ITALO CALVINO
227
Perhaps a suicide lives there, and as long as you keep calling him some
hope remains of preventing his extreme act. ... " I think perhaps I
should try to make myself useful , lend a hand, help the deaf man, the
paralytic, the suicide.... And at the same time I think-in the absurd
logic at work inside me-that in doing so I could make sure the call is
not by chance for me....
Still running I push open the gate, enter the yard, circle the house,
explore the ground behind it, dash behind the garage, to the tool shed,
the dog house. Everything seems deserted, empty. Through an open
window in the rear a room can be seen, in disorder, the telephone on
the table, continuing to ring. The shutter slams; the window-frame is
caught in the tattered curtain.
I have circled the house three times; I continue to perform the
movements of jogging, raising elbows and heels, breathing with the
rhythm of my run so that it is clear my intrusion is not a thief's; if they
caught me at this moment I would have a hard time explaining that I
came in because I heard the telephone ring. A dog barks, not here, it is
the dog of another house that cannot be seen; but for a moment in me
the signal "barking dog" is stronger than the "ringing telephone" and
this is enough to open a passage in the circle that was holding me
prisoner there, now I resume running among the trees along the street,
leaving behind me the increasingly muffled ringing.
I run until there are no more houses. In a field I stop to catch my
breath. I do some kneebends, some pushups, I massage the muscles of
my legs so they will not get cold. I look at the time. I am late, I must go
back if I do not want to keep my students waiting. All I need is for the
rumor to spread that I go running through the woods when I should be
teaching.... I fling myself onto the return road, paying no attention
to anything, I will not even recognize that house, I will pass it without
noticing. For that matter the house is exactly like the others in every
respect, and the only way it could stand out would be if the telphone
were to ring again, which is impossible....
The more I turn these thoughts over in my head, as I run down–
hill, the more I seem
to
hear that ring again, it grows more and more
clear and distinct, there, I am again in sight of the house and the
telephone is still ringing. I enter the garden, I go around behind the
house, I run to the window. I have only to reach out to pick up the
receiver. I say, breathless: "He's not here ... " and from the receiver a
voice, a bit vexed, but only a bit, because what is most striking about
this voice is the coldness, the calm, says: "Now you listen to me.
Marjorie is here, she'll be waking in a little while, but she's tied up and
