‘If it’s not in,’ the voice said, ‘we don’t do it.’
After a rustle the call cut out.
Marek called a second time, and the answer came as a curt pronto. He spoke carefully, in Italian, and explained that he was a driver, and that he understood that they were looking for a driver. So … The call cut out a second time. Marek waited a moment before calling back. This time he spoke quickly and apologized for not having a name and said that he was a driver. The supervisor at the palazzo on via Capasso had given him the number. He understood that they needed a driver.
He felt that he had the man’s attention.
‘You need a driver?’
In the background he could hear another voice, in French, a man demanding to be given the phone.
‘Hello. You are a driver? You know the city? Can you come at four this afternoon? We can discuss rates when you come. Room 312. Hotel Grand.’
The man gave an address in Castellammare di Stabia. Did he get that? ‘It’s on the hill,’ he said. ‘On the mountain. Looking at Napoli. The big white hotel. You will find us, yes? Room 312.’
Marek said yes, and once the call was cancelled he realized that he had not taken a name, just a room number.
They called an hour later and cancelled the meeting.
* * *
By the afternoon Marek found himself in the basement stripped to his waist with two tubs of white emulsion and a roller that didn’t apply paint so much as drag grit off the walls. He couldn’t quite believe how quickly the walls absorbed the water, and then flaked. Four hundred euro made the job worthwhile. Good money from the same men who’d wanted a driver then changed their minds.
Marek worked through the afternoon and grew resentful while he painted, what choices had he made to come to this: making do by driving cars and painting rooms? Falling deeper into debt while his mother slowly lost her mind. He set himself to the task, bought new brushes and a third tub of emulsion from the hardware store at the back of the palazzo. He stripped down to his shorts and felt the air wrap round him blanket-warm, and as he worked sweat stung his eyes. Once he was done the room seemed little improved. Brighter, yes, but otherwise no different. Four hundred euro would barely service his debt. Four thousand euro would pay the debt and leave enough, perhaps, for his mother or for Paola, but no money for himself.
He took a call while he waited in the courtyard for the final layer to dry. The men who’d rented the room wanted to know if the room was ventilated. Marek picked up a toy dropped by the door. A scuba diver, a black figure with moveable arms and legs, the mask missing and two small round holes in his back where an aqualung would fit. He described the room, said there was a window, high on one of the side walls, but the basement was a good six or seven metres below street level so there was little chance that air could circulate. He wasn’t sure quite what they needed, because the air was dry and stale and the walls flaked as soon as you touched them.
The man became hesitant. That wasn’t good news. ‘It’s going to be used for storage,’ he explained. ‘It’s important that everything remains clean, you understand?’ He seemed to think something through. ‘You need to line the walls and the ceiling with plastic. Do it properly, nice and neat.’
Marek listened as the man outlined the job. Behind a row of railings stacked against the wall he found another toy, a small figurine of a green plastic soldier. He wasn’t sure how to ask for more money, and broached the subject cautiously. The man appeared to sense his unease. ‘We can pay, of course.’ Marek could buy the materials, see to the work and they would reimburse him. If this could be done by Thursday they would double the money.
* * *
Marek returned to the hardware store and bought a roll of plastic. He explained what he needed to the clerk, a man with grey rheumy eyes. The man swept his hair from his face and shuffled to the back of the store between racks of shelving.
‘It’s not the best way to do it. It’s dry now, but when it rains the damp will come through the stone. You need to build walls.’ The clerk returned with a long box on his shoulder, his expression — as if setting Marek’s face to memory — remained stern. ‘You need to know what you’re doing. These days people don’t know what they’re doing.’
Back in the basement Marek cut lines of plastic to the length of the room. He carefully trimmed the sheets and set them side by side ready to tape together. He left enough plastic to make a lip to double over as a seam. By late afternoon he’d managed to cut the all pieces for the ceiling and walls.
Determined to complete the project in one day he worked late and found satisfaction in this labour, a level of pride, a return to the normal world of work and reward. The walls and ceiling were smartly lined, the floor scraped clean and painted, and the room reeked of a fresh chemical smell.
He called the brothers a second time. ‘It’s ready,’ he said. ‘It should stay up for as long as you need.’ He crossed the courtyard for a better signal and blinked up at the square of pure blue sky five floors above him. Two windows open — Lanzetti’s, and opposite, the supervisor, Peña — all others shuttered or blocked with the purring back-ends of air-conditioning units.
The men said they were pleased, one on the phone the other prompting in the background.
A helicopter crossed overhead, POLIZIA, too small for the noise it was making, smaller even than the swallows diving for ants. Marek waited for it to return but the clapper-like sound soon faded.
* * *
In the evening he sat with Paola, he drank two glasses of water without speaking, then started on the wine, and mentioned, because he couldn’t help himself, that he was being paid eight hundred euro to clean up a room.
‘It’s hot down there,’ he said, to excuse his appearance. He realized his mistake, regretted bringing up the money because now she would make plans. ‘It’s good to work with your hands.’
Paola explained that the water wasn’t running but she’d set aside some buckets so he could wash. They could think about that holiday, then? Croatia, maybe? There was a place on the coast. ‘The hotel is close to the port and the beach and there are places to eat. It’s convenient for the ferry. Easy.’ How many nights did he think they should stay?
‘Let’s see about my mother.’
‘One week,’ she said. ‘Six nights. No more.’ She looked at him closely. ‘Good, we can decide this tonight otherwise the money will just go. If you found work today, there will be more tomorrow.’
* * *
Lila scooped up the bear and hid it under her jacket as she came out of the room. On the dresser sat a number of other toys from a suitcase of examples, some unfamiliar — hand-stitched felt with glass eyes — and others more recognizable, rubber-formed figures with hard faces and outstretched arms: Topolino, Goofy, Pinocchio. Picking up the toy to put it right and taking it was one continuous action.
Out on the landing Lila checked that the door remained closed then wrapped the jacket about the bear. She shimmied her skirt the right way round and fastened the zip. The tang of stale talcum still with her, and right before her, looking down, a city bright with bare sunlight and the rising scents of braised meats: infinitely busy, infinitely small. Lila didn’t like heights, or holes, or any kind of drop which presented a proposition: to jump, throw, or hurtle into, difficult to resist.
The man had deliberately sat the toys upright in the suitcase, row upon row, stadium-style, to face the bed: three stacked lines that would have taken patience to arrange. He was happy to finish himself off, he said, just as long as she watched, so Lila watched, ass tipped up and head twisted on the pillow. Out of his shirt the salesman looked underfed and pale, a dry man with a pinched, soapy face, and the same soft eyes and calf-like lashes as Cecco — a coincidence she didn’t like. Once he was done he asked her to pass him the hand-towel and complained that she hadn’t paid attention, but slipped off somewhere, present but not attentive. He spoke Italian in a northern accent and every comment came as a complaint. On the floor beside the bed lay an open map, a pencil stub, and a single new shoe. When she thoughtlessly used the towel to wipe her thighs the man lost his temper.