“I don’t know. But you don’t know a fucking thing and I never told you a fucking thing. To Enzo Baiocchi you had to go and sell it . . . Couldn’t you think of anything stupider to do with it?”

ROCCO FELL ASLEEP DIRECTLY ATOP THE PLASTIC SLIPCOVER that enfolded the bed. And it was a sleepless night, with ghosts popping up relentlessly every time he shut his eyelids. From time to time he had the sensation that there was one sitting at the foot of the bed, gazing at him as he lay there with his eyes shut. And he was thirsty all night long.

Thursday

He got up at the first light of dawn, happy that his dreamless night was over. He hoped he’d never have to spend another night like it as long as he lived.

At 6:15 a.m. Rocco was on the terrace smoking the first cigarette of the day, sitting facing the rising sun as it painted the city orange and red.

“THERE’S NO ARGUING WITH HOW PRETTY IT IS, IS THERE?”

Marina holds her coffee cup with both hands and shivers a little from the cold. “That’s why we bought this apartment, isn’t it?”

“Actually, it was because it was close to your folks’ place.”

“Come on, let’s have a contest. All right, you point and I’ll describe.”

After all, she gets every one of them. “Let’s start with an easy one. That cluster of roofs down there?”

“The Basilica of Sant’Anastasia at the Circus Maximus.”

“Good job. And that other roof over there, behind the Altare della Patria?”

“Torre delle Milizie! Come on, now, can’t you come up with anything a little harder?”

“All right, that stand of cypress trees . . . you see it? Over Testaccio?”

“Santa Sabina! I’d like to remind you that that’s where we got married!”

She’s right. With the cypresses of the Aventine Hill and the Orange Garden right next to it. “Marì, do you know why they plant cypresses around cemeteries?”

She takes a sip of coffee. “Because of the roots. They’re narrow and they sink down straight, they don’t spread out horizontally, which means they don’t bother the graves or tickle the dead.” She looks at me and smiles.

“You sure know a lot of things.”

“Right?”

I look at her. She turns her eyes to the city and narrows them slightly.

“Are those wrinkles I see around your eyes?”

“No. They’re just folds. I didn’t have time to get wrinkles.” She turns to look at me. “Want to know the truth? You’ve forgotten my defects. It always happens with the departed, doesn’t it? The first thing you forget about us is our defects.”

“You didn’t have any.”

“Baboom!” And she breaks out laughing. “Admit it, Rocco. You’re starting to see a mist, I’m starting to blur . . .”

“Wrong you are!”