Elizabeth hated the summer.
Too many hours of light. Too hot.
On the top floor of the Hotel Continental, the air-conditioning was running at full strength, and the temperature was still barely tolerable. She was staying in the hotel’s finest accommodation. A four-room suite, with two baths and a spacious sitting room. Far too extravagant for a single person, but considering the occasion, she had planned to do everything in grand style.
After biting into a piece of beef, she poured herself another glass of wine. A 1947 Château Margaux and a tenderloin, rare. Not exactly the most traditional of breakfasts, but if nothing else, being inclined to lay out large sums of money insulated her from awkward questions.
The curtains were drawn, but the sitting-room window was left unlatched. From the swimming pool, ten stories below, came the monotonous wash of the water. The tourists were hiding out somewhere, waiting for the scorching heat to subside. At that hour, it was far too hot to be outside.
Elizabeth, sitting in the dark, emptied her glass and stared at the label on the bottle. It was meant to be a tribute to the place—the Château Margaux estate–and the time of her first encounter with Simon, although even the best bottle in the cellar dated from exactly a century too late. So be it.
The steak disappeared in one last bite. Elizabeth laid the silver knife back on the table and she noticed a spot of tarnish on its blade. It was showing signs of age, like the rest of the hotel. They had discovered it together, she and Simon, during their first trip to Italy. At the time, it was the most fashionable of places, patronized by the Tuscan aristocracy and the scene of unforgettable celebrations. These days it was overrun, for the most part, by Russian tourists in search of an exotic holiday.
She turned toward the mirror. If she could have seen her own reflection, she would have known that she was stunningly beautiful, still looking to be, since 1847, no more than thirty-five years old. Her long blond hair fell over her shoulders with the blooming elegance of another time, and her ivory complexion displayed just a spray of red along her cheeks—a temporary gift from the Margaux–while all the sadness of the last two weeks was imprisoned in her grey-green eyes. With her long neck and full bosom, her body was one born to turn heads, although by that time, the roving eyes of men bounced right off of her.
But still she remembered very well how Simon had looked at her that first time. The hungry expression of someone who had just found the answer to all of his questions. But now he had gone. Forever. And eternity was a burden far too heavy for her to bear alone.
Simon had recaptured his youth with that American slut. An enthusiastic twenty-year-old, a daughter of “The Summer of Love,” who after over half-a-century still had not grown tired of riotous bacchanals and free love. Simon, poor fool, had fallen under her spell, but that was easy to understand: at his age, a new emotion is the kind of rare thing over which a mind could be entirely lost.
Elizabeth looked at her watch. It was a few minutes before noon. Time to leave the room. She drank down the final swallow directly from the bottle.
Tired and groggy from the alcohol. She got up and whispered just under her breath, “Good-bye, my love.” Then she gripped the edges of the thick velvet curtains and, suddenly, threw them open.
And she let herself be invaded by the August sun, blinding and lethal.
Translated by J. Weintraub
Davide Staffiero has published two novels in Italian, Il Programma (winner of the 2018 Giovane Holden Award for a published novel and the 2019 Holmes Award for Literature; https://thrillernord.it/il-programma/) and Dalle 9 alle 6 (From 9 to 6; Edikit, 2022). His first collection of stories, Pruriti, was published by Edikit in 2023). August Sun is the first of Mr. Staffiero’s fictions to appear in English.
J. Weintraub has published fiction, essays, and poetry in all sorts of literary places. A member of the Dramatists Guild, he has had dramatic work produced throughout the USA and internationally. As a translator, his edition of Nicola Lombardi’s The Gypsy Spiders and Other Tales of Italian Horror was published by UK’s Tartarus Press in 2021. In 2018, his edition of Eugène Briffault’s Paris à table: 1846 was published by Oxford UP.
Published 2/14/24