Free The Last Man Standing by Davide Longo Page A

cue to someone else, saying his wife was waiting for him at home.
    “Do you think I ought to do something?” Leonardo asked Adele.
    “What would you like to do?”
    “Go and talk to the people who started the fire.”
    Adele went on working on Leonardo’s thin feet. Her hands were barely warm, like ashes disturbed hours after a fire has gone out.
    “Last year Laica had six puppies, but the next day there were only five. Bitches sometimes notice one of the little ones is too weak and eat it to make sure there’s enough milk for the others.”
    Leonardo locked his hands behind his head and looked up at the flowered lampshade, noticing the black shapes of dead flies inside the ridged glass bowl. One was much longer than the others: a huge wasp.
    “Is that a metaphor?” he asked.
    “Don’t use words like that with me. You being a professor doesn’t interest me in the least. You don’t even know how to light a fire without matches.”
    Leonardo let his head fall back and dozed off. He was awoken by the cracking of his own feet as the woman squeezed them between her hands. He had no idea how much time had passed.
    “There,” Adele said.
    Leonardo got off the bed and slipped on his sandals. Adele looked at the notebook where she had divided the pages in two columns.
    “You’ve already paid,” she said “Last time I hadn’t any change to give you.”
    They went back to the kitchen where the pan on the stove was spreading a good smell of boiled vegetables and rosemary. Beyond the misted windows there was little light, but he could make out a pile of firewood and the white of the birches that formed a crown around the courtyard.
    “Is Sebastiano at home?” Leonardo asked.
    Adele took a piece of cheese wrapped in parchment paper from the refrigerator and put it on the table.
    “He’s upstairs. Tell him supper’s ready.”
    Leonardo climbed the stairs and went along the corridor that led to two bedrooms and the bathroom. Sebastiano’s door was closed. Leonardo knocked and looked around the door. The room was tidy with nothing but a single bed, a wardrobe with two doors, a writing desk, and a bookcase. On the walls were a crucifix and a poster of Machu Picchu. Sebastiano was standing by the window. Leonardo knew that the night before he must have seen the glare of the fire.
    “No one was hurt,” he said.
    Sebastiano turned, showing his hollow cheeks and humped nose. He was ten years younger than Leonardo, but a bald head surrounded by thin hair made him look older. An African totem pole in a sweat suit.
    “I need a hand with the grape harvest,” Leonardo said. “Can you help me?”
    Sebastiano nodded, parting his lips to show extra-large teeth.
    “Thanks,” Leonardo said. “Your mother’s waiting. See you tomorrow then.”
    As he closed the door, Sebastiano turned back to the window. Leonardo went downstairs and back into the kitchen. Adele had served the soup.
    “Will you stay?” she said.
    “Thanks, but I’m tired. I think I’ll read a bit and go to bed.”
    “You should always go to bed early and get up early. But you sleep too much, walk too little, and are always reading. If you were a man who works with his hands it would be all right, but people like you need to do a lot of walking.”
    “I could always become someone who works with his hands,” said Leonardo, smiling.
    “You’re too old now to be any different. And you’ve done too much studying.”
    The courtyard was dark and there was a faint smell of fruit in the air. Leonardo went to the bicycle, which he had leaned against a wall. Adele watched from the doorway.
    “When the time comes, you should take Sebastiano with you,” she said.
    Leonardo put down the leg he had raised to mount the saddle.
    “When the time comes for what?”
    “When the time comes to go.”
    “But I’ve no intention of going anywhere,” he smiled.
    Adele touched first one eye and then the other to indicate either exhaustion or far-sightedness. On her