They turned in unison as a short, stumpy, balding man entered the room. He was the very picture of beige: beige suit, beige shirt, beige tie. His brown leather shoes were the only accent to counter his boring monotonal aesthetic.
‘Buongiorno. I’m Salvatore Fabris.’ The official’s Venetian accent was so thick it sounded as if he pushed the syllables through the back of his nose via a wringer. His square-framed glasses reflected some of the overhead lighting, so Lucia couldn’t quite make out where he was looking.
Neither Lucia nor Alex spoke.
‘Documenti?’ Salvatore asked, and Lucia and Alex poked around in their personal belongings, producing their identification documents. Lucia handed over hercarta d’identità. Alex had an Australian passport.
Lucia’s eyes caught on the passport for a moment, and she suddenly remembered how she had earlier noticed an interesting tonal inflection to the way Alex had said theein his name.
He’s Australi—?
But her train of thought was interrupted. ‘I have read the case notes, as well as thesignificantnumber of concerns . . .’
Lucia sat up a little taller in her chair. ‘I can explain . . .’
Salvatore paused momentarily to survey her over the top of his glasses then shuffled his papers. ‘This is a common dispute. Tit for tat. And to be honest, we have more important things to be dealing with.’
Lucia jumped in. ‘But I—’
The man raised his hand. ‘Signorina Trevisan. The issues raised by Signor Scarpa fall under the jurisdiction of thecomune. Claims of noise regulation violation. Use of public space without the appropriate permits. Antisocial behaviour.’ Lucia’s mouth dropped open. ‘These are of concern to us. But, seeing as this is all alleged behaviour, and without photographic evidence or otherwise from the complainant, consider this your warning.’
Lucia turned to glare at Alex, but his focus remained resolutely fixed to the man. ‘What do you mean by “warning”?’
‘Should thecomunebe presented with evidence – documented formally – to support the aforementioned complaints, then youwillbe fined. And on-going issues may result in the termination of your business licence. Am I clear?’
Lucia didn’t respond. She simply inhaled a little more deeply, a little more loudly.
‘And Signor Scarpa . . .’ The man turned his attention to Alex. ‘You are encouraged to disengage from further encounters with Signorina Trevisan and her business. Should there be continued issues, we encourage you to contact thecomunewith documentable evidence.’
Lucia erupted. ‘That’s it? A keep-clear warning?’
‘Signorina Trevisan, the complaints we have received pertain toyourbehaviour, and toyourencounters with Signor Scarpa. Not about his behaviour.’
‘But he—’
‘Do you have evidence of any wrongdoing on his part?’ The man brought his pen to his lips.
Alex turned to look at Lucia and she scoured her memory. Whathadhe done? Existed in the space she had always thought of as her own? Had there been noise? Disruption? No. All he had asked for was respectful quiet. And for the second time in a week, Lucia felt ashamed of herself. She lowered her gaze. ‘No. Nothing.’
A stifled, frustrated sigh escaped Alex, and he dropped his face into his hands.
‘Perfetto,’ the man said, clicking his pen and clipping it onto one of his folders. ‘Let’s hope we don’t see either of you back here again.’ He stood, straightened his suit, then left.
Both stared across at the blank white wall behind Salvatore’s table for a few moments, still and quiet.
Eventually, Lucia said, ‘Alex, I’m sor—’
‘I am too. I even came to withdraw the complaints a few days ago. To cancel all this. But it had already been processed.’
Though Lucia tried her best to contain her emotions, her eyes had begun to well with tears. ‘I need all this to be over, please. I am going through a lot right now, and I need it settled.’
‘I do, too.’
‘Thank you.’ She collected her things and left.
The walk home from thecomuneoffices felt longer than it was. Or, perhaps, longer than Lucia wanted it to be.
The shameful exhausted tail between her legs seemed to suddenly drag against the grey pavers. Once again she could hear the distinct echo of Alex’s footsteps a few metres behind her, matching her own. Her legs felt as if they were filled from top to bottom with layers of humiliation and chagrin, and she wished she could simply disappear on the breeze which whistled its way along Rio de San Salvador.
