Мадина Федосова – Signora Lucia’s Laundry (страница 2)
Lucia turned around slowly. Not because she didn’t want to see. She had simply learned over forty years: rushing at such moments only frightens people. They arrive broken, any sudden movement could finish them off.
The girl stood at the threshold, clutching a bag as if it were the only thing keeping her on the ground. About twenty-five, maybe a little older. Short blonde hair, disheveled, uncombed after sleep, sticking out in different directions like a child who had just jumped out from under the pillow and run. Eyes red, swollen, but dry. A strange dryness, the kind that comes after hours of tears, when the body’s water has simply run out.
Dressed simply: worn jeans, a gray t-shirt with a faded print, a light jacket hanging open, although the morning was still cool. Old sneakers, worn down on one side. It was obvious she had run out in whatever she was wearing, without thinking, without choosing.
In her hands – a large plastic bag. Transparent, the kind sold at the market for ten cents. Through the slightly foggy plastic, the contents were visible: white fabric, folded carelessly, in a heap.
«Signora, I need to get this washed.»
Her voice wavered on the last word, as if the word itself – washed – was wrong, not what she wanted to say. But no other words came.
Lucia nodded towards the counter. Wide, wooden, darkened by time and water. Over the decades, whole hollows had been worn into it where thousands of people had placed their laundry, their bags, their hopes.
«Put it here.»
The girl approached. Three steps, but she took them like a hundred. Her legs wouldn’t obey. She put the bag on the counter. Her hands trembled with a fine, nasty tremor that couldn’t be stopped, no matter how hard you tried. She unzipped it, took out the contents.
Sheets.
Double-bed size, good cotton, expensive. You could see it immediately: in the density of the fabric, the even seams, the lace trim bordering the edges. White, dazzlingly white, even after sleep. On one – in the middle, where a pillow or a sleeper’s head usually lies – a bright stain.
Lipstick.
Red. Not orange, not pink, not coral. Red. Bright as a fire engine, as a traffic signal, as blood. A clear imprint of a woman’s lips, slightly smeared on one edge, as if the head had been turned in sleep or in haste, jumping up and running away in the morning.
Lucia looked at the stain. For a long time. Then shifted her gaze to the girl.
She stood, gripping the edge of the counter. Her knuckles were white, transparent. Nails cut short, without manicure, chewed in places down to the quick.
«These are my sheets,» the girl said.
Her voice was completely gone. She had to cough, clear her throat, but the sound still came out hoarse, alien.
«Ours. Mine and his. We got married six months ago.»
Lucia was silent. Silence was her main tool. Words can wound, deceive, confuse. Silence gives a person space. Space to pour out everything that has accumulated.
«I bought them a month before the wedding. I chose them myself. Went to that shop on Via del Corso, you know? The one with the Portuguese linen. The most expensive fabric they had. I saved from my paycheck for three months. I wanted everything to be beautiful. To remember for my whole life. Silly, right?»
She fell silent, as if expecting an answer. Lucia didn’t answer.
«Last night he came home late. Said work. They had a rush, quarterly reports, all that. I didn’t ask. I never ask. A wife should trust, right? Mama always said: trust is the foundation of marriage. I trusted.»
Her lips pressed into a thin line, turning white like her knuckles.
«In the morning he left early. I was still asleep, half-heard him kissing my cheek, whispering something. Left coffee on the nightstand, as always. Thoughtful. Perfect. And when I got up to make the bed, I saw this.»
She jabbed her finger at the stain. Her finger trembled so hard she didn’t hit the stain on the first try.
«I want to burn them.»
Lucia shifted her gaze from the sheet to the girl. A long, heavy look that usually made people squirm.
«Then why did you bring them here?»
The girl blinked. Bewildered, like a child given a problem she doesn’t understand.
«What?»
«If you want to burn them, burn them. Everyone has matches. Why bring them to me?»
The girl opened her mouth, closed it. Then exhaled as if all the air had left her at once.
«I don’t know.»
Lucia nodded. She had heard this answer thousands of times. Thousands of people had stood at this counter, clutching dirty laundry, not knowing why they were here. They only knew one thing: they couldn’t stay alone with this. Couldn’t sit in an empty apartment, looking at those stains, those things, those reminders, and not go crazy.
«Sit down,» Lucia said, nodding towards the chair by the wall.
The chair was old, wooden, with a worn-down seat. Thousands of people had sat in it. Waited. Cried. Been silent. Sometimes fallen asleep from exhaustion, and Lucia would cover them with an old blanket she kept for such occasions.
The girl sat down. Lucia took the sheets, unfolded them completely. The stain was bigger than it had seemed through the bag. About ten centimeters in diameter, with a clear lip outline in the center and smudges at the edges, as if someone had tried to wipe the lipstick off, only smearing it further.
Lucia brought the fabric to her nose, sniffed it.
«French,» she said. «Expensive lipstick. Long-lasting. Won’t come out easily.»
The girl hiccupped a sob. The sound escaped unexpectedly, as if it wasn’t her who made it.
«I know.»
Lucia set the sheets aside. Went to the stove, where a coffee pot was simmering on low heat. The coffee was boiling for the third time that morning, rising with a cap of golden foam which Lucia deftly knocked down. She poured the dark, thick liquid into a clean ceramic cup. The cup was old, with fine cracks in the glaze, but Lucia loved these – they didn’t burn your hands, they gave off heat slowly, like living things.
Set it in front of the girl.
«Drink.»
«I don’t want to.»
«Drink. You’ll stop shaking.»
The girl obediently took the cup. Her hands were indeed shaking; coffee sloshed over the rim, dripped onto the counter, onto her jeans. She took a sip, burned herself, but didn’t feel it. Then another. The coffee was strong, bitter, the kind they make in the south – sugar on the side, everyone adds their own.
Lucia sat down opposite her. Not behind the counter where she took laundry and money, but on another similar old chair kept by the wall for those rare visitors she needed to talk to at length. She rarely did this. Only when she saw someone truly on the edge. When there was dirt inside them that water couldn’t wash away.
Outside the glass door of the laundry, the usual morning life of the alley had begun. A Vespa went by, loud, crackling, its exhaust pipe sputtering. A woman passed with heavy bags, judging by how she leaned to the side. Somewhere a child cried – either waking up or falling down. The upstairs neighbor opened her shutters with a loud creak that Lucia had heard every morning for forty years and no longer noticed.
«What’s your name?» Lucia asked.
«Valentina.»
Her voice sounded a little steadier now. The coffee was starting to work.
«How old are you, Valentina?»
«Twenty-six.»
«Do you work?»
«I’m a doctor. Pediatrician. At the children’s hospital on Gianicolo, you know? Where the old park is.»
Lucia raised an eyebrow slightly. A doctor. Used to saving, curing, solving problems. And here was a case where her science was powerless. Here there were no pills, no tests, no diagnosis. Only a red stain on a white sheet.
«Is he your first?»
Valentina looked up. Her eyes were red, swollen, but now a little more focused.
«What?»
«Your first man? Or have there been others?»
Valentina shook her head. Her hair flew from side to side.
«He’s my first. I married late. Studying, then residency, then work at the hospital. No time to date, go out, choose. I thought I’d found the one. The real one. Forever.»
«Do you love him?»
Silence hung in the air, thick as the morning fog over the Tiber. Valentina stared into her cup, at the dark surface of the coffee where tiny bubbles of foam floated.