When the Night by Cristina Comencini

if I want to keep my baby.
    On the way there, I talked to the couple and their young daughter.
    “How old are you?”
    “What class are you in?”
    “You’re a good walker.”
    “She’s used to it—we’ve always taken her with us, even when she was little.”
    “How clever of you.”
    They asked me about Marco. I answered as if everything were perfectly normal.
    “How far are we from the lodge?”
    I’d like to ask after every turn, but I don’t. I grin and bear it; I’m strong, and the hatred I feel sustains me. I’ll confront him, and I won’t let him blackmail me.
    When I was young I knew how to be cruel, and no one got the better of me. When the baby was born, I forgot how to be cruel. If you can’t be cruel when you need to, you become cruel for real. We came to a stop in front of the lodge.
    “Here we are.”
    “Are you going in?”
    “We’re heading up to the lake. We brought sandwiches.”
    I go up three stone steps. I stop in front of a window on the porch to check my reflection. I’m flushed, my hair is a mess; I look terrible. I fix my hair, take a handkerchief out of my bag, and wipe off the sweat. I have lipstick with me; I apply a thin layer to my lips. He’ll be in shock.
    I used to check my reflection in the shop windows on my way to school. I was never sure if I looked quite right, not too showy but not too dull.
    I open the door and think of his mother’s hand on that same door, the night she left. I imagine that I am his mother, come back to face my sons and husband.
    Jackets hang from hooks in the hall. A stuffed woodchuck stands on its hind legs, staring at nothing, next to an oldwooden sled. I hear a joyful clamor coming from the dining room. I stand in the doorway but I can’t see them. There are people eating and talking at the tables. Behind the counter, two women serve drinks. Glassy-eyed elk and deer heads line the stone walls. He’s at the last table, near the window, between another man and Marco. My baby has a napkin tied around his neck and he’s eating spaghetti with his hands. His face is red with sauce. He has already forgotten me.
    “THERE SHE IS. She made it.”
    “What did you expect, Manfred?”
    Look at her, she’s smiling. She’s lost her marbles.
    “What are you going to do, Manfred?”
    “She has to confess, Albert, in front of a witness.”
    “It’s none of your business. Why do you want to get mixed up in this? Who’s going to believe you?”
    “That’s why she has to confess.”
    She walks calmly among the tables. She has even put on some makeup. People stare. What does she want? She leans over to kiss the baby.
    “Hello, darling, how are you? Poor thing, you were hungry!”
    Smile, Marina. Look friendly. “Thank you for carrying him all that way. He was ravenous, and I was so slow! I’m completely out of shape.”
    Smile at the man next to him as well. Hold out your hand. Everything must look normal, a meeting between civilized people.
    “Hello, I’m Marina, Marco’s mother.”
    “Albert, Manfred’s brother.”
    The other brother, the one who owns the lodge. I’ll bet he didn’t have the guts to say anything.
    She sits down as if nothing has happened, picks up the boy, and begins to feed him. Talk, talk.
    “I exercise, but I wasn’t prepared for the climb. By the way, I ran into two hikers, and they told me that it wasn’t a shortcut at all! In fact, they said it’s five kilometers longer that way. I guess your brother was trying to put me to the test. Now I feel strong, and it was such a pleasant hike! The mountain was so beautiful under the sun.”
    She kisses the boy and cleans his face.
    “Was it good?”
    She’s crazy.
    “He cried a little, but then he stopped.”
    “When he didn’t see me, of course he cried. Maybe I should have waved, to let him know you were going away. But I didn’t have the time. You disappeared so quickly.”
    They’re listening. Don’t stop now.
    “Children have no sense of time. If their