Romano resurfaced from the silence in which he’d been shrouded for close to a half hour.
“We’re in a different film now. We’ve moved from an American cop show from the Seventies to a poor imitation of Wings of Desire.”
Aragona stared at him, baffled.
“What’s that? I’ve never seen it or even heard or it. Is it about airplanes or birds? Or angels? If it’s about angels, what does desire have to do with it? Or with us, for that matter?”
Romano shook his head and went back to staring at the shop where Martina’s mother Antonella Parise worked. It wouldn’t be long to closing time now, and the few shoppers who were leaving the shops lining the exclusive downtown street were hurrying away to get out of the cold.
This time the woman had brought her daughter with her. Romano and Aragona had been following them since the afternoon, when they had left their building and caught the bus. Through the shopwindows, which offered a good, if partial, view of the interior, they had seen the girl pull her textbooks out of her backpack and head to the back of the store. There hadn’t been much business that day, so her mother had been able to go back and check in on her repeatedly. The manager was always at the cash register, unfurling smiles for the benefit of all those who entered.
“What a fucked-up job, being a shopkeeper,” said Aragona. “You lick ass until your tongue dries out, hoping people will buy something, and then for all you know the customer will make you get out everything in the shop, and then say thanks, I’ll think it over, and leave without buying a thing.”
Romano, who felt exactly the same way about that profession, wondered why Antonella would bring Martina with her. The girl seemed old enough to look after herself for an hour or two, until one of her parents returned home.
Unless, he had then answered his own unstated question, it was precisely the return of her husband that the mother feared most.
Martina reemerged from the back. She looked tired. There were no more customers and the four salesclerks, Antonella included, were tidying up the apparel. Romano focused his attention on mother and daughter, who were deep in a confab. It seemed as if the girl was trying to convince the woman to do something, and that the woman was resisting. After a while, Antonella, with a defeated attitude, went over to her employer, who was counting cash. There was a brief exchange of words between the two of them, and Romano thought he picked up on a knowing glance among the other shopgirls around them.
The man, careful to avoid notice, slipped a few banknotes out of the wad he was counting and furtively placed the cash in the woman’s hand.
Disappearing from Romano and Aragona’s line of sight for a moment, Antonella crossed the space between the two shopwindows, went back to her daughter, and leaned down toward her. Martina threw her arms around her mother’s neck, hurried to grab her overcoat, and left the shop.
Aragona elbowed his partner in the ribs.
“Follow her,” Romano told him. “I’ll stay here to see what else happens.”
The girl headed for a large building not far away, a well-known shopping center that stayed open till all hours, and featured hi-tech products, books, and records.
She was walking along, sticking close to the walls, in search of shelter from the driving cold. At a certain point she pulled out her cell phone and started talking. Aragona was tailing her from about thirty feet back. Absorbed as she was by her conversation, she was unlikely to notice him even if she happened to see him, but all the same it was best not to run risks.
Martina stopped in front of a shopwindow where a number of mobile tablets were on display; the conversation on her cell phone grew increasingly animated. Aragona looked over at the bus stop shelter, where he’d be able to get close enough to listen in without being observed. He slipped over to the shelter and listened closely.
“ . . . and I said to her: you’re a monster. What kind of a fucking mother are you, if you won’t take your own daughter’s wishes into account? Already you married a penniless bum, a guy who works all day for a few bucks in that shitty bank of his, and now you can’t even . . . eh, sure I said it to her! In these exact words, I swear it! What did she do? She made the usual face of a beaten dog, that miserable expression as if I’d beaten her black and blue, and then she went to him . . . No, he gave in, right away. What is it people say? You can get more with a kiss than a . . . exactly. He coughed up the money, it’s just that it’s not enough for a 64G. That sex maniac isn’t earning the way he used to; between the financial crisis and the cold, no one’s buying a fucking thing. What do you think, should I settle for the 32G, or put the money aside and wait? After all, I got the phone last week, right? . . . Well, I can always go and take a look at it, if the handsome salesclerk is there. After all, you know it, I can’t go back before an hour is up, because—”
The young woman burst into vulgar laughter. Aragona was disconcerted by this metamorphosis from the intimidated and diffident young girl he’d met at the school. Now, if he had been asked to compare this scene to a film, he would have mentioned The Exorcist.
“ . . . can you imagine if I walked in while they were doing it? Not a chance, I’d lose everything. What? Are you crazy? Why would I think of asking him? He doesn’t have two pennies to rub together . . . Oh, no, he knows perfectly well that his salary is barely enough to cover the rent. She has to take care of everything, from the electric bill to clothing, and the fees for the tennis club, no, seriously. So he’s fine with letting us . . . Okay, okay, let’s talk later. I get no signal inside and I’m freezing my ass off out here. Ciao, bitch.”
Aragona let almost a minute go by, then followed her inside. He had no trouble finding her again, he knew where she was going now. And sure enough he found her chatting happily with a young man in a salesclerk’s uniform, who had a pink tablet in one hand.
He felt a surge of nausea, as if he’d overeaten.
Seated in the car, parked in a strategic location, Romano continued scanning the interior of the shop, which had closed by now. Antonella’s three fellow salesclerks had almost finished cleaning up, cracking jokes and laughing together. Every so often they’d shoot a glance toward the part of the shop where Romano guessed Antonella must be now.
After a few minutes, they got their overcoats and called a hasty goodnight, heading off toward the funicular railroad. Taking turns, like in a game of Chinese whispers, they shared hushed observations about something that must have been quite amusing, considering the reactions.
The lights switched off in the boutique, all except the light that could be seen through the open door to the back of the shop. From what Aragona had been able to observe the day before, when he had asked Martina’s mother to come with him to the café, it must be a sort of storage area, but with a table and a sofa.
In the dim light, Romano glimpsed Antonella leaning back on the doorframe, as if to rest her back. He could just make out her silhouette, tall, elegant, her hair hanging over her shoulders, her breasts. Then the shop owner heaved into the policeman’s line of sight. He walked slowly over to the woman. Romano thought they must be talking, but the posture of her body betrayed an intimacy that hadn’t emerged in the presence of the other shopgirls.
Antonella Parise lazily raised one arm and laid it on the man’s shoulder, as if to dance. He pressed closer. Their bodies were one against the other. They kissed.
Romano looked around, as if it would be a problem for him if someone else saw them, or if the girl came back. But there was no one on the street. Just the wind, howling relentlessly.
The man and woman went into the rear of the shop, shutting the door behind them.
Romano remained seated in the car, trying to make sense of that scene while awaiting Aragona’s return.