‘No, don’t say that, Mimmo. You’re such a good man, why do you talk like that?’
‘Because it’s the truth. What do you think? That a good person can’t see the truth? You know who you have to thank for at least being able to go outside?’
‘Of course I know: the doctor.’
‘That’s right, the doctor. But the doctor alone wouldn’t have been able to do it if a novice hadn’t died eight or ten years ago. She was your age more or less and, like you, she too was a protégée of Mother Leonora.’
‘How did she die?’
‘She killed herself, dear child. And who could blame her? Locked up in that room for more than a month, she became despondent and jumped from the window. See, that one over there. I found her splattered on the ground at daybreak. No one had heard a thing. These convents have thick walls, bomb-proof walls, so as not to hear either the tears or the joys of this world. Look, that’s the window.’
‘That’s the room I’m in.’
‘Of course! Because it’s the cell adjacent to Mother Leonora’s. That’s where her protégées end up.’
‘But how did she do it? There are iron grilles…’
‘No, they put those in afterwards. As they say in Catania, Saint Agatha’s sanctuary was robbed first, then later they put in a gate … Anyway, as I was telling you, the doctor — who just so you know is a man of pure mind and heart, who knows the law besides medicine — the doctor was able to obtain approval for you to have a breath of fresh air and some recreation by reminding them of that suicide which everybody here, apart from me, had forgotten. Of course, now they’ve sent him away. But he is a man of true conviction, and he went away untroubled. I’ll say goodbye now, princess. The oak tree is telling me that the troops are on the move and that you and I had better go our separate ways.’
The oak is telling me … It was actually true. All he had to do was lean his head against the gnarled trunk to know if there was any movement in the woods. I tried it too, but the tree said nothing to me. Yet after a few minutes the white skirts of the novices began to appear amidst the low-growing shrubbery. They came toward me and then pretended to be startled, scampering away in exaggerated terror punctuated by shrieks and laughter. The oak did not speak to me, but it had been right to warn Mimmo. That’s it, come and laugh as much as you please. Now I know how to put a stop to all this fun you’re having. Enjoy yourselves while the farce lasts since, as Mimmo says, ‘he who laughs last laughs best’.
12
To get out of that situation, I had to die. And die just the way Mimmo had suggested to me: that is, by jumping out of the window. But which one? Fortunately there were bars on mine, because it would have been too high and, on top of that, there were no geranium beds, no trees or shrubs that would keep me from breaking all my bones. I cared about this body of mine, which had given me so much joy.
I searched for three days without finding a single window that did not have those loathsome iron grilles. Finally, discouraged, I sat on the grass and leaned my head against the rusty rim of the well. The flock of sheep, as Mimmo called them, never ventured there. Why not? Indeed, why was it they never came near the old well, and when one of them glimpsed it from afar, she swiftly crossed herself three times and looked away? That’s their business. For me it was better this way. I had at least found a place where I could concentrate undisturbed in the sun, since by this time I was no longer able to either think or read in my cell. How could I manage to die if all the windows had bars? ‘E caddi come corpo morto cade’…9 How could I appear perfectly dead, ‘even as a dead body falls’, to quote the Poet, without really ending up in the odious arms of La Certa?
‘Did the princess by chance call for me? If you’ll excuse my saying so, you should not let yourself be lulled into sleep like that, under the April sun. April entices us with her false warmth. She caresses you with caring hands, but she’s ready to abandon you to the venomous dampness as soon as shadows fall.’
‘Who told you I was looking for you, the oak tree?’
‘As usual, and it was right. Even now, your eyes are calling to me, princess, but they don’t know whether to trust a stranger or not. Because, even though I’ve seen you grow with the tenacity of a healthy plant, we’re still strangers, aren’t we?’
‘Do you know why the sisters never come near this well and why, when they see it, they cross themselves as if they’ve seen the devil?’
‘I see that since they’ve kept you in quarantine you’ve sharpened your tongue, eh, princess?’
‘Not just my tongue, Mimmo, I’ve sharpened my wits as well. It’s just that…’
‘What? The well? It worries you, this well? Stay away from it, child!’
‘Why?’
‘Because it lures tormented souls. I myself have counted two of them who listened to its voice.’
‘Whose voice?’
‘The well’s water of oblivion, princess. And they jumped in. I fished two of them out myself, with these arms. My father, in his day, pulled another one out. My grandfather, God rest his soul, who knows how many! But he was of the old school, and kept quiet about it. At that time people kept quiet about everything. Even at home, with one’s own blood, you didn’t talk. People were mute in those days! But things have been changing these past twenty years. In the villages down in the valley people are beginning to talk, guardedly, of course, but they talk. And on the continent, from what my son tells me — he’s a merchant, so he comes and goes — there’s a flurry of talk and new ideas. They even speak out against this war that has broken out. When did people ever speak out against a war, before! This son of mine, Giovanni, says that the wind of rebellion is coming here too, stirring people’s minds, especially in the sulphur mines and saltworks … You should hear him! He’s really passionate about these new rebellious ideas.’
‘Rebellion against whom?’
‘Who else do the poor rebel against? Against the rich, the barons, the Church.’
‘So the doctor was one of these?’
‘Of course. Not at first, but in the last few years he changed, like my son Giovanni.’
‘But he’s not poor. He’s a doctor.’
‘He must be an exception. Although my Giovanni tells me that over there, on the continent, there are many doctors and teachers and lawyers who are on the side of the people.’
‘But can what your son tells you be true?’
‘Of course! And I’m worried. He’s always talking about these things. He’s a hothead, my Giovanni! I’m afraid that one fine day…’
‘And what do you think about it?’
‘Me, princess? I’m wary by nature. Then too, even though I criticize the rules of this convent and many, many other things about the Church that aren’t clear, I still believe in God. Oh yes, I believe in God.’
‘Ah, why, don’t they believe in God?’
‘Well, if it were simply that they didn’t believe in Him, child, that I could understand. But they hate and oppose Him. That’s what makes me wary, you see. Without the Gospel’s teachings, our young people have only a dark future ahead of them … You’re all flushed. What is it? Is it the thought of all these godless people? Eh, it’s Mimmo’s fault! You’re right, my child. Mimmo talks too much!’
What could I say? That discovering that I was not alone in doubting God had brought on a heat flash, forcing me to clamp my mouth shut to keep from screaming with joy? Lowering my head and clenching my fists to drive my nails into my palms (this would make me grow pale, I knew), I said, ‘Don’t worry, I’m all right, Mimmo.’