Free About Time by Simona Sparaco Page B

have piled up over the past few days, my coat hangs indolently over the armchair, and my briefcase is open, its contents spilling onto the floor.
    “Aren’t you feeling well?” he asks me. “At least tell me if something serious has happened to you.” It’s paradoxical that the only thing that could make him feel less anxious would be if I was sick.
    I don’t know what to say. For the first time in his presence, I want to bow my head, like a pupil who hasn’t done his homework confronted by an impatient teacher.
    “You don’t have a family,” he continues, “a wife, children. I can only assume it’s a health problem. Is someone not well? Give me an acceptable explanation, Svevo, you owe it to me, I wouldn’t like to be forced to take action.”
    I still don’t have any answer for him. He’s very insistent, and I don’t have enough time. In the end I decide to take the easy way out. “I’m fine,” I assure him. “I’m just going through a difficult time. I can’t really talk about it, just give me the chance to put things right.” 
    “You’re mixing your private and professional lives, Romano,” he says, a hint of impatience in his voice. “And now you want to put things right. For more than a month you’ve been haunting this office like a ghost. Always late, tired, distracted, negligent. You’re gradually losing the respect and trust of the people who work with you.”
    I imagine Barbara, with her thin lips and pinched nostrils, saying to him, “He doesn’t fit in with our plans, sir. Get rid of him.”
    “There are some things that can’t be put right,” he goes on. “That’s the way the world is, take it or leave it. You’re young, you’re good, you still have time to change your ways.”
    The director picks up my coat disdainfully with his fingertips and hangs it on the rack. I’m transfixed, watching him as he rubs his hand with the usual disinfectant wipe. Then he lights a cigar, sits down in the armchair, and, with his mouth full of smoke, orders me to take a holiday.
    I try to reply, but he doesn’t give me time.
    “Maybe I didn’t make myself clear, it wasn’t advice. I don’t want to see you in this office for at least a week. You put me in a difficult position with Righini this morning. I can’t let you cause me any more problems.”
    I bow my head, to show how contrite I am.
    “Listen to me,” he says, in a more conciliatory tone. “Take that holiday, and the old Romano will soon be back in action. Don’t forget the eohippus. You don’t want to end up like the pterodactyl, do you?”
     
    I still can’t believe he hasn’t thrown me out on my ear. I was expecting a firing squad, instead of which he’s been almost too lenient. 
    I’m alone again. Elena puts her heads in round the door. “May I?”
    “Of course, Elena, what is it?”
    She advances uncertainly to the desk, her anxiety clear in every gesture. “I’d like to apologize for this morning,” she says.
    “What do you mean?”
    “I’m your secretary. When you left the office yesterday, I should have reminded you of the appointment.”
    I give her an affectionate smile. “It’s not your fault.”
    Elena nods. Only now do I realize that her watch, unlike mine, is still five minutes ahead. A sense of inadequacy overcomes me. As she’s about to leave the room, I ask her to stop for another moment.
    “Should I sit down?”
    “Sit in the armchair, I need to talk to you.”
    She seems hesitant, she doesn’t know where to look, but I know that by this point nothing could surprise her any more, and I need to clarify things, to talk to somebody.
    “I feel like someone who doesn’t have time on his side,” I confess to her, after a long sigh. “But you must have guessed that by now, it’s never pursued me the way it has lately.”
    This kind of confidence makes her feel uncomfortable. “It’s not a problem,” she says quickly, “it’s my job.”
    “No. It’s never been your job to pick up