“I think he had a falling-out with the baker’s boy,” Viola said when he’d gone. “For two weeks now, he’s been forcing us to eat crackers, he says they’re good for the figure.” But I was barely listening to her. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” I said. The matter was Arianna shut up in that clinic, playing solitaire. The matter was the anguish I felt, that tightness in the middle of my chest. The matter was my undervalued life, which needed changing.

There had been an imperceptible ringing of the doorbell, and five minutes later Renzo appeared. “Good old Leo!” he said, slapping me on the shoulder. “I’ve been looking forward to a game all day.” He was in a good mood, very sure of himself, and very sure that I’d also want to play chess. I stood up reluctantly and sat down opposite him. It was a brief, fierce battle. After two cautious openings, I let my anxiety get the better of me, leading to some tense skirmishes between our pawns and the loss of my bishop. Then I unleashed my knights and managed to draw level, cornering his king in a messy siege. The king seemed on the verge of packing his bags and heading south when the queen, promising some desperate pawns she would satisfy god-knows-what secret lusts, organized a sortie that saved the kingdom. A duel ensued between our rooks, and we exchanged sword thrusts, until, at last, I was run through. Renzo couldn’t help snickering. Rubbing his hands together, he called in the servant and ordered a bottle of Chablis.

“Congratulations, darling!” Viola said at dinner, kissing him on the forehead. Renzo shielded himself with exaggerated modesty and she laughed. I watched them. The Chablis was cold and comforting, but not enough to make their smooching bearable. Stuck there in front of the TV all evening, I felt very alone until the presence of the servant, sitting at the far end of the living room, still looking contrite, at last drove me over the edge. I left and went to Signor Sandro’s.

Yes, Annamaria had been there, but she’d left ten minutes earlier.

The end of the month was drawing closer and I had to start going regularly to the newspaper office so that I could pay the rent without being forced to camouflage my voice on the telephone. Then one afternoon one of the telephones in the booths rang and Rosario went over and answered it. “It’s for you,” he said, his face making it clear he had no intention of acting as my secretary.

It was Viola, inviting me to the theater that evening. “Put on your good suit,” she said. “We’re all going to be very elegant.”

“I’m not sure if I feel like it.”

“Oh, of course you feel like it,” she said.