When the Night by Cristina Comencini Read Free Book Online Page A

him. I couldn’t help it. My husband always went.”
    I smile at her, then at him, without a word.
    Nothing to say?
    IT’S POSSIBLE. SHE hid behind the door because she’s a fool, like they all are. Like Luna, when Clara fell off the bike and broke her arm. She was frozen, terrified, and clutched her face with her hands. I yelled at her to help me, and then she started to follow instructions like an automaton, just like this one. But why is she so afraid of me, and why does she want to get rid of me? There is blood on her leg.
    I GET UP and go to the door. Why hasn’t he come out yet? Let me see him, please. God, let him be all right. I sit down again.
    How could I? What part of me did this? It’s like the other time, with Mario. I let him fall off the bed. No, he fell all by himself. It happened to my mother with one of us. Maybe this time, too, it’s not my fault. He climbed up on the table, he fell, he hit his head, and I thought it was my fault. In any case it’s still my fault because I was distracted.
    The dark cloud, the crying that won’t stop, it all makes your head spin. I did it, I banged him against the table, I hurt mybaby. It’s not possible. I love him more than anything in the world. Ever since he was born, I’ve never left him in anyone else’s care. I’m sleep-deprived, it’s true, but I don’t complain. I miss my freedom, but he’ll grow up and I’ll be able to go out, work, go to the movies. What am I thinking? He’s in there, alone, and this is what I think about! What are they doing to him? Why doesn’t my baby come out of there?
    THIS WOMAN IS not telling the truth. First the noise, the clatter of falling objects, the baby crying. All normal: the baby climbs on the table, knocks over the bottles, slips, and cries. But then her scream, a loud bang, and total silence. Not a sound emerges from inside the house. I break down the door and she doesn’t react. The child is on the floor, lying in the midst of broken glass, and she doesn’t pick him up. She’s not telling the truth, it didn’t happen as she says.
    THE DOOR OPENS and a nurse emerges. I go up to him. He asks, “Are you the mother?”
    “Yes, how is he?”
    “He’s awake. We put in some stitches, and now we’ll do a CAT scan. We’ll keep him under observation overnight. You can see him now.”
    “Let me just say good-bye to the man who brought us here.”
    He’s on his feet, watching us. He has the face of an old man and the body of a much younger one, with the same droopytrousers he always wears, the same plaid shirt and sandals. The nurse approaches him.
    “Did you find them?”
    “Yes.”
    “On your way, you should stop by the police to give your statement.”
    A statement? Oh no, what will he say? I smile at him. Be nice!
    “Thank you for driving us here.”
    “You’re welcome.”
    “Hopefully, I’ll be back tomorrow.”
    “Do I need to inform anyone?”
    “No, thank you. My husband is easily alarmed. It’s better if I tell him.”
    What a husband.
    “Let me know how the boy does.”
    “Of course. Good night.”
    “Good night.”
    He doesn’t know a thing. What does he suspect? He didn’t see anything.
    THIS LONG, EMPTY, blue hallway must have terrified him. And all these faces. He’s afraid of the pediatrician, imagine all these nurses. We go into a room.
    There he is. He’s playing with a little box in the crib. Poor darling, his head is all bandaged up. He wants me to pick him up in my arms. He doesn’t remember anything.
    “Hello, my love, what are you doing? Are you playing with that box?”
    I swallow my tears. I mustn’t cry.
    “They put a bandage on your head. How do you feel?”
    “He’ll be fine. Marco is a strong little man, and very brave.”
    The doctor is a woman. She stares at me sternly, or perhaps I’m only imagining it. Marina, be calm.
    “Who told you his name?”
    “He did. How old is he?”
    “Two in September.”
    “I asked him where he fell.”
    My heart jumps. I