Dr. Modo, with the woman passed out in his arms, called loudly for help. In spite of her stoutness, her short legs, and her long skirts, Sister Luisa was—as always—the first to arrive.
“What’s happening, dotto’?
“Hurry, Sister Luisa. She’s badly hurt.”
In a flash the nun took it all in and took off at a run toward a hallway, while the doctor supported the unfortunate woman, careful not to hold her too tightly: she was clearly having difficulty breathing and was emitting hoarse gurgling noises.
Modo prayed to himself that there was no irreversible damage.
“Dotto’, there’s a new young woman. You have to believe me, she’s spectacular.”
“Donna Wanda, that’s what you always say. There’s a new young woman, she’s spectacular, and then every time it’s just the same old bowl of reheated soup. The truth is that there’s no one else like you.”
“No, no, Dotto’, this time it’s true. And after all, you’re far too gallant, but the truth is that I’ve gotten old. And this young woman here, trust me, is a worthy successor.”
“All right, let’s hear it, what’s she like?”
“Well, as far as pretty goes, she’s pretty, Dotto’. But she has something extra, I couldn’t tell you what. You know it, I’m ignorant. But she . . . she’s intelligent. The kind you like, in other words.”
“Oh, all right, let’s have a look at her. I have just half an hour before my shift starts. What’s her name?”
“That’s something special about her, too. She doesn’t want to use a stage name. Her real name is Lina, and that’s how she wants to be known.”
With the help of a male nurse and Sister Luisa, Dr. Modo laid the woman gently down on a stretcher.
The pain caused by this change in position brought her to with a start and a long, bloodcurling moan. The doctor was accustomed to suffering, and he saw it on a daily basis. Still, that doleful groan raised goose bumps on his arms. While the wheels of the gurney squeaked as they rolled her toward the emergency clinic, before the curious eyes of both patients and their family members, Modo mentally reviewed the urgent care procedures.
Lina, Lina, he thought to himself. What have they done to you?
“Tell me about yourself, you never tell me anything at all.”
“Dotto’, you know that I’d rather listen to you. You say such interesting things.”
“Interesting, seriously? The work I do is nothing but pain and suffering. That’s all I can tell you.”
“Well, as for that, my line of work isn’t all that different, believe me . . . You can’t imagine how much pain and misery I see in these men who come up to see me. In theory, they come here to have a good time. In fact, though, they come here to forget the anguish that they carry with them.”
“Really? And how do you know that?”
“There are times when they actually start crying. If their wives could see them the way I see them, they’d feel pity instead of hatred.”
“And why do you speak of hatred, Lina?”
“Because women hate men. And men hate women every bit as much. Don’t you know that?”
In the clinic, the doctor and Sister Luisa removed the clothing of the woman as she lay, partially conscious.
She presented numerous wounds and contusions. Bluish bruises were spreading and darkening almost everywhere on her body . . . The expert eye of the ex-military doctor, who’d done his training on the field of battle, had seen clearly, and his initial diagnosis found immediate and stark confirmation. The shoulder was dislocated, and the wrist was fractured: the ulna showed white through the flesh of the forearm. Then there was her cheekbone, her eyes, her lips, and her teeth.
Her face was unrecognizable. Swollen, shattered. Blood flowed from the badly cut eyebrow.
That face, once so lovely.
“Don’t talk nonsense, dotto’.”
“What nonsense do you mean? You’re very beautiful, and you know it.”
“If I was very beautiful, I could be an actress, and not in this profession.”
“Let’s leave aside the fact that a great many actresses also practice this very same profession, are you sure that you’re not acting every single day?”
“Oh, now you’re really trying to make me laugh. I understand what you’re talking about, dotto’. But the truth is that in here, in these rooms, acting doesn’t do any good, in fact, quite the opposite. The barrier has to fall.”
“What barrier, Lina?”
“The barrier that we all raise, every day, to keep from being recognized by other people.”
“And what is your barrier?”
“My face, dotto’. My barrier is my face.”
For sure she had at least four broken ribs. And the compound fracture of the ulna would have to be reduced through surgery. For her face there wasn’t much to be done, except to apply ice.
What worried him more than anything else was her cranium. At the back of the head there was an enormous bump, and Modo had felt a slight depression, detectable to the touch, above the left temporal lobe. All the same, if she really had arrived at the hospital under her own power, on her own two legs, as it had appeared—however incredible it seemed—at least it meant she was able to walk.
He was worried about her abdomen as well. For now, it appeared treatable and didn’t seem to be swollen from any powerful hemorrhaging, but there could be any number of complications, as was also true of the lungs. Her breathing was rough, with the occasional wheeze, and the blood that was filling her mouth might have a number of sources.
Who did this, my friend? Who did this to you?
“How long have we known each other, Lina?”
“Oh, dotto’, for a long time. Too long, perhaps. What are you going to do with an old woman like me?”
“You were just a girl and now you’re a young woman.”
“And you’ve always been the most captivating customer I have, Bruno. And that’s not all.”
“What else?”
“Well, you talk to me, we talk to each other. Do you think that’s a given? It is not. There are times that men don’t even say so much as buonasera.”
“Well, frankly, I’d come here just to talk, think of that. I like women, and you know that: but you, you’re special.”
“And what’s so special about me?”
“You’re intelligent, you’re sensitive, and you’re sweet. You take one look and you understand things.”
“It’s just that after all these years, we understand each other instantly, you and I.”
“I remember when Wanda told me that there was a new girl. It was you. I thought you were gorgeous, and I still think the same.”
“Here we go again with the beauty, huh, dotto’? Beauty is gone in a flash. And women like me never even get a chance to grow old.”
“Don’t be silly. Poor old Wanda was ancient when she died.”
“She seemed ancient, but she was actually younger than you. No, trust me, we don’t get a chance to grow old.”
“You will, I’m sure of it, you’ll grow old. And if you ever want to leave this place, you only need to ask.”
“Really, and who would take me? Come here, close to me. Talking about the future makes me sad. And now I feel like tickling you.”
The woman had lost consciousness once again. But her suffering must have been unspeakable, because every time he touched her, she emitted lengthy groans.
The doctor decided to sedate her and gave her an injection of morphine. Then he tried to clear his head, sweep his mind free of memories, and focus on what to do next.
The lacerations hadn’t been produced by a blade. These were not stab wounds. The margins of the wounds spoke clearly, and so did the ecchymoses: someone had beaten Lina with their bare hands. It was easy to make out the clear signs of punches and kicks. Whoever it was must have inflicted that punishment upon her for quite some time, even after she’d fallen to the ground. Perhaps she’d passed out: at least Bruno hoped she had. Maybe her attacker had believed her dead.
Still, even if she was in critical condition, she was still alive. Lina was a strong woman.
“It’s one thing to be sensitive, it’s quite another to be weak. You’re sensitive, but you’re not weak, Linarella.”
“What do you know about it, dotto’? Are you so good that you know how to judge a person by seeing her only once every fifteen days for half an hour? Everyone has the strength they need to survive. What about you, for example? Are you strong or are you weak?”
“If you do the work I do, you have to have a heart of stone. Otherwise, you can’t go on.”
“Well, I happen to think that you need a nice soft heart, full of blood, a heart that beats even for people you’ve never met. It’s the work that I do that demands a heart of stone.”
“Why is that?”
“Otherwise, the worst disaster that could possibly happen will befall you. You’ll fall in love.”
“And then what happens?”
“Do you ask me that because you’ve never been married, dotto’?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“I’ll tell you why: there are hearts that are just too big to let us live with just one person.”
After pulling tight the last stitch of her sutures, the doctor looked out the window and realized how much time had passed, given the dim light he saw outdoors.
Now Lina’s breathing was regular, even if she was still making that nasty wheezing sound. Her heartbeat was healthy, but he still couldn’t rule out the risk of internal bleeding. And he didn’t like that depression above her temple one bit.
Modo recoiled at the thought of what Lina must have gone through. He couldn’t dismiss from his mind the picture of her on the ground, in the shadows, with someone beating her ferociously. He was convinced there must have been at least two attackers, if not more.
But what had she been doing out and about? Women like her weren’t allowed out until sundown, they were even obliged to have other people purchase their personal linen for them, at the cost of a surcharge, because they were forbidden to be out on the streets while the shops were still open. Where had she been going? Or where had she gone?
Then he was stunned at the thought that she’d managed to drag herself all the way to the hospital. The pain must have been atrocious, but she’d thought about him.
He lightly touched her forehead to check for a fever. That swollen, unrecognizable face registered no reaction.
Modo didn’t even notice that his cheeks were bathed in tears.