‘Oh no, Mama!’
‘No, what?’
‘No, I know you! When you start digressing, it means you have a specific idea in mind, and I’m not moving until you give me an answer. Judas Priest! I can’t stand this constant worrying! What do you plan to do?’
‘Take a hot bath, Prando. I told you.’
‘What now? Are you smoking, too?’
‘Well yes, to make up for…’
‘Make up for what? That’s all we needed, a cigarette in her mouth…’
‘I started smoking the morning they arrested me and I loved it! Then I realized that it was better not to continue. And it was just as well, because in prison and on the island it would have been an added torment. Now here on the big island with these Americans we have plenty of cigarettes … a cigarette lets you dream and keeps you company.’
‘But it’s not good for you!’
‘When I feel it’s harming me, I’ll quit. Nina is right: acquiring and breaking habits, that’s how we should live. All right, I see you won’t desist. “The wife would not desist.” Such amusing language you lawyers use! And to think you got your degree on a whim.’
‘Well, I had to do something!’
‘Yet you’re content and proud of your profession. It shows. That’s the beauty of life. The best things can come to you out of the darkest corner where you never thought to look. So then, dear son, will you let me take my bath or not?’
‘I’m not letting go of you, Mama.’
‘Fine, let’s go in then … Oh, look, Mattia’s here! Come on now, let go of my arm. Will you let me welcome him or not? Mattia, you’re back at last! Give me a hug! I haven’t seen you in a year, you old man! It’s hard to hear ’sta camurria di parola,114 that horror of a word, isn’t it? Who would have said we’d grow old together!’
‘I knew we would, Mody … Hello, Prando … Is it true you’re staying here with us, Mody? Nina told me, and I can’t tell you how happy this makes me. Is it true?’
‘Of course! And you, are you done travelling?’
‘Yes, everything is settled. I sold all those frozen houses … Bambù is right: not much money, but liquid, to use for seed, fertilizer and machinery. We’re better off bolstering what little land we have. I was a little reluctant because of the girls. But Bambù is right: they’ll make their own life. Fortunately, this at least has changed: having two daughters is no longer as worrisome as it was before.’
‘That much at least, Mattia!.. How nice the shade is! Beatrice had that wisteria planted. The building foreman didn’t want to. He said that over time the roots, voracious as beasts, would eat away the walls of the terrace and the house, but Beatrice kept telling him: “This house will live even longer than we will, and I want a plant that will get out of the way like a theatre curtain in winter, and in summer will give me shade: a violet and green canopy.” You won’t believe me, but Beatrice’s eyes were violet in the summer … Thank you, Nina; by now you make tea just like Beatrice did.’
‘Well, by associating with the rich you grow refined and decadent. But how sweet this decadence is!’
‘How come you’re still here? I thought you’d gone to the shop.’
‘It’s Sunday, Mody! Shit, I can tell you’ve never worked!’
‘True. You’ll teach me all about it, won’t you, Nina?’
‘Teach you what, Mama? You’re exasperating! Do you mind telling me what you two have concocted?’
‘What do you say, Mody, shall we tell him? Your mother is opening a shop next door to mine, and since she knows more about books than yarns, it’s a bookshop!’
‘I want to create a bookshop that is also a gathering place, like the one in Rome on Via Veneto. A few select books and someone you can ask for recommendations. At least my reading will be put to some use.’
‘You, behind a counter? Not on your life!’
‘What’s wrong with it, Prando? I told you, Nina: we would have been better off not saying anything to him.’
‘You, a Brandiforti, working as a shopkeeper?’
‘You know, Mattia, sometimes I really feel like creating a domestic revolution and saying what should be said to this caruso.’
‘Drop it, Prando. Leave your mother alone! She knows what she wants to do.’
‘You always side together, you two! But what need is there to work? I earn well, Bambolina is wealthy. With the proceeds…’
‘No, Prando! The proceeds from the sale of this villa have already been invested in books and in the small shop adjacent to Nina’s.’
‘And where will you live?’
‘I’ve paid the Brunos a deposit. I’ll live above the shop.’
‘In that rats’ nest? In that shady neighbourhood? Are you crazy?’
‘Nina lives there, doesn’t she? And if she’s there…’
‘Nina, always Nina! I won’t allow it. Never! I’ll never consent to seeing you behind a counter!’
‘I have to earn a living, and in the least unpleasant way. At a guess, we’ll have roughly twenty years of white Fascism.’115
‘What are you talking about? The gradual revolution…’
‘The reformist shambles, you mean? Like the joke about agrarian reform, right, Mattia?’
‘I don’t know much about politics, Prando, but it’s true that agrarian reform was all smoke and mirrors, a sop: a few feet of stony ground improperly allocated and no money for seed or machinery. So to cultivate those few feet of soil, farmers went into debt. They fell into the hands of loan sharks everywhere, and already the young people are leaving the land.’
‘You’re all crazy, Mattia! What can you expect overnight? I’ve had enough. You with the land, this one with the women’s issue!’
‘All right, Prando, I’ve told you before and I’ll say it again: I want to be independent from men like Lucio. And watch out, because at this rate when women realize how you leftist men smile smugly and paternalistically at what they say, when your Amalia realizes she isn’t being heard and that she’s wearing herself out doing two jobs, at the stove and in the laboratory — how come you never speak to me about Amalia’s work, huh? why do I only hear how sweet, or pretty or jealous she is? — when they realize all this, their vengeance will be awesome, Prando, like in America. They will turn their backs on you and…’
‘That’s enough!’
‘Exactly! I don’t want to hate you. I love men like Jacopo, Mattia…’
‘Sappy fools, Mama!’
‘Careful, Prando! Because I might break your neck if you say that again.’
‘Calm down, Mattia. Don’t take offence. It’s not his fault; he grew up in the Duce’s breeding ground.’
‘You’ll never see me again, Mama. One more word and you’ll never see me again!’
‘It was to be expected, Prando. The last time, too, our brothers, our children deserted us. It’s a time for big decisions. Think about it. I’ve made mine … What did your Malatesta116 do when Fascism arose, Nina? And he was seventy-one years old. I’m a young girl by comparison.’
‘He went back to his work as an electrician in a small shop in San Lorenzo.’
‘There you are. I’ll take advantage of it to read Bakunin and so many others. What did your Arminio rightly say, Nina?’
‘He said that a Leninist doesn’t read out of self-censorship. It’s incredible, but that’s how it is!’
91
In front of the small artificial pond that has miraculously risen before her, Modesta stops and ripples the green water with her hand. But no joy comes from that miracle. Prando turns his back and stalks away. ‘You’ll never see me again, Mama, never!’ To rebel against a son … This was something she hadn’t known: that rebelling against a son produces unbounded sadness, doesn’t it, Modesta? Why? Think hard, Modesta; don’t fall into a trap. If you think hard and don’t lose your head — just like during the bombings — you’ll find the answer. Here: sit down on the small gilded stool where your Beatrice used to sit while you splashed about in the water: ‘I’ll set it here, Modesta. It’s charming, such an antique in this modern setting … It’s original, plus this way we can go on talking.’ There, sit on the stool and light a cigarette. The bathwater can wait. Amid smoke and tears Modesta thinks: rebelling against a father occurs when you think you’re young and have all eternity ahead of you, but rebelling against a son — when you are perhaps nearing the end of the journey — reveals thoughts of carnal loneliness that smack of death. So then, what to do? I’m still dressed. I can run outside and call him back, and by so doing decree my own living death, submitting to words and actions contrary to my own thinking, watching the systematic destruction of that poor Amalia, who’s confident like all intelligent women yet new to the art of being an adult. Watching the reverse destruction to which Carluzzu is subjected day by day: ‘You’re a man. You have to prove how manly you are, Carluzzu! Not womanish like today’s young men!’