Fingers of fabricated smoke pour out over the neon lit orange tables and the smell of mild sweat almost lets him forget he's here on business. The server wears go-go boots like the girls Suzie befriended in LA, like she's having fun when she brings him another martini, before his guest, collar popped open as if he too has forgotten they're here on business, gets a chance to comment on his thick english accent when saying 'grazie' or asking him to name his prize. (His prize for a castle hidden in the Alps that is not owned by any state, belongs to a man who could use some money and, especially, would serve for a european expansion to his client's hotel chain). He swallows his drink full, chews on the olive and grins when he's asked where he learned italian instead of being given a number.
'At school,' he says.
It almost comes easy to him, the lie, even though he has to remind himself it isn't one, mostly, for he spends hours, maybe weeks, in a classroom where the light makes specks of dust look like sea animals floating in gold water, listening to a university teacher before it is too much, too soon, and he asks his wife to teach him instead. That is also too much, too soon, but at least she understands his mourning, shares it, and never stops his quiet sobbing by saying it's okay.
Caesar does it out of boredom, not being asked, and pretends not to enjoy enunciating every word as if Joseph couldn't really understand. Not much one can learn in a month, but exasperated he pinches the bridge of his nose (it makes his birthmarks crinkle, Joseph notices, and stray locks of hair change place, and those feathers wiggle slightly, like he'll sneeze instead, and the breeze makes ripples on the surface of the water behind Caesar, his legs crossed, sitting on the floor in the southern end of the island where Messina has told them to rest, and Joseph says 'acqua, mare, brezza, onde' over and over).
'Not much you can learn in a month, but I'll teach you properly once those rings are gone.'
The memory is gone too, when the lie is bought and a number is thrown on the table and fingers of smoke curl into it, into him, tell him he's old.
He's sold abandoned, refurbished inns upstate and he hasn't once thought of mountains covered in snow somewhere in Europe. The possible purchase of an estate in the Alps so that his clients can build their own hotel in mountains covered in snow doesn't so much as conjure familiarity in him.
They leave after he's talked as much as he can in that tongue, the man drives him to his hotel, and no memories come at all for the next two days.
(Except the night before the last, when he's woken by the acrid smell of something burning nearby and he asks Caesar if 'bacio' [ba-chee-oh] is correct. Caesar rolls his eyes, says it's not ['it's batso'], tells him they're done for the day. But Joseph doesn't count that one because it's almost like a dream he's too tired to ignore).
He buys Suzie a dress and a headpiece when they stare at him from the window of a small store almost at the end of 22 Marzo, and he goes in and gets it; then buys Holly a jacket, clenches his fist while thinking of her in Japan. 'For a visit,' she said, but he knows she won't come home (her home isn't him anymore), and he doesn't buy the japanese man anything.
He'll bring Suzie along next time, he has to come take care of the papers for the purchase, he thinks as he leaves the hotel, driven to the airport by the man. He'll bring Suzie along next time because she's sitting now at the breakfast table, Caesar's arm on the back of her chair and she is every age he's known her to be, Caesar looks so young next to her when he asks her to show Joseph an accent different from his own, from up north, so Joseph can better understand the differences he's mentioned. Suzie would surely be playfully mad that she's so much older but Suzie's lived so many lives with him that she starts giggling between examples (chiachiere, aspetti) and Joseph wonders if Caesar is going to tickle her, he looks so pleased, and thinks he might giggle too, tickle them both, when he repeats 'aspetti' twice. The car smells of cigarettes and the breakfast table fades into the city staying behind, the roads curving into Malpensa.
JFK is large and full of people who jostle into him and apologise profusely. The doors to customs open behind him and a young woman says 'ciao' and there is Caesar again. (They come at the strangest moments, memories, never when they should. Years later, when a frenchman in front of a mansion where evil lays says now it's the best time and he can't wait any longer, he'll tell his grandson to let him go, because his memory will skirt around those words and all that came after like it's trying to keep the abandoned hotel from ever being). Caesar leans against a wall with his arms crossed and it's almost dark (and Joseph hadn't but almost begged him to stay as he lie on his bed, his hand to his neck, mask firm in place evening his breaths) and he sighs.
'Alright,' he says after a while, 'italian isn't hard to learn if you work hard,' and Joseph wonders where this is coming from until Caesar starts to explain italian pronunciation, and Joseph focuses on trying his hardest to follow, to show that smug bastard, only to be told he's doing it wrong.
'It's not « buon gee ohr no », it's « buon jorno »'
Though all his focus is now there, his hands on his knees where they've folded over the bed after he sat up, elbows shot outwards, and it's long after dark and he can barely see Caesar, only make out the contours of his body, arms no longer crossed, body no longer leaning against the wall, closer to the bed, his voice just a whisper, and they should both sleep, Joseph can't get it right but is sure he will this time. Ceasar says they'll continue tomorrow because he's tired and teaching italian to a brat isn't even his job, Joseph should count himself lucky, and his driver tugging at his elbow pulls him out.
Sprain Brook Parkway is stretching out, under the car, all around him, when he thinks it went well. He'll call his client's secretary immediately when he gets home. He thinks Holly's wedding will probably be in Japan but he'll still have to invite them. He hopes they won't want to buy land there. He hopes they will and he'll stay with Holly, who'll be married and home and no longer with him. He thinks he's free of mourning and memories and the feeling of borrowed, stolen time, and Caesar sits on the floor of his room where he's invited Joseph in, telling him the names of comic book characters in italian; Joseph's trying to pronounce them but Caesar keeps saying it's wrong even though they sound the same to Joseph.
'Of course they do to you, but listen to me'.
Joseph isn't sure how he goes from watching Caesar enunciate Fortunello, Topolino, to feeling his lips on his own but there they are, behind the tinted windows of his car when the driver says he's sorry, there's so much traffic, then changes the radio station and the static sounds like the mute roar of the sea in the background of Caesar's attempts to get Joseph to memorise the verb essere and its conjugation in present (io sono, tu sei, io sono, tu sei). There he is, sitting at the foot of Joseph's bed (he didn't beg this time, he didn't beg any time other than the first), with Joseph's hands on his knees, Caesar's hands on Joseph's, their elbows shot out, and Joseph getting it wrong once, twice, every time, because Caesar stops to kiss him when he does, once, twice, every time, io sono, tu sei, tu sei, and it almost comes easy to him, the lie, like Caesar never really stopped being around every moment.