I’d carefully avoided doing so. If there was one thing I couldn’t stand, it was the decorations on the streets and the white-bearded Santas outside the stores. Even Christmas trees I’d been unable to stand, since they’d started making them out of plastic. But I didn’t tell her that, not only because the Diaconos’ tree was a real tree, with scent and everything, but because I was fine as I was and didn’t want to talk. I watched the servant going back and forth, setting the table. There was a nice family atmosphere just then, as we waited for Renzo to get back from the TV center.

And there was something else. I’d seen colorful packages heaped up in the hallway and they’d reminded me of long-buried Christmases in Milan: the cold, damp air, the smell of fog and mandarin oranges, and especially the stores, the magnificently decorated delicatessens with their mountains of fresh cheeses, strings of sausages, delicious hot dogs. At Christmas my father would order whole baskets of provisions, and all afternoon, on Christmas Eve, errand boys would be coming and going, ringing the doorbell and unloading stacks of marvels on the kitchen table, while my sisters would shriek and start to taste a little of everything, annoying my mother because they would ruin the appearance of the dishes. God, we were actually happy once! I was seized by the sudden urge to go to Milan.

“Christmas used to be more intimate,” Viola said. “Now this whole gift thing is completely crazy. Do you know how much Renzo’s had to spend on gifts?”

“This is for you,” my father would say, “and this is for you, and this is for you,” as he distributed the gifts. He never said our names. God knows why.

“Have you heard from Arianna?”

“Why should I?” I said, a knife starting to twist inside me. “Maybe she’s growing lilacs.”

“Crazy stuff,” Viola said. She didn’t know what I was talking about, but then she hadn’t been outside Sant’Elia’s villa. “What’s his name, that Arlorio, he’s stopping her from seeing her sister, which means she can’t see us either. Eva’s desperate. She’s in a terrible state.” She looked at me. “You did know she’s with Arlorio, didn’t you?” she said hesitantly. I said no and she bit her lip, so I told her I’d assumed it and she recovered. She grew meditative. “Why did it end like that, Leo?” she said, but I didn’t reply. Managing not to think about it was difficult enough without other people interfering. But Viola wanted to talk. “A lot of it’s Eva’s fault. She was absurdly jealous. I’m not even referring to Livio—that was pure madness, in my opinion—I’m referring to before, to you. She couldn’t bear it that Arianna was in love with you.”