Gino had not spoken a word to Quadrato. Now he said:
“I’m going home. You take the truck and go and look for those gaskets.”
Quadrato didn’t respond. Gino took the near-empty bag he had brought with him, and his water bag, and set off home. It struck him that this was the first time he had thought about his wife since morning, or maybe even for a few days. Remembering her did not bring any sense of pleasant anticipation. Instead he prepared himself to deal with the almost spine-chilling sensation he’d had recently that, after the formal affection of their initial greeting, his wife harboured an unspoken resentment, an intolerance she could not suppress, as if his coming home was a nuisance.
That expectation proved right. In fact as he arrived unannounced, Simona’s impatience was obvious
