Uccelli da gabbia e da voliera
Cage and aviary birds
Andrea De Carlo
Translated by Claire Taylor
Chapter Nine, extract
I go to Mario Oltena's house, without even phoning first to let him know. I stop at a bakery on the way, buy six little redcurrant custard slices.
I climb the five flights of stairs, try the handle: the door is unlocked. Mario Oltena is in bed, hair all tousled, a cup of tea in his hand, staring into space. I ask "What on earth are you doing still in bed?"
He says "I had to work till two last night". His voice is tired; there's a tiredness in the way he extends his left hand towards the package I hold out to him. He says "I had to cook dinner for forty at the house of this crazy old lady who has an obsession for inviting people round for dinner parties after the premieres at La Scala. You should see her, she's so gross. She comes in the kitchen every five minutes giving me stupid advice, and explaining that there are two guests with ulcers, and telling me that last week someone complained about how I made the salsa sevillana, and looking over my shoulder while I'm mixing ingredients". He unwraps the packet, takes a pastry out, puts it in his mouth almost whole.
I take one as well, go and eat it near the window. I look down: trams skimming by in the drenched street. Without turning round I say "I wanted to ask you where Malaidina lives". My words don't come out clearly: they lose their shape mid-air. I turn, cough.
Mario looks at me, with a corner of pastry in one hand and the open packet in the other. He says "I don't know".
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