AS SOON AS I GOT BACK to the hotel, I told Rossa right away about all that had happened and then I called the lawyer, who asked me in brusque and suspicious tones to send her a letter with a clear explanation of my proposal.
Later on we went for a stroll in Hyde Park and at a certain point Rossa asked me to take her to see Sax’s house. We passed in front of it in a taxi, then I pointed out Tony’s to her. Without a second’s hesitation Rossa told the taxi driver to stop:
“Let’s go and have lunch there, I bet you we’ll meet him.”
Sax was sitting at a corner table, drinking tea and eating dry biscuits as he chatted with a young, pregnant woman. Feeling euphoric, we sat down at a table almost in front of them. Rossa looked at him and he looked back. Sax had piercing blue eyes and unkempt, short grey hair. He was wearing an ivory-coloured pullover of an unusual shape, too short and too wide, and around his neck he had knotted a small foulard. I didn’t have the courage to get up and go to speak to him. I was intimidated by his presence and wondered, after what had happened a few hours before at his own front door, if he had recognised me. In the meantime he and the young pregnant woman had stood up and were saying goodbye, exchanging a friendly kiss. She wasn’t a lover, perhaps she was one of his daughters.
Rossa was shaken, she told me that Sax was a seductive man with a disturbing gaze.
My daughter Sole, who lives in London, had met him some years before during a weekend in the country and had found him disagreeable, garrulous and petulant. She remembered him as a short man, elegant, a heavy smoker. When Rossa and I told her about our encounter, she gave an ironic smile. I asked her to meet us at eight the next morning for coffee at Tony’s. If Sax were to show up, maybe she could introduce me.
I waited for Sole for ten minutes or so, then she came in wearing a dark jacket and a black woollen beret.
She is twenty-five, very pretty, with dark, very expressive eyes. You can tell her state of mind immediately from the look in her eyes.
We went down to the tearoom and ordered coffee. As we waited for Sax we talked about ourselves. She began by saying:
“I know I’m difficult. I like only handsome, weak men. Older men are attracted to me, while I am attracted to younger men. But it’s more difficult with younger men. I intimidate them, or maybe I’m too shy and spoil things before they happen.”
It was the first time my daughter had spoken to me this way. I no longer felt like a father, we were a man and a woman and I was listening to her talk.
Every so often we would glance absently at the stairs, but Sax didn’t appear. Sole said:
“I don’t understand why you’re so interested in him.”
“Maybe because I’m always on the move and he’s always in the same place. Maybe because I fritter away my time and he’s focussed. Maybe because everything he does is over the top and I’m too cautious. What’s more, I’m fascinated by the fact that he is the grandson of Ludwig Sax, the most important scientist of the last century! Maybe I envy him because I would have liked to have his destiny.”
“When you were my age, what did you think about love?”
“I always wanted to be bought by a woman. To give her the illusion that she could buy me only to prove to her that it wasn’t true, that she had got it wrong. I wanted to pretend I could be bought, but in reality I was free and no one could possess me.”
“That seems complicated to me, but I understand you. I too get just so far and then withdraw, I can’t help it. It’s as if I were protecting myself, as if I had the premonition that in any case I would end up disappointed. You know, I tend to run away from people who might make me suffer.”
“I don’t think Sax is going to show. Will you come with me to buy some notebooks?”
“Yes, of course, I know a stationer near here where they sell notebooks that are just right for you. Black, slim, with squares, you’ll see! Look, do you want to meet him because you want to buy one of his pictures?”
“No, I’d like to interview him, maybe become his friend.”
“Are you sure that this obsession of yours doesn’t hide a desire to write a book about him?”
“No, as long as he’s alive that’s impossible.”
“Why?”
“Because I would have to tell the whole truth.”
“But people write novels because they are imaginary stories, you can tell the truth in them.”
“Do you think you’ll marry?”
“And do you still want to be possessed? Did my mother possess you?”
“She loved me, then she tired of me and I allowed other women to possess me. Would you like an Italian husband?”
“I’m not sure I want a husband.”
“As time passed I gradually wanted different things. Women have taught me all there is to know about life, above all to become myself.”
“Where do I stand in your life?”
“You are my daughter, and a unique woman. As my mother was.”
“Have I disappointed you?”
“No, but sometimes I get scared because you’re so much like me. I’d like you to have a happy life and I wish you were less troubled.”
“Are you happy?”
“If I were truly happy I wouldn’t be obsessed by Julian Sax. But I’ve had my moments of happiness.”
“I wouldn’t like to have a father like Sax, you know I never liked him. I understand that he’s fascinating because he’s Ludwig Sax’s grandson, maybe he’s even a real artist, but I’m not too sure about him. He has a certain something that irritates me—I get the feeling he’s two-faced.”
“But he’s a great artist and he’s sure of that. Unfortunately, I don’t have that certainty. I really envy him. He is a wolf; I don’t have the courage to be like that. Why do you think young men don’t find you attractive?”
“Because they don’t want girls with too many problems, too many questions, too many moods. They want to have fun and feel important.”
“Maybe you should look for more mature men, older than you.”
“I told you before, I don’t like them. I am attracted to handsome, young, weak men.”
Going with my daughter to buy notepads was a happy moment for me and I was touched as I watched her making her choice with an expert eye. I felt we had similar tastes.
When we parted I thought I wasn’t used to speaking to her that way. I wasn’t worried about her being attracted to handsome young men, but because she was too intelligent and was bound to get hurt. Although I had messed up many matters of the heart in my life, I still felt that our relationship was secure.
Rossa, Sole and I went to have breakfast at Tony’s on Saturday. Julian Sax was there, sitting at a round table with one of his daughters, a grandson, and his son-in-law. He was a grandfather and an affectionate father, and he seemed very much at ease in those circumstances. We observed the scene, but didn’t know how to behave. Sole should have stood up, gone over to him and said:
“Do you remember me?”
Perhaps we should have broken the ice, but all of us were looking awkwardly towards Sax’s table.
At a certain point Julian rose to his feet, irritated. He felt he was being watched and he left, giving his daughter a hasty kiss; the others left shortly after. Our silence and our inquisitive stares had disturbed their family get-together.