‘I had a bad dream, Nina … and my stomach hurts.’
‘It’s nothing, micia: it’s hunger.’
‘You’re right. You can’t find anything anymore on this shitty island!’
‘They’re bombing everywhere, Mody.’
‘They’ve forgotten us. Did you see them yesterday, Nina, those pale, swollen children?’
‘I’ve told you over and over again that you shouldn’t look at them.’
‘You’re right. It’s just that, like Carmine — how could I understand it at the time? — I’m worried about my children. I dreamed that ’Ntoni was starving to death in Rome.’
‘I shouldn’t have told you about Rome. Stupid Nina! But ’Ntoni is strong, you said.’
‘Yes.’
‘Then is it Jacopo you’re worried about?’
‘No, just yesterday a letter arrived. Luckily they found he has tuberculosis.’
‘Porco cane, bloody hell. Happy about a son who has tuberculosis!’
‘It’s not serious, and it’s always better than going to war, like Prando.’
‘The hell it is!’
‘Prando is strong. Have you seen the fiery letters he writes from the front? In our coded language, that patriotic passion means they’re doing everything they can to bring about a defeat.’
‘Wishing for the defeat of their own country?!’
‘That’s the only way Fascism can fall, Prando says. But he’s different. Jacopo would be dead, Nina, dead for sure.’
‘Hey now, don’t cry, micia.’
‘It’s partly hunger.’
‘So do this for me. Even if I have to pry open your mouth with a knife, you’re going to eat this cat. Nina pickled it: it’s a delicacy. There are people who are eating rats…’
‘Oh no, Nina, no!’
‘Do you think I like the idea? It must have been the last one on the island! They’re eating everything and anything, like in Russia after the revolution. Everything, even the rats. Angelica used to tell me about it when I was a little girl. But the hell with Angelica and her revolution! Now it’s you who have to steel yourself. After months of roots and some lentils, Mody, your complexion looks like something out of La Traviata, and I don’t like it one bit!
‘Do you like La Traviata? I was crazy about Verdi. When my father opened the shop in Rome, he told me “in Rome there is the Opera” and so my sorrow over having to leave Civitavecchia — I was little at the time — vanished in a flash. And then he kept his promise. Every Sunday afternoon, up there in the gallery — with all those eccentric old people leafing through the scores and singing under their breath — he would always say: “You see, little one, to prepare for the revolution one must soak up lots and lots of fantasy.” A great anarchist, Ottavio! To keep Nicola quiet when he started shouting — Nicola was his cousin, a raging, all-out Leninist — he would whisper very, very softly: “It’s not your fault, Nicola, it’s that you don’t have any imagination! We agree that everything depends on the economy, but then the real revolution has to be invented!”’
‘And now it’s our turn, Mody, or rather the cat’s! Don’t run away! Would you rather I had lied to you, maybe? And then what would I do? You have eyes to see, don’t you? They’ve eaten everything, and I can’t blame them. The birds are gone … Because of the bombings, you say? Oh well … Come on, another little piece. Think of it as medicine! Remember the whipped egg? Damn, it was good! Who would have said we’d be longing for an egg we had in prison, eh, Mody? If it weren’t for your horrified face, I’d laugh. How comical you are! Now swallow, or you’ll choke on it! Did you chew it, at least? Oh God, this one is going to choke herself! I apologize for laughing, little one, but I just had a crazy thought! Given the way things are going, don’t you think that before long — and despite all your grimacing — we’ll end up looking back with longing at this little creature too?’
* * *
‘Nothing at all, Nina? Didn’t you sell the berets?’
‘One question deserves another. Didn’t those cialtroni bring you anything, the bastards? Yet they gobble up your lessons.’
‘The poor things, they can barely stand on two feet! But it heartens me to see how, despite their hunger, their interest is stronger. They lap it all up as if it were rosolio! In the convent, I dreamed of being a teacher, mostly because of Mother Leonora’s lectern, her pointer … When Jacopo was five, he dreamed of being pope.’
‘Damn! He’s no slouch, your Jacopo.’
‘It’s because of their age. They have so much energy, they don’t know what to do with it. All you have to do is not oppose their dreams and then in time, having had their fill, they come to understand; dreams satisfy you like another life. In fact, afterwards Jacopo began to dream of becoming a pirate.’
‘I dreamed of being an opera singer.’
‘Indeed, you have a stupendous voice.’
‘Yes, but seeing how big and fat they were, I got disgusted. I wanted to be slim!’
‘You can be happy: we’re in the right place here.’
‘Funny! But do I see a little packet?’
‘Really, Nina, it’s only the usual handful of lentils. And besides, there’s no water!’
‘That’s why they let you have them, those little buggers.’
‘That’s not true!’
‘Of course it’s not true. I said it just to say something.’
‘How well they catch on if you speak clearly to them! At first I thought my own children were so bright because of the way I raised them. But I see that isn’t so. Except for that Mazzella, who is really deficient, they all get it, and that helps.’
‘They even understand too much! Watch out, the parish priest has complained, I wouldn’t want them to send us to a worse island. Things can always get worse!’
‘I’m not afraid, Nina. Prando was right: all hell is breaking loose, and they have other things to worry about … As I was saying, I wanted to be a teacher.’
‘You already told me, piccoletta. Hunger isn’t doing you any good, little one.’
‘If you tell me I’m repeating myself, it means you don’t love me anymore, Nina.’
‘What are you saying, micia, come here … There, that’s it, on my lap, my little pussycat. Oh, you’re burning up! Don’t tell me you’ve got a fever?’
‘No, no, you don’t love me anymore. Even yesterday, you didn’t want to kiss me.’
‘Well now Nina will kiss you. Come! Yesterday I went up and down four times for the mail, micia, don’t forget that!’
‘But before you always kissed me, even when you were tired.’
‘So? What does that mean? Naturally the flesh always calms down little by little in these things, but in return there’s so much tenderness, right, micia? So much tenderness it almost makes me cry … Come now, a small kiss on these beautiful eyes, this face, this mouth that goes on and on, just to make it stop chattering…’
‘And also on my firm, arrogant chin, as you used to say … Do you still like it, Nina?’
‘Of course I still do, like this beautiful serene brow, just barely marred by a scar that changes shape, colour … what shape does it have today, do you know? It looks like a small pale brook full of little stars.’
‘Oh, Nina, don’t mention water. I’m so thirsty!’
‘I can’t blame you. So then let’s say that today it has the shape of a comet. You’ve told me everything, but not how you got this scar.’
‘I don’t feel like talking about it. I just feel thirsty.’
‘Then you know what your Nina says? It’s time to get a move on!’