioned Costa Rica or Puerto Rico, I can't
remember which. Apparently the roofs of the houses
blew away. And they said the boats broke their moorings
and scooted about in the air like flying ducks..."

"What if one of those yachts landed on your head?
Can you imagine that?"

"I don't want to imagine it... How cold it's got!"

"Freezing. Though I don't feel it myself."

"I prepared this for you," said Rosa, holding out the
plastic box she gave him each morning. "You have
two chicken legs, and I also included some mashed
potato..."

"Thank you, darling. Well, I'd better be off now, it's
already gone eight o'clock..."

"Did you get home all right last night?"

"Perfectly. How was your night?"

"I fell asleep immediately."

"Didn't you watch the TV?"

"Yes, but there wasn't anything on. I switched it off
and I'd no sooner put my head on the pillow than I
was asleep. Oh - and I added some red pepper to your
lunchbox, to spice up your potatoes."

"You always make them so tasty..."

"Time to be on your way, you don't want to be getting
there late."

"I'll see you after work."

Maria gave her a kiss, winked and set off on his walk
to work.

Up until this point, everything had followed its normal path. But the problems started as soon as Maria got
to work. He bumped into Israel and the doorman, on
their way back from talking to his foreman. Israel and
the doorman passed by without looking at him, then
carried on walking, hastening their pace.

"Maria," the foreman called out, "come over here a
second, I need to speak to you."

The foreman walked away from his workers in order
to speak to Maria alone. He leaned one foot on the
floor and a thigh against the edge of some scaffolding.
Maria was standing beside him, but the foreman took
his time in withdrawing a packet of cigarettes from his shirt pocket, raising one to his lips, then patting down
his trouser and anorak pockets in search of matches,
before finally asking:

"Do you have a light?"

"I don't smoke."

"Ricciardi!" he called out.

Ricciardi pushed his way past them carrying a sack of
cement.

"Ricciardi, give me a light."

Ricciardi approached them, still with the sack of cement on his shoulder. Using sign language, he indicated
he had a box of matches in his back trouser pocket. The
sack was so heavy he didn't have the necessary strength
left even to open his mouth.