That night Cody came round to Luigi's flat, as Luigi had known he would. Cody pressed the intercom button downstairs on the door at the entrance to the block of flats so that Luigi could open it and let him in to the lobby.
“Lu, it's Co.”
Luigi had been waiting, his heart cracked stone, his soul cut to pieces. He sat in the dark waiting for the man he thought had been his friend, the man he thought had loved him, and he stared in complete silence at the wall. He hadn't eaten since lunch with his grandmother, he hadn't drunk or spoken or even gone to the toilet. He'd just sat there, immobile; mirroring, if he'd only known, his ancestors from the rocky plains and slopes of Calabria, people who stoically and unforgivingly faced the facts of life.
He got up and moved to the bay window, and from behind the curtains, he watched Cody press the buzzer again and again, watched in silence, his black-olive eyes opaque and indecipherable, his mouth a thin tight line of pain and anger.
Then Cody did something Luigi never thought he'd see. He started to sob, and then, his feet dragging and his shoulders bent, he went back down the pathway to the street.