Steal You Away (34 page)

Sexy? What a word … Sexy. But if you can sleep with three
hundred women in one summer … You must have something,
mustn’t you? What can it be? What has he got? What does he do?

(
Stop it, you idiot
.)

Suddenly she heard the
tick tack
of the indicator, the car slowed down and stopped on a Trough parking lot in front of a small house in the middle of the blackness. Above the door was a large sign. Bar and Restaurant.

‘Are we there?’

He looked at her. His eyes shone like mica. ‘Are you hungry?’

No. Not in the least. The very thought of eating made her feel sick. ‘No, to be honest, I’m not really.’

‘Nor am I. We could have a drink.’

‘I’m too tired to get out. You go, I’ll wait in the car.’

Never leave the magic box. The idea of entering that place, where there was light, noise, people, filled her with a terrible anxiety.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes.’ While he was in the bar she would have a nap. Then she would feel better.

‘Okay. I won’t be a minute.’ He opened the door and got out.

Flora watched his departing figure.

She liked the way he walked.

Graziano entered the bar, took out his mobile and tried to call Erica.

He got her voicemail.

He ended the call.

During the journey he’d begun to feel depressed, it must have been the effect of that bloody Spiderman. He hated synthetic drugs. He’d started thinking about Erica, their last night together, the blow-job, and his head had begun to spin around, tormenting him. He had felt a desperate longing to talk to her, it was utterly stupid, he knew, but he couldn’t help it, he so needed to talk to her.

To understand.

It would be enough if he could understand why she’d said she wanted to marry him, why the hell she’d said she wanted to marry him and then gone off with Mantovani. If she would give him a simple, rational explanation, he’d understand and accept it.

Only the damned voicemail.

And there was the woman in the car, too.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like her or didn’t find the situation exciting, it was just that with that slut in his head it all seemed more squalid and mundane.

And the truth was that he’d had to slip her a Spiderman to get her to come along.

And that wasn’t his style.

And it was pouring with rain.

And it was bitterly cold.

He ordered a whisky from the teenage barman who was watching television. The boy reluctantly got up from the table where he was sitting. The place was sad and empty and as cold as a refrigerator store.

‘I’ll take a whole bottle, please.’ Graziano took it and was about to pay, but then he had an afterthought. ‘Have you got any limoncino?’

The teenager, without saying a word, pulled up a chair, stood on it, scanned the row of drinks above the fridge and pulled out a long, tapering, phosphorescent yellow bottle, gave it a token wipe and handed it to him.

Graziano paid and opened it.

‘Enough of these thoughts!’ He went out, took a swig of limoncino and grimaced in disgust. ‘Ugh, it’s revolting!’

Yes, the bottle was going to come in useful.

The silver-haired koalas were cutting her toenails with their clippers. Only they weren’t very accurate with those big paws of theirs, so they were getting flustered. Flora, sitting on the couch, was trying to calm them. ‘Slow down, boys. Slow down or you’ll hurt … Be careful! Look what you’ve done!’ A koala had sliced off her little toe. Flora saw the red blood spurting out of the stump, but amazingly, it didn’t hur…

‘Flora! Flora! Wake up.’

She opened her eyes.

The world started lurching this way and that. Everything was swaying and Flora felt dizzy and the sound of the rain on the roof and it was cold and where was she?

She saw Graziano. He was sitting beside her.

‘I dozed off … Have you had your drink? Are we going home?’

‘Look what I’ve bought.’ Graziano showed her the bottle of limoncino, took a swig and passed it to her. ‘I got it specially for you. You said you liked it.’

Flora looked at the bottle. Ought she to drink? She was already in such a state!

‘Are you cold?’

‘A little.’ She was shivering.

‘Have a drink, then, it’ll warm you up.’

Flora took a swig.

How sweet it is. Too sweet
.

‘Feel better?’

‘Yes.’ The limoncino had spread over the walls of her stomach, restoring a bit of warmth to her body.

‘Just a minute.’ Graziano turned the heater full on, took his coat from the back seat and handed it to her.

Flora was about to say no, she didn’t need it, when he moved closer and began to tuck it round her like a blanket and she held her breath and he moved even closer and she retreated sideways and pressed against the door hoping it would open and he stretched out his hand and clasped the back of her head and she was being pulled forward and smelled that smell of limoncino, cigarettes, perfume, mint and closed her eyes and all at once …

Her lips were attached to Graziano’s.

Oh my goodness, he’s kissing me
…

He was kissing her. He was kissing her. He was kissing her. He was …

She opened her eyes. And he was there with his eyes closed, an inch away, that huge tanned face.

She tried to push him away. But it was no good, he was an octopus clinging to her mouth.

She breathed through her nose.

He’s kissing you! You’ve fallen for it
.

She closed her eyes. Graziano’s lips on hers. They were soft, incredibly soft, and that nice smell of limoncino and cigarettes and mint was now a taste in Graziano’s mouth and in hers. Graziano’s tongue was trying to enter her mouth so Flora opened it a little further, just enough to let that slippery thing enter and then she felt it touch her own and a shiver ran down her spine and it was nice, so nice, so she opened her mouth wide and the long tongue began to explore it and play with her own tongue. Flora took a deep breath and he pulled her violently towards him and she let him squeeze her, and her hands, without her telling them to, began to run through Graziano’s hair, to ruffle it.

This … This … This … is the thing … to do … This
is … how … to live … life … Kiss … ing … It’s the
easiest … thing … in the world. Because kiss … ing is
right … Because in life you … need to … kiss … And
I … like kissing … And … it’s not true … that it’s wrong …
to do it … It’s right … to do it because it’s … nice … It’s
the most … beautiful thing in the world … And … it’s right
to do it
.

Suddenly Flora was overwhelmed by it all, she felt her legs melt and her feet boil and her hands tingle and her breathing catch as if she had been punched in the stomach. She felt she was dying and gently flopped down, like a puppet, with her face on Graziano’s chest and in his smell.

Even a few kilometres short of the baths of Saturnia the atmosphere changes.

Any traveller who drove along that road and didn’t know that there were hot springs in the neighbourhood would find it, at the very least, disconcerting.

Suddenly the downward slope and the bends come to an end, the oak wood vanishes, the road levels out and as far as the eye can see there are green fields, as green as the green of Ireland with all its shades and variations – perhaps it is that beneficent warmth, the water and the mixture of chemical elements from the depths of the earth that make the grass so luxuriant. And if all this were not enough to surprise the inattentive traveller, the mist that rises from the irrigation ditches that run parallel to the road certainly ought to arouse his curiosity. Now and again these gases drift up from the ditches, forming frayed banks barely half a metre high which cross the carriageway and spread like a sea of cream over the fields, making them resemble clouds seen from above. In the whiteness you catch glimpses of a fruit tree, a fence, half a sheep. It is almost as if someone had passed this way with one of those machines for creating mist on film sets.

And if even that were not enough, there would still be the smell. The inattentive traveller would certainly notice that. He could hardly help it. ‘What’s that terrible stink?’ He would tighten his nostrils and look accusingly at his wife. ‘I told you not to have that leek soup, you can never digest it,’ but she would look at him equally accusingly and the inattentive traveller would say, ‘Hey, it wasn’t me.’ Then both would turn towards Zeus, the boxer dog
curled up on the back seat. ‘Zeus, you’re disgusting! What have you been eating?’ Had Zeus been able to speak he would certainly have defended himself and said it was nothing to do with him, but the Lord in his inscrutable wisdom has decreed that animals (except parrots and mynah birds, which repeat words without understanding their meaning) should not possess this faculty, so all poor Zeus could do would be to wag his tail, pleased with the unexpected attention that his owners were giving him.

But suddenly the mist at the side of the road would lift, thicken and invade the surrounding woods, as if the source of the mist were there, and among the gases they would glimpse the corner of an old stone farmhouse.

Then the wife might say: ‘There must be a fertiliser factory there, or maybe they’re burning something chemical.’ And they would still be in the dark. But when at last they came to the road sign which says in big letters,
WELCOME TO THE SPA OF SATURNIA
, they would finally understand and proceed more serenely on their journey.

At night the sulphurous fumes give the place an eerie atmosphere, and if in addition, as that night, the wind is whistling, the wolves howling, the rain beating down on the countryside and lightning is striking to right and left, you really feel as if you’ve reached the threshold of hell.

Graziano slowed down, switched off the stereo and turned onto the rough track that cuts through the woods and leads down towards the valley and the waterfall.

Flora was asleep, huddled up on her seat.

The track had turned into a quagmire full of puddles and stones. Graziano drove carefully. There’s nothing worse for the suspension and sump. He braked, but the car continued its slow, inexorable descent through the mud. The headlights made the mist shine like the gas of a neon. One more tricky bend, but beyond
it lay the car park and the waterfall. Graziano changed down and steered, but his car kept slithering straight on (
I don’t even want
to think about how we get out of here
) and finally came to a stop, right on the edge of the road.

He reversed a little way and found himself, without knowing how, with the bonnet pointing at the clearing.

The mist beyond was tinged with red, green and blue, and dark silhouettes could be seen moving in the haze.

It was as if a discotheque had taken root in the woods.

It’s full of people
.

He drove on down in first gear. The car park, which was on a slope, was full of vehicles parked untidily one next to the other.

Car horns. Music. Voices.

On one side there were two big tourist coaches.

What the hell’s happened? Is somebody having a party
?

Graziano, who hadn’t been here for a long time, didn’t know that the spa was always this crowded nowadays, like most of the places of any charm or interest in our beautiful peninsula.

He parked as best he could behind a coach with a Siena numberplate. He stripped down to his bathing trunks.

All that remained was to wake Flora.

He called her name without eliciting any response. She was dead to the world. He shook her and finally managed to get her to mumble a few words.

‘Flora, I’ve brought you to a nice place. It’s a surprise. Look,’ said Graziano, in the most enthusiastic tone that he could manage.

Flora struggled to raise her head, looked for a moment at that colourful glare and slumped back. ‘Lovely … Where … are we?’

‘At Saturnia. For a bathe.’

‘No … No … I’m cold.’

‘The water’s warm …’

‘I haven’t got a swimsuit. You go. I’ll stay in the car.’ She seized his hand, pulled him towards her, gave him a rather clumsy kiss and fell back again, senseless.

‘Come on, you’ll like it, you’ll see. You’ll feel better if you get out.’

No reaction.

Okay, if that’s the way it’s got to be
.

He switched on the overhead light and began to undress her. He took off her coat. Pulled off her shoes. It was like dealing with a child who is sleeping too soundly to be able to help when its mother puts on its pyjamas. He sat her up and, after a moment’s hesitation, slipped off her skirt and tights. Underneath she was wearing plain white cotton knickers.

Her legs were long and shapely. Really beautiful. Legs that would be perfect for high heels and suspenders.

Graziano was beginning to enjoy himself and his breathing grew fitful.

He took off her jumper. Underneath she had a pearl-coloured silk blouse buttoned right up to the collar.

Go on, then
…

He began to undo them one by one, starting from the bottom. Flora muttered something, seemingly annoyed, but then her head lolled over. Her stomach was flat, without a trace of flab, and as white as milk. By the time he reached her bosom, his pulse had quickened and he could hear the blood throbbing in his ears. He took a deep breath and undid the last button, opening her blouse.

He was amazed.

Her breasts were incredibly big, straining at the bra. Two round, enticing mozzarellas. For a moment he was tempted to pull them out to view them in all their splendour, to squeeze them, lick their nipples. But he forbade himself to do so. It was strange, but inside him, hidden away somewhere, was a moral man (with a peculiar morality of his own) who every now and then came up to the surface.

Finally, he loosened her hair, which, as he had guessed, was a red cascade.

He looked at her.

She sat there, in bra and knickers, asleep, looking incredibly beautiful.

Perhaps she’s even more beautiful than Erica
.