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the bar with a satisfied smile. He hands the laptop to the girl.
    â€œI think I’ve recovered everything. Please check.”
    The girl takes the computer, puts it on the counter, and runs the presentation from beginning to end. Strange square-shaped molecules appear on the screen, complex graphs, absorption spectrums of ultraviolet rays. All with a notable attention to design.
    â€œI can’t believe it! It’s all there!”
    â€œAre you sure? Have you checked everything?”
    â€œYes, yes. I’m sure. You’ve saved my life.”
    â€œWell, not your life exactly. But I have made your immediate future a little easier.”
    â€œReally, I . . . I don’t know how to thank you.”
    Her friend speaks up. “I know a way.”
    For a moment, Massimo imagines the girl with the big eyes and her friend dressed only in whipped cream calling him from the bed in his apartment. But from the tone in which the girl has spoken, it’s clear that she and Massimo haven’t been thinking of the same thing. The friend looks at the bar and continues: “This place is really cute. Especially outside. We could have a party here after the dinner on Thursday. We’d have to make it clear, of course,” she adds with a wink, “that whoever wants to come can come, but in a place like this and after dinner, well, obviously it should be just the young people. So, we come here, we socialize the way our director wants us to, and we get rid of all the senile old idiots. I don’t know about you, but after a while I really can’t stand all those old guys sitting at the table talking out of turn.”
    That makes two of us, Massimo thinks, looking outside toward his involuntary collection of living antiques.
    â€œIt’s an idea . . . ” says the girl with the big eyes.
    â€œLook, let’s do this,” the other girl says with a determined air. “We’ll tell the chief tonight, at the reception, and then tomorrow,” she looks at Massimo, “we’ll come straight back here and let you know.”
    â€œAll right,” Massimo replies. “If you decide before then, you can even let me know tonight. I’m going to be there with you.”
    â€œHow do you mean?”
    â€œYou just said there’s a reception tonight, and your friend was saying that she has to give a presentation the day after tomorrow. That means you’re talking about a conference. As far as I know, the only conference in the vicinity is”—he takes a brochure from behind the counter—“the Twelfth Interna­tional Workshop on Macromolecular and Biomacro­molecular Chemistry—my God what a waste of capital letters—taking place at the Hotel Santa Bona in Pineta from May 21 to 26.”
    â€œYes, that’s right. But how did you come to have this brochure?”
    â€œBecause even conference delegates have to eat, and in such cases they turn to a catering service. And in this particular case, the catering service is being provided by me.”
    â€œYou and Aldo,” Tiziana cuts in.
    â€œYes, all right. Me and Aldo. Aldo’s the gentleman outside with the white hair who’s insulting the gentleman in the beret. We’re in charge of the catering. That’s why, unless anything untoward happens, I should also be at the conference tonight.”

T WO
    D ays on which terrible things happen always begin like any other. Until something happens, they’re just average days.
    The first day of the Twelfth International Workshop, etc., etc., is no exception. Like any ordinary conference, at which no one is killed, it begins with a speaker of particular distinction who gives a lecture summing up his life’s work. After this comes the first installment of seminars, which lasts from nine until eleven, followed by the first coffee break. Everything starts again at 11:30, and continues until lunchtime, when people usually