“And the final scene, Mick?”

“We’ll find it sooner or later. Chin-chin!”

*

There is no-one in the picturesque garden with its age-old trees and covered pathways until a thickset man with a gigantic stomach appears ready for a massage, completely covered in mud. He looks like a statue gone wrong. Extremely pissed off, he is screaming into the cell phone in his hand in an Italian betraying a strong Neapolitan accent. “Bebè, I hope you realise you’re asking me to deliver 24,000 mozzarelle in two days? You know you’re on another planet here? Now listen to me carefully: don’t start stressing me out while I’m relaxing on holiday. The last person to upset me on holiday can’t relax himself anymore . . . Ciao. I’ll write you on WhatsApp tomorrow.”

34

Jimmy Tree and Fred Ballinger are floating quietly in the swimming pool. Side by side, with their shoulders against the wall of the pool, they let themselves be rocked by a powerful jet of water along the spine.

Fred opens an eye and glimpses Mick not far away as he walks along with the doctor. They are deep in conversation. Fred closes his eyes.

The two bathers remain silent, eyes closed, until the arrival of the boy violinist rouses them.

“Hello, Fred Ballinger.”

“Ciao.”

“I wanted to say that I went and checked at reception and you actually are Fred Ballinger.”

“Good, I’m glad you’re now satisfied.”

Jimmy Tree smiles.

“I wanted to tell you something else.”

“Please do.”

“I wanted to say that since you corrected the position of my elbow I find it much easier to play. The sound comes out more naturally.”

“Excellent. And do you know why? Because you’re left-handed. Left-handers have difficulty keeping things even and an uneven position actually helps them.”

Out of the blue, the South American’s bloated face appears. He has heard the conversation and, betraying a strong Spanish accent, he innocently confesses to the three, “I am left-handed as well.”

Fred, Jimmy and the boy look at him, stunned.

Jimmy gives him a great smile and tells him, “Jesus Christ, the whole world knows that!”

35

Lena is sitting by the side of the hotel’s pleasant little lake wearing nothing but a towel. With her wet hair spread over her shoulders she appears even more beautiful than she is.

Opposite her, brimming with emotion, sits the hippy mountaineer. Also wearing nothing but a towel, he seems like a huge bear. Hirsute shoulders and chest, beard, long hair – a truly huge but peaceful beast.

She keeps her eyes closed. He cannot take his kindly eyes off her.

He swallows, plucks up courage, is about to speak, then shyness prevails, until he decides to try again. This is his moment. He starts to speak in a heavy Tyrolean accent. “My name is Lucio. Lucio Moroder.”

And in his embarrassment he gives out an idiotic laugh that rumbles like thunder.

Lena opens her eyes and with no expression in her voice, confines herself to a sterile “Hi”.