Because no one in the family was a believer, and Bruno’s fervent Catholic parents had both passed away, Emilia had organized a nonreligious service. The girls were disappointed. Anita was almost twelve and Sofia only eight, both ages where children still may not be ready yet to proclaim themselves atheists. A ceremony in a church filled with flowers, incense and organ music had seemed the least their mother would want for their father, but Emilia explained that Bruno had been a very coherent man when it came to political and philosophical principles and he would have strongly opposed having a priest give him his last farewell. Emilia further explained that she and their father once had had a conversation about the eventuality of one of them dying (she refrained from saying they’d been high on a joint and gotten carried away describing in detail what kind of service the other one had to organize, just in case). Bruno told her he wanted a memorial with all of his friends in the cemetery in Testaccio, a non-Catholic site otherwise known as the Englishmen’s Cemetery, where Keats and Shelley were buried along with Gregory Corso and Antonio Gramsci. He also mentioned they should play “Space Oddity” by David Bowie at the very end.
People crowded the small nondenominational chapel, where Bruno’s friends, siblings—two sisters and one brother—cousins and work colleagues each took a turn giving a speech, provoking laughter and tears, reminiscing about legendary episodes in which Bruno was the intrepid protagonist: the dress-up party where he showed up in the most elaborate outfit as Queen Elizabeth I; the full moon night, when, drunk, he decided he was going to climb a mountain in Spain and actually got to the top without any gear; or how he was able to recite more than fifty verses of The Odyssey in classical Greek. Hearing these stories for the first time made the girls feel even closer to the father they had just lost. They could picture him younger, funny and absurd. Yes, he had been reckless and daring in his younger days, yet everyone agreed on one thing: Bruno had been the sweetest, most loyal, most generous person they’d ever met. A man with principles, integrity, a great sense of humor. And what a great father he’d been, so in love with his girls. During these testimonials the girls felt soothed by the warmth of so many people who had loved Bruno. They felt, if only in that moment, that they were not alone, but instead had just acquired a new, larger family of adults. As they exited the chapel, blinded by the midday blaring light, they managed to cry at last, buoyed by the momentum the drums and vocals of “Space Oddity” provided.
After the service, the apartment filled up with people. It’s important, their only grandmother left was telling them, to share a meal after someone dies; friends and neighbors are supposed to take care of the family and put food on the table.
Amid the heat and the confusion created by grown-ups who had cried and drunk too much, who kept hugging one another while eating out of paper plates, dropping cold couscous on the floor, they spotted a stranger. Anita and Sofia had never seen Sandro before. He was handsome, very formal in his gray suit, unlike any other of their parents’ friends. He looked like a lawyer, or maybe a businessman, but more than anything, he looked rich. Richer than any of the people who had ever come to cook and eat with them.
Sandro looked uneasy, as though he didn’t know what to do with himself. He wasn’t eating or drinking, and he didn’t seem to know anybody in the room. He just stood silently against the wall, darting quick glances now and then toward Emilia, who was going back and forth from the kitchen, picking up plates, chatting to guests, nervous and distracted.
Anita had noticed how, among all those tears and celebrations, her mother was the only one who hadn’t made a speech. It was understandable in a way, but she worried that Emilia wasn’t looking sufficiently heartbroken after losing her own husband.
Anita remembered her parents being happy up until a couple of years before, when she was still in elementary school. Whenever they could—in the car, on the street or on the couch—they would be touching or holding each other. They kissed in the strange way people did in films, with their mouths half open, doing something with their tongues (what exactly was going on when adults kissed like that, she wasn’t sure, but she knew it meant they were in love). Then something had changed—they no longer tongue-kissed, there was less touching, less laughing, they both seemed more serious and often in a strange mood. If their bedroom door was closed she could hear their low voices seep through, cutting each other off, rushing and gurgling like a torrent. What was so important to discuss for that long? Why did they have to do it behind doors? She worried, because although she couldn’t make out the words, their voices sounded so grave.
Sofia appeared at her side, looking pale and sweaty, her damp curls stuck to her temples. She pointed her chin toward Sandro, who was standing by the door across the room.
“Who is he?”
“I don’t know,” Anita said.
The sisters watched Emilia move toward him. The two of them cautiously exchanged quick words, like people sharing a secret.
“Is he a friend of Papà’s?”
“No. I think he’s Mamma’s new friend,” Anita said, with a tinge of sarcasm.
Sofia swiftly turned her head, frightened. Was she joking?
“I’m kidding. He’s probably someone from the yoga studio,” Anita quickly reassured her.
Slowly, as evening came, people began to gather their things and get ready to leave. Everyone looked exhausted, as if they’d run a marathon, and they hugged the girls, holding them a tad too long and tighter than necessary. Only Bruno’s sisters and a few close friends were left. They sat on the couch around Emilia or on the floor, and spoke in lazy tones among themselves. Someone picked up Bruno’s acoustic guitar and played a wistful song. The house felt peaceful again, and the cat felt it was safe to come out of his hiding spot and jump in Emilia’s lap. Around nine o’clock the girls decided it was a good time to go back to their room. They changed into their nightgowns and brushed their teeth, hoping that by going through their daily motions they could gain some relief. They got into bed. Anita picked up her book, and after a few minutes Sofia did the same. They read in silence, although they struggled to concentrate. They had no words to define how they felt and what they were afraid of, even though they sensed there were reasons to be afraid of what was coming. For now, it seemed possible to rest, and let the voices of the women in the living room lull them into sleep.
Anita woke up with a start. The luminous clock on her bedside table said 11:52. She heard voices coming from the living room. She scuttled out of bed and walked slowly out to the corridor. It was dark, but a blade of light seeped through the half-closed door of the living room. Peeking through a crack, she had a good view of the sofa. Her mother and Sandro were facing each other at each end of the couch. Emilia had stretched her legs so that her bare feet touched his knees; Sandro had taken off his jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt. He must’ve come back, maybe after everyone else had left, Anita thought. She watched him pour two drinks from a bottle of Scotch she’d never before seen in the house. She could hear the ice clinking and cracking in the tall glasses.