—Where were you?
—At the home of a guy who lives across the street.
—You have a friend who lives right here? What luck.
—No, I just met him today. What about you, what brings you here?
—Nothing, I was in the area…
—…
—Okay, I came by because of that phone call earlier. I want to know why you asked me that stuff.
—About the CD?
—Yes, about the CD.
—I told you: it was just a whim, a curiosity.
—It was not a whim. Don’t try to bullshit me: I’m a sorceress, you know.
—You’re no sorceress, Marta…
—You called me for a specific reason having to do with that CD, and then to throw up a smoke screen you invited me and the children to dinner. If you don’t want to tell me, fine, but don’t deny that you phoned me for a specific reason.
—All right, I’m not denying it.
—So what’s the real reason?
—What if it doesn’t concern you?
—If it didn’t concern me, you wouldn’t have called.
—Listen, can we at least go in the shade? The heat is crushing me.
—Speaking of being crushed: don’t tell me it’s been here the whole time.
—It has. No one’s come by. You see? My business card is still on the windshield.
—But it’s almost new…let me see the license plate. 2004: it’s new.
—Yes. You can’t see now because of the reflection, but it’s only got 850 miles.
—Maybe it’s stolen.
—I used to think so, too, but not anymore.
—Tell me I’m right: it’s stolen.
—No, it’s not. Because it’s locked. See?
—Oh, yeah.
—A thief doesn’t lock a stolen car when he unloads it. And the car alarm is on, see the little light?
—Yes. How weird.
—It’s very weird. Hello!
—Hello!
—Who was that?
—Claudia’s English teacher. Come on, let’s go in the shade. I’m sweating like a pig.
—Well, of course you’re sweating, dressed like that.
—I always dress like this. It’s my uniform.
—No, today you’re dressed more elegantly than usual. Another thing you must have a reason for; but this time it’s definitely none of my business.
—As a matter of fact, you’re right. There, much better.
—Wait a second, let me see…
—What?
—You’ve got a bloodstain on your shirt. Two, three.
—…
—Four. What did you do?
—Oh…it’s not blood. It’s tomato sauce.
—Tomato? From where?
—Up there, at that man’s house.
—You were…having lunch?
—No, we were done.
—Wait. Come here. I’m not going to bite.
—What are you doing?
—I’m removing the stains. Stand still. And who is this guy that invites you to lunch here, of all places?
—He’s just a nice guy. He made some great spaghetti. But tomorrow he’s moving. Are you sure this isn’t just making it worse?
—You’re right. I’ve made it worse.
—Look…
—Sorry. I got a zero in domestic skills.
—Exactly: I didn’t ask you to—
—Look at the mess I’ve made. And now? Wait, I’ve got some mineral water in my bag…
—Come on, don’t insist. It’s okay like this.
—Listen, I can’t possibly make it worse. Is that your phone?
—Yes.
—…
—It’s Carlo. Sorry, I have to take this.
—Go ahead and answer. In the meantime I’ll try to fix this.
—Look, it’s not a problem. All I have to do is keep my jacket buttoned.
—Let me do it. Go on, answer.
—Hello?
—Hey, bro.
—Hi, you’re home already?
—Yes. Do you know how hot it is in Rome?
—No.
—Ninety-three. You can’t breathe.
—Well, it’s pretty bad here, too.
—Listen, I forgot to tell you something fantastic that Claudia told me last night.
—There, the spots are almost gone.
—Really? Good.
—Good what?
—Oh, sorry, I was speaking to Marta.
—It took a lot of water.
—Is Marta there? Tell her I said hi.
—Carlo says hi.
—Hi, Carlo!
—She says hi, too.
—Yes, I heard her. How is she?
—She’s fine. Just a second: I think that should do it, you know. You’re getting me all wet…
—Don’t worry, with this heat it’ll dry right away.
—Yes, but that’s enough for now; then we’ll see. Sorry, Carlo, you were saying?
—I was saying that last night Claudia told me something fantastic.
—Yes? And what did she tell you?
—We were at the Chinese restaurant because the Japanese place was closed, and I suggested she get the Peking duck, the crunchy one, which they’ll cook for a minimum of two people. And do you know what she told me?
—No, what did she tell you?
—She told me that she doesn’t eat meat from Looney Tunes.
—She doesn’t eat meat from what?
—From Looney Tunes. The cartoons: Daffy Duck, Bugs Bunny, Wile E. Coyote…
—Really?
—You didn’t know, did you? She told me it’s a secret.
—I knew she didn’t eat rabbit, but the truth is I never asked her why.
—Well now you know that your daughter doesn’t eat rabbit or duck or coyote or canary because of Looney Tunes: so she won’t eat their meat. Isn’t that fantastic?
—Nice, yeah.
—I wanted to tell you, even if she asked me to keep it a secret.
—You were right to tell me. It’s such a beautiful thought.
—She’s amazing, that little girl, truly amazing. Spend half an hour with her, and you want to be just like her.
—Yeah.
—And you’re a great father, Pietro.
—Come on.
—Yesterday I was wrong. You’re doing the right thing. Hang in there, and if you need to call me, it doesn’t matter where I am, I’ll get on a plane and I’ll be there.
—Thanks, Carlo, but you saw for yourself: we’re getting by just fine.
—Yeah. You’re strong. I only meant in case of an emergency.
—Let’s hope that doesn’t happen.
—Of course not. At any rate I’ll be back soon all the same. I want to spend more time with you.
—Whenever you want. We’re here.
—That’d be nice. You’ll be my guests. In Cortina, why the fuck not? No, better, Saint Moritz.
—Right. Saint Moritz is better.
—Okay. Bye, Pietro. Talk to you soon.
—Later.
—…
—…
—There’s a little bit of a circle, compared to earlier…
—You did a great job, Marta. Thanks.
—…
—…
—What is it?
—Nothing. That phone call was weird, too.
—Why?
—He had a specific reason for calling, and he talked about something else.
—Did you understand what the reason was?
—Maybe.
—And now do you want to tell me what your reason was? Why did you ask me those questions?
—Now you’re pushing it, but I swear it’s not…Oh, all right. Fuck it, I’ve got nothing to be ashamed of.
—It’s about Lara, isn’t it?
—Of course. About Lara and that CD. Because you see, I’ve been listening to it ever since I started waiting here in front of the school, and at a certain point it seemed…
—…
—…
—It seemed what?
—Well, considering that I’d never heard Radiohead, and of course it seemed weird to find that CD inside my stereo. I immediately thought that Lara must have put it in there, at the seaside, when she used my car because she had lost the license plate of hers, or they stole it, do you remember? You were still there, weren’t you? Or had you already left?
—I remember.
—Come to think of it, I’m going to have to deal with it sooner or later, because the car is still there, without a license plate, and a report has to be made to the DMV, and it’s going to be a mess because the car is in her name…Well, to get to the point, I found the CD inside my car stereo, and I thought Lara had left it there. And I didn’t remove it, you see? I left it in, so every time I started the car it would play, and I listened to it, maybe absentmindedly, but I listened to it. When I was here, I mean: because at first, to be honest, I didn’t notice, not when we came back to Milan behind the hearse, not in the early days, in all that madness, even if the CD was obviously already there. No, it was here, early in the morning when I was coming here, and then before I knew it I was spending my days here: it was here that I noticed the CD. And I listened to it.
—Do you like it?
—Yes, it’s really beautiful. But the fact of the matter is that after a certain point I started understanding the words, too; never a whole song, don’t get me wrong: isolated words, scattered phrases, but without trying. I know English pretty well, but usually, if you ask me what a song is saying, by ear, without even looking at a singer’s lip movements, I don’t understand a thing. Plus, this singer slurs his words, even if you try you can’t tell what he’s saying. Yet every now and then, I could understand certain verses easily. Again, right then and there I didn’t notice: I understood them, end of story, maybe they struck me because they were nice, I didn’t give it a second thought. But after a while I couldn’t help but notice that every time I understood something it was always related to what I was doing at that moment. I don’t know, like idiot, slow down when I was driving too fast, or—
—“The Tourist”…
—What?
—I said that idiot, slow down is a line from “The Tourist.” The song. The title of the song.
—Oh. At any rate it happened a few times, and to tell you the truth, it’s still happening: I do something, and at that very moment the song speaks to me about the same thing. Sometimes the verses that I pick up are so pertinent they sound like commentary, do you see? Commentary or advice on what I’m doing. And then there’s that verse written on the cover, the one by Michelangelo. How does it go?
—Per appressarm’al ciel dond’io derivo—to get closer to heaven from whence I come.
—Exactly.
—And so?
—And so, but like this, by suggestion, at a certain point I started thinking that…that they might not be just coincidences.
—Meaning?
—Since Lara is dead, I mean. As if…
—As if?
—Come on, it’s obvious what I mean, isn’t it? As if Lara…
—As if Lara were speaking to you through those songs? Is that what you thought?
—I didn’t really think it. But a doubt did cross my mind.
—What doubt?
—The doubt that in the endless number of phenomena we tend to consider impossible, rationally speaking, there may be some that are not, which might include some unfathomable form of communication we could call out-of-body, between the living and the dead.
—Through Radiohead?
—Come on, reason isn’t everything.
—You are wondering whether Lara is continuing to speak to you from the other side through Radiohead songs?
—Listen, you wanted to know why I asked you those questions, and now I’m telling you. Don’t go getting cynical on me, you of all people, who believe in everything. What does it matter through what medium? I don’t have that doubt now anyway, so…
—Why not?
—Because she didn’t make the CD, that’s why not.
—And what does that have to do with anything?
—What do you mean what does it have to do with anything? If Lara had made the CD, and had left it for me in the stereo when she died, on top of everything else writing that line about appressarmi’al ciel on the cover, I could have even come to think, however absurd it might sound, that it had some connection with what happens to me when I listen to it. But you made the CD, so…
—So what?
—So there’s no connection, and the whole story makes no sense.
—But she was the one who left you the CD, Pietro. In your car.
—She didn’t leave it for me. She put it in when she took the car, seeing as she couldn’t use her own.
—So what? What was she supposed to do, put it in her will?
—She was listening to it. It was something between you and her, if anything: you who made it and she who listened to it. I don’t fit in.
—You don’t fit in? You fit in so perfectly that you’ve been listening to it for a month and a half.
—Listen, let’s change the subject. Enough already.
—Come on, help me to understand: you develop the sensation that your dead wife can communicate with you through Radiohead songs (a sensation that, by the way, casts a definitive light on their music: that’s coming from someone who knows them by heart and was never able to understand where their mysterious energy came from), and then, right when we get to the good part, when this sensation is about to make you one of the chosen, of the elect, you take it all back? All because the computer that made that CD didn’t belong to Lara but to me? Don’t you realize what you’re saying? You’ve managed to discover something really important, now all you have to do is believe in it, all you have to do is believe in what you yourself realized, and what do you do instead? Look for an excuse and retreat?
—Fuck me for telling you.
—You just finished saying that reason isn’t everything. So what does it matter how many moments can’t be explained rationally? Doesn’t the suspicion ever cross your mind that there are some things you can’t explain simply because you don’t know them?
—But what things? What am I supposed to know?
—Okay, be that way. Let’s start with the license plates, since you’re the one who brought them up.
—What do the license plates have to do with anything?
—They have everything to do with it. Lara didn’t lose them, and they weren’t stolen. I removed them.
—You did what?
—I removed them. I had to, since she couldn’t make up her mind to do it. The night before leaving I unscrewed them and threw them in the creek near your house.
—You threw the license plates in the Tonfone?
—Yes.
—Are you nuts? Why?
—To help her get rid of her obsession.
—What obsession?
—Lara never told you she was obsessed by the license plates, did she?
—What are you talking about?
—I’m saying that Lara was obsessed, anguished, terrified by the license plates of her car. So badly that toward the end she couldn’t even sleep. But she never found the courage to get rid of them. It’s as if she were imprisoned by those license plates.
—I can’t believe it. You threw the license plates in the Tonfone…
—Do you at least remember the number of her license plate?
—No, I don’t remember. Why should I?
—It was your wife’s license plate, after all.
—Exactly. I can’t remember my own, never mind hers.
—YA666AL. That was her license plate.
—Meaning?
—You know what the triple six means, don’t you?
—Of course I know. You don’t expect me to believe that—
—And you also know that Satanic messages are always written backward, right?
—Satanic messages? What are you talking about?
—I’m talking about reading her license plate backward. Give it a try…
—I told you that I don’t remember.
—YA666AL. Read it backward.
—LA666AY. And so?
—Decipher it.
—Decipher what, Marta?
—But you have to pretend you’re Lara. Pretend that your name is Lara and try to decipher her license plate read backward: LA666AY.
—Listen, Lara wasn’t obsess—
—LARA THE ANTICHRIST AWAITS YOU.
—…
—…
—You’re joking, right?
—You don’t believe it?
—Come on, tell me you’re joking.
—The fact that you don’t believe it doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist, you know.
—Come on, tell me you didn’t remove the license plates and you didn’t throw them in the Tonfone.
—I’m sorry, but I did.
—Okay, you did, but as a joke. Nothing wrong with that, after all, how could you know that Lara was going to die: you just wanted to make me spend a nice afternoon combing through that garbage heap to find them. Admit it.
—You’re fucked up, Pietro, do you realize that?
—Oh, so I’m the one’s who’s fucked up?
—Yes, you are. Two hours ago you were on the verge of believing that Lara was speaking to you through Radiohead songs: if she had been the one who burned the CD, or rather, if I had told you she was the one who burned it, then you would have believed it, and now you’re making jokes about an even more obvious sign. How does it work, explain this to me: Radiohead yes and Satan no?
—Satan no and Radiohead no, that’s how it works. And I was an idiot to tell you about—
—Obvious and dangerous! Apart from what it means, because I’ll grant you that if someone doesn’t believe, like you, hah, they can pretend nothing’s wrong; but the danger she was facing, you don’t consider it a danger? There are people who do a lot of terrible things because of the triple six, just read the papers: you have to admit it’s no party to run around with that number branded on your rear bumper, an invitation that any fucking Satanist would accept instantly, maybe he’ll follow you, carjack you, and take you to one of their covens…
—Covens? What are you talking about?
—Black masses. Astral guinea pigs. Human sacrifice. That’s what I’m talking about. It could have happened any time with a license plate like that, don’t you get it? “Excuse me, I couldn’t help but notice your license plate…” and who knows where it would lead. Did you ever wonder how they begin, certain happenings?
—No, you really are nuts. Now you’re going to start tearing your clothes off again and I’ll have to cover you with my jacket.
—…
—…
—…
—I’m sorry, Marta…
—You’re a fucking asshole.
—I apologize, I really do. I didn’t mean to offend you.
—Leave me alone.
—Come on, I’m sorry. I was just kidding, I didn’t mean…
—The only thing I have to say to you is this, Pietro: if you had the slightest idea of what it means to have to fight every day against certain forces, if you could only imagine what it means to have a night filled with demons, spirits, and suffering souls that persecute you, you wouldn’t think it was so funny.
—I said I’m sorry, okay? Please forgive me.
—That’s the problem right there: you don’t realize. Even with Lara, you didn’t realize…
—Marta, listen to me. I love you, a whole lot. You’re about to—let me get a word in edgewise, please: you’re about to have another child by another man who won’t take care of you for even one minute, just like the other two. And now that Lara is dead, you feel alone. So remember what I’m going to tell you: you are not alone as long as I’m around. You can count on me, always. I’m not joking, listen to me: you can even call me in the dead of night if you wake up afraid of Satanists, vampires, or zombies: I’ll protect you. I won’t act like an asshole anymore. And whenever you feel lost, weak, unattractive, alone and desperate, all you have to do is call me; I’ll come, and I’ll tell you how whenever a man sees you, whenever one meets you, he falls in love with you instantly, zap, like lightning; I’ll show you that famous picture in front of Krizia and then take you to the mirror and force you to see that you’re still as beautiful today as you were then, amazingly beautiful, I’d even say, because it’s as if time had stood still for you. And if your washing machine, your car, your computer, or your cell phone breaks, and you feel like dying at the very idea of wasting energy to fix them, don’t worry: call me, and I’ll take care of it. I’ll take care of you whenever you need me to, every day of the year, every year that comes, until you’ve met a fantastic man who will love you deeply for the rest of your life, and then he’ll do it much better than me. I’ll do all of this, Marta, I swear, I’ll be proud to; but please, I beg you, can you please stop talking about Lara and me? Do you get it? Never again.
—…
—…
—…
—Come on, stop crying.
—But how can you not feel guilty?
—Guilty of what?
—You never said anything like that to Lara.
—Maybe I didn’t say it, but I did it. I did it every day.
—No, Pietro, you didn’t.
—I took care of Lara.
—Not enough, you didn’t.
—Please, Marta, let’s not start up again.
—Her life was filled with evil…
—Can we please stop talking about this…
—Filled with evil…
—Can we please stop talking about this…
—Like mine…