The Italian Teacher(96)
“I’m up to all sorts of things with my life because of you. Ever so grateful, Charlie.”
After hanging up, he holds on to the phone, other hand flat on his chest over pictures of Harold and Tony. After those two died, he was distraught—couldn’t speak their names for a couple of years. Nowadays he studies their photos at length. They make him laugh.
So fast gone, isn’t it. Was I anything? What anguishes him most is not that he didn’t succeed, but that he didn’t experience more: other lovers, intrepid trips, peculiar foods, a daughter and a son, both grown, returning to see him. “How nice you could come! Sorry I’m not at my best. Take a seat—there’s space on the edge of the mattress. Tell me, what have you been up to of late?” When young, Pinch considered human connections the refuge of those who couldn’t make art. Or is art just the refuge of those who cannot connect?
Work colleagues drop by, including Francesca, who brings a stack of grammar books, knowing they will divert him: the brand-new Italian, German, French, Portuguese texts, all pilfered from the school. “Courtesy of Uncle Utz,” she says.
He reaches for his notepad, writing, “Molto gentile. Grazie.”
Nearly without exception, the colleagues who visit are women. The male teachers can never make it, which hurts him, although he never lets on—he always replies cheerfully to their text messages.
One man who does appear is Marsden, turning up alongside a diminutive companion with tweezed eyebrows and carefully trimmed beard, as groomed as a French formal garden. Privately, Pinch thinks of Rob as Marsden’s sidekick but doesn’t use that term, knowing it sounds dismissive. As it happens, he immediately warmed to Rob, who has sensitive gray eyes and, despite his size, is always in everyone’s way, apologizing excessively (“So sorry!”), only for another person to tap him on the shoulder, setting him off again, like a well-dressed pinball.
Marsden and Rob flew in for the week to help Pinch with his return from the hospital. They make an excellent team, supplying all Pinch’s favorite treats—not least, plentiful Maltesers. Rob compiles a list of vegetables that are supposedly cancer-fighting, and discreetly adds them to Pinch’s diet. They place flowers around the bedroom and bring out his favorite art books. Each day, they interrogate Pinch on any desired comforts and, no matter how obscure, track them down, always in the most lavish version. When he can’t eat, they consume his favorite meals in front of him, which is heavenly for Pinch.
“I just realized something incredible, Marsden!” Pinch kids. “You were the love of my life! Did you realize?”
“You even sent me bouquets in secret.”
“Me? I never!”
Everyone laughs—in medicated delirium, Pinch can be extravagant. But he is at ease around them and speaks as himself. Among the worst aspects of illness (with ample competition) is the incessant talk of illness. Instead they discuss music and films and old days in Toronto. When their departure approaches, Marsden and Rob announce their intention to stay on—they are clearly needed here. But Pinch declines. Jing is worse at caring for him, but she’s in tatters over his current state and suffers when she finds nothing to do.
Tensely Marsden packs, repeating aloud everything they must do before the taxi arrives. Rob bids farewell and waits downstairs. Marsden and Pinch are left alone.
“You have to let go of my hand at some point.”
“You mean it doesn’t come off?”
“It’s become quite attached to me.”
“I feel the same way.”
82
When Pinch asks Birdie if she had a comfy flight, she can’t remember. It’s too shocking to see her brother like this. Throughout her four-day visit, she avoids him, finding things to go out for, rushing to the kitchen at any opportunity to wash dishes or clean the fridge shelves—anything. On her final afternoon, he forces a conversation. He wants to settle a few things, needs to apologize for not having stood up for her when she visited Rome, for trying to be Dad’s favorite. But when he approaches any subject, she keeps interrupting, not allowing this to be the last conversation—it’s not the last anything!
“I’m not sure when I’ll die, Bird, but I’m certain it’ll be this that kills me.”
She changes the subject, talking of when she picked up her new little brother at the international school in Rome, eating ice creams in those gorgeous piazzas, little Charlie translating her flirts with Italian boys.
“What funny times!” he says.
“I love how you maintain such high spirits, Charlie.”
“Because this conversation is for you, Bird. I won’t be here to remember it. And I need to get this in your memory in the right way.”
“Oh cut that out! You ain’t going nowhere!” She hurries on to a discussion of the Faces show in New York. “How great that was,” she marvels. “Our dad.”
83
When Barrows hears about Pinch’s sickness from Marsden, she emails immediately. “I’m doing a talk at the LSE in a few weeks. Could I see you?”
He hesitates. I’m so hideous now. Who cares? I do. As her visit nears, Pinch reads the alarm in people’s eyes. Oh, stop fretting about how everybody sees you! He recalls his excitement of younger years when meeting with Barrows. I’ve missed her. Missed a lifetime in her company.