Reassured by the lenses, all she sees are the usual white strands and a few more wrinkles. Her teeth? Strong. And if she smiles, the wrinkles are erased by magic. That smile at the end of her speeches had sparked cries of enthusiasm and applause. It was satisfying and comforting to be understood, to be loved. That was the reason — she realized it now — why each day she acquiesced to watering down her ideas, impoverishing their content, reducing her language. Even so, success was certain; in fact, even more certain than before. That was the catch! In recent months, the less she said the more applause she received from the crowd. And she, content, tried not to see it. Now she realized that during those years, all she had had was personal success. Like an actress who, just to please the audience, passes off even the most hackneyed or reactionary script as good. She understood Mela; she finally understood the radiant eyes, the confident demeanour of that girl … Surrounded by applause, accepted and loved by the crowd, Mela had no need for anyone, except for some casual affair with a woman. Lucky her! But Mela made sounds spring from her keyboard: exquisite, classic sounds, not words that spewed fire more terrible than cannons …
With her arms on the mirror, Modesta’s happy smile vanishes, and she weeps in despair. She’s never felt so despondent, not when she decided to stop getting richer and richer by accumulating money, nor when she felt called to poetry. With her face buried in her arms, she tries to find the strength not to be corrupted by herself, that self who says: ‘Besides, if you don’t do it, someone else — surely worse than you — will promptly do it.’
90
‘What do you plan to do, Mama?’
‘Enjoy the sunshine, can’t you see? I feel like I’ve been away from this sun for a hundred years!’
‘Do you think it’s fair to keep me in the dark? Make me look bad?’
‘Bad how, Prando?’
‘Like a fool, down in Catania and in Rome. Is it possible that I always have to hear about things from other people, from strangers?’
‘Did Lucio phone you?’
‘He was desperate! You left without even calling him, and he wanted to know from your know-nothing, idiot of a son if it’s true that you intend to drop everything.’
‘Nonsense, Prando; an excuse to call you. I cancelled all my engagements properly. I spent an additional week in Rome, in that bogus peace, to call off all my commitments. A nightmarish week! Gilded clouds, celebrations! And to make matters worse, Via Veneto, with those “happy few” who feign a grim cheerfulness when they meet one another.’
‘Never mind Rome! Why won’t you answer me? What’s the story about the article?’
‘Why are you bothering to ask, Prando, when you know everything?’
‘All because of ten lines in an article!’
‘For that matter, twelve lines and a title. And even if it were only one line, I don’t accept censorship of any kind. You people are young, but for me twenty years was enough. I feel all censored out, as Nina would say.’
‘Nina this, Nina that! Forget about her! It’s she and that spineless existentialist Libero who gave you a swollen head.’
‘I can tell you that Libero is one of the few genuine Marxists I met in Rome.’
‘A beaten individualist, that’s what he is!’
‘Naturally, compared to your absolute triumphalism. Drop it, Prando; I’m tired of controversy. Who would have said that after only four years — imagine! — I’d have to agree with that warped Jesuit, Sartre!’113
‘What does Sartre have to do with it?’
‘It’s related, listen. In Milan, in 1946, I think, it was summer and everyone was suffocating … such heat in that sunless northern city, you wouldn’t believe it!’
‘Spare me the poetic descriptions, Mama!’
‘I’ll spare you. Sartre said that a little angst wouldn’t hurt against your triumphalism, and he attracted all the young people to him.’
‘All the spineless young people you know! I know other young people, like me…’
‘You, Prando, young? You’re as old as the power of this island, and you’re handsome too, like its ancient beauty. I like looking at you. You remind me of an old man, as wise as the sea and as calm as the Mountain, who enchanted me as a little girl.’
‘If one could talk rationally with you women. Judas Priest!’
‘I talk rationally, Prando, if you speak to me clearly and don’t beat around the bush like you’ve been doing for an hour. What is it you want? Spit it out.’
‘Lucio wants to…’
‘Marry me, you mean?’
‘Because he’s a man of honour.’
‘A man of order, you mean?’
‘What is it you don’t like about Lucio?’
‘A small detail that today is no longer in fashion: I’m not in love with him, my darling Prando.’
‘In love! Haven’t the years, experience taught you anything? Yet they say you’re supposed to grow calmer with age.’
‘That’s what they told me too.’
‘Aren’t we enough for you? Me, your shitty Jacopo, Carluzzu, Bambù? All the women envy you. Carluzzu wants no one but you. He’s always pestering me! Amalia is dying of jealousy because she can’t win over Carluzzu, no matter what.’
‘She’ll get over it, Prando. As soon as your little bride has her baby — I’m certain it’s another boy — she’ll calm down, you’ll see. Amalia is sweet. She just needs to have a child of her own.’
‘I don’t give a damn about Amalia. I want to know what you’ve decided.’
‘Decided? About what?’
‘Lucio is going to call tomorrow. What the hell should I say to him, do you mind telling me?’
‘That he should phone me. I’ll see to Lucio.’
‘Look, if you don’t marry him, you’re coming to live with me in Catania.’
‘And why should I do that?’
‘Why, she says! Villa Suvarita has been sold, right? In three months you have to leave. Where do you intend to go? You don’t have a red cent, Mama, can you get it through your head?’
‘You really want to put me out to pasture, right, Prando? That’s how it is: an old man wants to force you to be eternally young and a young man wants to see you old before your time, out of his way.’
‘What are you talking about? Everyone adores you!’
‘Exactly. You pamper a child, you adore the old man in a corner. You tempt me, Prando! To grow old among books, my grandchildren, taking pride in your beauty and strength. You’re successful in court, right! Not like Lucio or Libero!’
‘Don’t say that name!’
‘Why not surrender to the sublime love a son can give you? I could lord it over your meek Amalia and when your baby is born, effortlessly steal him away from her like I did with Carluzzu.’
‘You’re crazy, Mama, crazy!’
‘Of course, and like all crazy people I’ll repeat what I told you many years ago: just as I did not tolerate being pressured by my elders, so I will never stand for being pressured by you young people. Now go away. I’m going back inside. I need a nice hot bath! It’s incredible, but I will never cease to be amazed at how by effortlessly turning a small tap with two fingers, you can have streams of hot water ready and waiting for you. Do you know that at one time you had to heat water and fill tiny little tubs? That’s if there was any water! Awful times, Prando! The smell of sweat, bedbugs, itching.’