Nocturne (English version) Page 6

11 - Nocturne no. 5

  So Martina adapted very quickly to her new life: she even got up with me at dawn, prepared breakfast and did the housework. She cooked very well, and not just sweets. Even if those were never missing. In particular, however, she liked to take care of the animals.

  "I'll call you Martin" she said to my horse.

  "But he already has a name."

  "Go ahead."

  "It's called Luppolo."

  "What an absurd name! Do you really think that it is happy to be called that? I think it's really impossible. Martin’s Better. It is more elegant. I'd be ashamed if my name were Luppolo. It is an apt name for a nag or a fat and clumsy horse. But this one is beautiful and deserves a good name. Martin."

  "Luppolo."

  "Martin."

  Result: the horse had two names, and no one ever knew which one was his favourite. I think Luppolo, even though it did not mind Martin.

  Days went by smoothly, quietly. At night, however, it was as if everything changed suddenly. We were two different people in a different place. During the day we took care of the animals, me of the field and she of the house. At night we were the guardians of the clock and this changed her spirit, somehow. After the sun went down I found her fleeting, I don’t know. She had learned to look at night in a different way than in the day.

  "Too bad you don’t have a piano here. You know, I miss it a bit. If you had one, I could play something for you. I enjoy playing. Up here it’s so dark. That must be why it came to my mind. My favourite songs are nocturnes. They are very fashionable, true. But that's not why I like them. My favourite is Nocturne No. 5 by Leybach. You know him?"

  No, I don’t.

  "Even our neighbour loves it. She’s always simpering, she thinks she’s so important and that she plays better than anyone else. But when she plays Nocturne No. 5 you can feel she doesn’t understand it. I don’t know how to explain well. The fact is that playing Leybach’s Nocturne makes you feel like standing on top of the clock tower in the dead of the night. As if it was all a joke and everything ceased to exist, but only for a while. Only until next morning. But that makes everything different."

  I knew exactly what she meant; it’s the effect of the tower.

  In the evening she liked it very much. Sometimes she dragged me on the top of the tower to watch the sunset and see the moon appear. She took a cloth full of sweets and we talked at length about many things. When I stood up, after complaining just out of stubbornness, her eyes closing, she meekly let me lead her to the bedroom, where she had stopped reproaching me because I undressed without waiting for her to turn.

  Sometimes she looked at me smiling and jeering: "Don’t worry, Mr. Savage, do undress in front of a poor innocent girl! Indeed, why not take away what little is left? After all, etiquette is nothing in this No Man's Land."

  Meanwhile, however, she didn’t stop looking at me. So I think she didn’t really mind. Then, when I slipped under the covers, she stopped protesting. Sometimes, I don’t know how, in the morning I found her in my arms, curled up like a kitten. And the bear, deeply offended, was on the edge of the bed alone. "I'm leaving, uh!" it said.

  I was afraid to touch her, she didn’t. It was a game, remember?

  "How nice is staying in bed. It’s the most comfortable place ever, isn’t it?" she asked one Sunday morning, when she liked to stay in bed until late.

  "Yes, it’s true. The bed is a comfortable place. Pity for the noise of the sheets, otherwise it would be perfect."

  "What noise?"

  Couldn’t she hear it? The noise, I mean. The silence is perfect, it sinks into the comfort of the soft bed, sleep at your fingertips. And next to the ears the annoying rustle of the sheets begin. Have you ever noticed? Lie on the bed in the dark. Move the sheets around your ears. Don’t you find that noise unbearable? Off-key, that’s what it is. It's wrong. Sheets should be soundless. Once lying in bed, all noises should be banned altogether. Except for the voice of Martina, of course, and her breath, reminding me of the clock.

  So, kidding, when she wanted to annoy me, she would move the sheets next to my ears to make herself unbearable, forcing me to do what I didn’t want to: I had to grab her wrists and force her to let the sheets go, make her lay down as she laughed happily, holding her arms still over her hair spread on the pillow. I could immobilize her single-handedly and with no effort: I am a giant, she’s just a child.

  "You know it will be my birthday soon?"

  "We must celebrate." Meanwhile I let her wrists go, hoping she will not approach again.

  "Do you think they are still looking for me? Do you think it would be safe if I decided to leave?"

  Martina made breakfast, she always put flowers on the table. When she laughed, Martina made me happy. Martina was also unbearable at times. She dragged me on the top of the tower to watch the sunset, she hit me on the head with funny little blows, with affection and a bit of anger, when I said something stupid. And when I was sitting, otherwise she couldn’t reach it: me sitting and her standing were almost the same height. Martina who has the same breath of the clock. Martina, who soon will have to go. Finally, we will be alone again, the moon and me. I may start again to hope to become a poet. Since when she had arrived, I almost forgot.

  "No, I think they aren’t looking for you any longer. Besides, you can’t stay here forever, can you? Perhaps it’s better if you go, you're right. In fact, the sooner, the better."

  "Are you angry? Are you sorry that I’m leaving? "

  "No, I'm not angry. Why should I? And I’m not sorry. At last I'll get my bed back, I will no longer have to watch the sunset, you know I don’t like it. And my horse will get back to be called only Luppolo."

  "Speaking about the horse..."

  "You need it to escape? Take it. I'll buy another."

  "But I'll pay for it. You know I have some money."

  "I don’t want your money."

  "But how are you going to buy another horse?"

  "I have some money too. I don’t need yours. And then, soon it will be your birthday. I give you Luppolo as a present. Take it."

  "I was thinking of something else, for my birthday."

  "What?"

  "You'll see."

   

  Martina had decided to celebrate her birthday with me.

  "Thirteen, finally!"

  And then, the same night, she would leave. She opted for light luggage, a few essential things. Some spare clothes, money and jewellery.

  "I'll write. Then you can come see me if you want."

  "I don’t think I want."

  "As you please."

  For her birthday she had organized a kind of dinner on the top of the tower at dusk. We ate as the sun set and she demanded to drink wine, which I usually forbid her to.

  "But now I am thirteen. And it's my birthday. I want to drink some wine too!"

  "Okay, but only a glass."

  I put a packet on the table.

  "I thought the present was Martin."

  "Yes, of course you can take Luppolo. This is a small thing. Open it."

  She curiously unwrapped the packet. It was a ribbon. I has chosen a white one so it would fuse to the black of her hair like snow.

  "So every now and then you'll remember me when you're away."

  She raised her hand with my ring, which she never took off. She would always remember me, she said.

  Then came the night. There was the moon, it was bright. Perhaps it was because of the wine which she wasn’t accustomed to, or it was the thrill of thinking that she would not see me again. I don’t know.

  She stood up and approached me. "I want to thank you."

  "There’s no need."

  "Yes, there is."

  Hers wasn’t a request. It sounded more like she was ordering me to accept her thanks, which was followed by her warm little hand caught in my curls. You can’t look for the gold specks of the moon, Martina, you wouldn’t find them.

  Then something confusing happ
ened. It was clear, she had forgotten it was a game. Should I remind her? Maybe later.

  It wasn’t a great kiss, though. I was taken by surprise, she liked the idea more than anything else, I guess. But she is stubborn; she seemed determined to keep trying until she was really pleased with the outcome. I let her to humour her more than anything else; it should have been her first kiss, so I wanted it to be fine. She sat on my lap, hugged me. I could feel her clock-breath on my neck. Isn’t this the right time to leave, Martina?

  She certainly felt that my hands held her like a capricious doll, not like a capricious woman. The game, remember?

  So Martina, on top of a tower she would never see again, was sitting on my lap like on the mountains of coal she had in her eyes, to celebrate her thirteenth birthday pretending to be older already. It was a silent farewell, a greeting with the eyes only, with her fingers pressing on my back under the clothes, with her lips confounding our breaths, before the notched one of the clock dragged her away.

  It's time.