There was something cruel about the evening. The crowd had come streaming back out onto the streets, but the traffic was unnaturally suspended, paralyzed. From time to time, the sizzling lights of streetcars illumined the rain-swollen sky. The newspaper headlines spoke of landslides, floods, delayed trains. To the north of the city, the river had overflowed its banks, spreading out into the fields, and the people waiting at the bus stops were staring up at the sky in silence. Glumly, I realized it was too late to try to recover the old Alfa Romeo, and I was forced to head immediately for the Diaconos’. I set off on foot, but soon enough had to take shelter in the entrance of a store that was still open. The traffic had drained away as if by magic, and the street was now deserted. Through the rain, I could hear a radio broadcasting the evening news. They were saying that the weather would change, that spring had arrived in our part of the world. It was at this point that a taxi appeared. I stopped it, told the driver where to go, sat down, and wrung out the cuffs of my trousers. Then I sat back and looked at the city until the meter warned me I couldn’t spend any more.

The wind was rising by the time I got to an apartment block surrounded by a damp, rustling garden. It was only then, perhaps because of the smell of the wet earth, that it occurred to me I should have brought Viola some flowers, but it was too late now, and I was so hungry I could barely stand. So I kept on, confronting the final test, an elevator that throughout the ride up emitted a menacing drone, as if complaining about my weight. Reaching the third floor, I quickly tidied my hair and rang the doorbell. Viola appeared. She looked surprised. Before I could say anything, she let out a little hiccup and burst into irrepressible laughter. I must have looked like a flood victim to her. “Come in, Leo,” she said, taking me by the arm. “God, how happy I am to see you. How did you manage to find us?”

Those were her exact words, and it only took Renzo leaping to his feet when I walked into the living room for me to realize he’d completely forgotten he’d invited me. “Leo!” he said loudly, for the second time that day. A dozen people turned their heads languidly to look at us. They were sunk in an equal number of armchairs strewn across the vast rugs of the room, and all of them had the satisfied look of people who’d already eaten. There were introductions, to which I responded through clenched teeth. “You’re soaked,” Renzo said with guilty attentiveness. “Sit down by the fire. What can I get you?”