Backed into a Corner
November 1998
Another drop of hot chocolate, perhaps?
Yes, please.
I know him, I know how to handle him: he never says no to a second helping of hot chocolate. Emmanuel is as fond of sweets as a child, and in particular, he can't resist desserts. This craving for sweetness isn't normal in an adult male: I believe it's a form of compensation for very deep emotional needs, still unfulfilled. Emmanuel has always suffered, or at least since I've known him, from a sort of affective bulimia: its roots lie in a strange sense of abandonment whose origin I can't understand. I know I exacerbated it by rejecting him as a committed partner and husband, but certainly this need pre-existed; otherwise, he wouldn't have clung to me so morbidly: so morbidly as to go so far as to give me a child just to tie me to himself. Because certainly, whether he was conscious of it or not, Emmanuel knew he was getting me pregnant and wanted it with all his might.
Where's Martino?
At grandma's, as usual on Thursdays.
What a shame! I wanted to tell him the fairy tale of Puss in Boots, telling him that Gino was the main character. I'm sure he'd go crazy for it.
Gino mews and purrs, rubbing against Emmanuel's legs, who scratches his head.
Ultimately, this unconscious choice of his, if one can call it that, was my salvation: Martino's birth shielded me from a series of mistakes I was about to make, tying myself to a man and a family that don't belong to me. I'm very fond of Michael, but by becoming his wife and part of his family, I would have forever felt like a fish out of water, inadequate and insufficient. In this way, I've found my own balance, my own dimension, so to speak, and I owe this to Emmanuel. Therefore, the deep affection I feel for him has grown even stronger, but, as always, I'm forced to keep him at a distance: because Emmanuel is fundamentally crazy, unpredictable, elusive as air. It would have been a grave error to accept his marriage proposal: I would have lived in terror of being betrayed or left, of seeing him disappear at any moment.
You can tell Martino the fairy tale later, if you like: my mother brings him here around six.
How nice! It's been ages since I last saw your mom: I'll be very happy to greet her.
She'll be pleased to see you too. She always liked you and Michael, for different reasons, of course.
But... even after she found out Martino was my son?
Yes, even after. She had sensed it from the very first moment, that it would end this way: ever since that afternoon you came to visit me at my house, that is, at her house, after my operation. She had understood everything and had even tried to warn me.
I'm afraid it's humanly impossible to warn against certain things, Antonia.
Indeed.
I had hoped to maintain an erotic connection with him, since, so to speak, we are decidedly compatible from a sexual point of view, but I had to realize that he is not really capable of experiencing sex outside of a strong emotional bond. With regret, I accepted his presence in my house as Martino’s father and as a friend, because I'm still glad to have him around.
But now the moment of reckoning has come.
For too long, Emmanuel has been carrying on an absurd, not to say demented, relationship with a man who could be his father: a man who, moreover, has a committed partner. I waited for a few months, hoping that the infatuation would pass, but I had to realize that it is not an infatuation at all: unfortunately, Emmanuel seems truly in love, and when he’s in love, he’s completely irrational, as I well know. And he’s absurdly faithful to his love, however messed up it may be: he clings to that relationship with the blind loyalty of a dog.
Perhaps I may be willing to put up with this situation as a person, but certainly not as a mother: I cannot allow Martino to have such a father figure. The problem had already arisen in the past, but it seemed that we had overcome it; unfortunately, I knew very well that sooner or later he would fall in love again, driven by his insatiable emotional hunger.
And now we must clarify the situation once and for all.
I watch him drink his hot chocolate and wipe the brown mustache that remained on his lips with the napkin. He has a perfectly satisfied expression, so much so that I hate to disturb his serenity: but I must.
It's been ages since you've shown up, Emmanuel - I say with a serious tone.
Yes, sorry, I know, it's just that I'm always very busy... You know, the greenhouses are starting to do rather well, I manage to give Mayra a decent salary and keep something for myself. And for you two, of course.
You don't need to, you know, but thank you anyway. But that's not why you don't come around much.
Yes, well of course, I have other commitments too. I took a couple of exams, you know? A first-class degree and a twenty-eight. Not bad for someone who studies in his spare time, right?
You already told me, and I already congratulated you.
Sorry, I didn't remember.
You don't remember a lot of things, Emmanuel...
Finally, he understands that this is not a simple attempt at conversation. He falls silent for a moment, his eyes fixed on the cup, then looks up at me. His slight squint moves me foolishly, as always.
What's wrong, Antonia?
I sigh.
We need to clear things up, Emmanuel.
All right, let's do it.
I get up and take the cups into the kitchen. Then I sit back down in front of him. He has taken Gino in his arms, as if to shield himself with a familiar presence.
Emmanuel, I want to understand how your relationship with that man is going.
That man has a name: it's Gianni.
I don't care what his name is: it's irrelevant. You see, it's not that I'm jealous or want to pry into your affairs, but it so happens that we have a son in common.
Of course. And I love him.
I know you love him, but it's not enough. For now, Martino is still very young, but as he grows up, he'll understand many things. Having a gay father is already heavy enough for a child…
Bisexual, Antonia: I think you should know something about that.
Currently gay, if you don't mind.
Sorry: Martino doesn't know that I'm his father, right? So I'd say the problem doesn't arise for him.
I feel irritated by his attempt to minimize.
Don't play the fool who doesn't understand, Emmanuel. He sees you often at home, he looks a lot like you… He'll end up understanding.
He nods and says nothing.
Not that being gay is a disgrace, let's be clear, I add to avoid seeming moralistic, but you know what the Latins say, don't you? Est modus in rebus.
And my modus isn't good, I suppose.
No, it's not good. You're not simply with a man, Emmanuel, but with an adult, someone twenty years older than you. 
More than twenty.
See, even worse! And above all, he's not a free man. To summarize: you have a clandestine, and quite incestuous, relationship with an adult male.
Yes, I'm afraid that's exactly right.
Now, Emmanuel, I hope it's clear to you: this kind of father figure is absolutely unacceptable for Martino.
He nods again.
If you continue down this path, I'll be forced to prevent you from seeing your son.
He looks up, surprised and alarmed.
Prevent me, how?
In the simplest way, Emmanuel: I won't let you into the house anymore.
Lost, he is silent for a few seconds. Then he resumes.
You don't have the right to do that to me: he's my son too.
I have every right. It's my duty to protect Martino.
Protect him... from me? he says with a sarcastic smile.
Yes, from you, or rather from the example you're setting for him. Excuse me, Emmanuel, but it shouldn't be difficult for you to understand my point of view.
I understand it, in fact, even if I don't approve of it. So what? - he adds with a confident, almost defiant tone.
I'm asking you, Emmanuel: so what? 
Meaning what?
What do you intend to do? Or, if you prefer, what do you choose?
He remains silent for a few seconds, his eyes lowered, shaking his head with bitter irony. Then he raises his head and replies with a firm tone:
You don’t choose to love, Antonia. You just love. You should know that.
I had anticipated this type of response, and I'm not caught off guard.
I know it well: but, as you see, I've succeeded in making choices.
Your choice was not to accept love, Antonia. I could never do that; it's not in my nature. I can only accept love when it comes, and be faithful to it. I would never betray his trust.
I am stunned.
So you’re telling me that if you have to choose between your son and him, you choose him?...
He stares at me with a cold look.
Yes, Antonia: I'm telling you exactly that. You're causing me great suffering, but precisely because it is you who is choosing to make me suffer for no reason, precisely because I’m in pain, I cannot inflict in turn an unjust suffering on a man who loves me and trusts me.
For no reason?
Yes, for no reason. The motives you’re using are excuses. It is not written on my face that I am with a man, Antonia: Martino will never see me in his company. So, what's the problem?
For a moment, I don't know what to say. He continues:
Sometimes, when you make these speeches, I get the feeling that it bothers you, not Martino. It is you who doesn’t accept that I’m with a man.
I simply say nothing.
The first person I asked to marry me was you, and you refused my proposal as if it was ridiculous and insulting. Now you cannot complain if I have found another love. And you know that I love you anyway.
Emmanuel, it’s not that it's another love… - I begin, but then I interrupt myself. I realize that perhaps he’s right: perhaps, whoever he had fallen in love with, it would bother me all the same. It's like a strange wound that burns inside me.
Yes, I know, – he continues, not noticing my doubt – it’s not a love: it’s "that" love. It’s a man, he’s much older than me, he’s with another man and so on. And while we're at it, I’ll also add that his head isn't quite right: at times he rambles, I’m afraid he might lose his mind, poor man.
Ah! Even out of his mind. I was missing this one.
Don't get me wrong, he's not mad: but every now and then, his mind has like, holes. He gets lost. Maybe someone else would run away, but not me: his fragility makes me very tender. He needs me: if I'm not there, he's very unhappy, do you understand? Perhaps that's why I love him: nobody has ever admitted to needing me to live. Much less you, Antonia.
He has spoken the truth, and therefore I can only take the blow and be silent.
Anyway - he resumes - as for now, Martino is not at any risk in seeing me: he doesn't know that I'm with a man and he can't tell from my behavior. Unless, of course, you tell him.
I won't even think about it.
Moreover, I don't think I have the look and the attitude of a gay man, do I?
No, you don't.
So, Antonia, tell me where the problem lies? Seriously, huh.
I sigh and again, I say nothing. It is still he who continues the conversation:
But, since it bothers you so much, I'll get ahead of myself and make some assumptions. Suppose that one day things change and I am forced, I don't know how, to come out and reveal my relationship with Gianni. At that point, Martino would be older and would understand something, I admit. Your only solution would be to throw me out of your lives?
Yes, I think so.
He shakes his head.
No, Antonia: that's not right. There are other more humane solutions, if we want to define them that way.
Such as?
Such as, if you don’t want me in the house anymore, we can meet outside, on neutral ground.
What do you mean by neutral ground?
What do I know, for example the public gardens. Why not, Antonia? We can meet there: you, me, Martino, and Bella. That will be fine with me.
I think about it for a moment. Everything inside me says no to that proposal, which excludes the possibility of him sleeping on his sofa bed in my house, of dining at my table, and watching television with me sitting on the couch. But in the end, it is I who am backing him into a corner.
Okay, - I say - as an extreme and fallback solution, it's fine.
Perfect, Antonia, thank you.
He gets up and comes to kiss me. A real kiss on the mouth, not really from friends: he’s happy that I’ve accepted and wants to show me.
I'll go get the book of fairy tales - he says smiling - In a little while, Martino will be here, and I can't wait to tell him that Gino was Puss in Boots. I'm sure he'll believe it.
He turns and enters Martino's room, where he left the book.
I watch him walk away from me, tall, handsome, elegant even in his simple everyday clothes. My heart tightens and then suddenly expands, at the thought that I was backing myself, not him, into a corner, and he offered me a way out.