The Performance by Claudia Petrucci

Author:Claudia Petrucci
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: World Editions
Published: 2021-10-07T11:52:38+00:00

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CHAPTER FIVE - TWO ACTS

I see Mauro coming from a distance; I recognize his long stride. He ends the phone conversation when he’s halfway here. His coat is unbuttoned and his shirt is open, leaving his throat exposed. I’m freezing in my jacket, standing in front of the closed café for forty minutes, waiting for him.

“Sorry I’m late,” he says, as soon as he reaches me.

“I called you.”

He shakes his head and pulls his hair back; he’s got bags under his eyes and he’s puffy, as if he’d just woken up.

“Yeah, sorry, I had a tough day.”

“I could have taken the bus, it wouldn’t have been a problem.”

“The car is over there,” he cuts me off, nodding for me to follow him.

“It’s pretty late. Maybe we could skip it for today.”

He puts his hands in his pocket, annoyed. “Why? Let’s go.”

“By the time we get there, we won’t have much time left.”

“I said we’re going,” Mauro says flatly, putting an end to the discussion, without looking at me.

I think maybe he’s had enough of our constant visits, too. We’ve been reading for a month with no results, but neither of us has the guts to honestly admit that our plan has failed: it was inevitable. I think Mauro feels guilty, as if he were responsible for the failure, and I don’t have the energy to convince him otherwise.

When we get to his car, I start to open the door, but stop midway: someone waves to me through the window, and I recognize one of Mauro’s girlfriends. I try to meet his eyes for an explanation, but he avoids my look and gets in without saying a word.

“Ciao!” the girl says, turning towards me between the seats, when I’m inside.

“Ciao,” I answer.

“You’ve met Giulia before, haven’t you?” Mauro exits the parking lot without looking for cars; someone honks his horn and he snarls an insult.

“I don’t know,” Giulia says. “We may have met once, at the theater.”

She smiles at me and shrugs, her full breasts squeezing together in the low neckline. My eyes drop to her legs, veiled by stockings, below the short skirt. The back seat is cramped and uncomfortable. I look at Mauro in the rearview mirror, but he keeps ignoring me.

Until we get on the highway, I’m hopeful that we’ll be dropping Giulia off somewhere before going on to the clinic, but Mauro doesn’t deviate from the route. The closer we get to our destination, the more agitated I feel. I grudgingly reply as Giulia bombards me with questions, thinking she is being courteous. I answer in monosyllables and watch her fiddle with her hair, curling the long, brown strands around her fingers. Encouraged by my passive participation, she tells me about one of her university exams, about Musil. By the time we reach the clinic I’m so nervous my hands are shaking—Musil, the girl, me staring at her hungrily, Mauro being late, Giorgia waiting for us.

“We’ll be back in half an hour” Mauro says in the parking lot.

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