‘I’ve told it all by now, Bambuccia.’
‘But about that German who was kind…’
‘Well, I don’t know if he didn’t see us on purpose, or if he really didn’t see us, but certainly if he had stopped us we would have been done for.’
Timur!.. so I had encountered Timur? A chilling terror fills me at the thought of that name that I myself had summoned up. They only mentioned a German.
‘What is it, Zia? You’ve turned pale.’
‘What did that German look like, Pietro? Tell me.’
‘How should I know, my dear Mody! With those helmets, all their faces looked alike.’
‘Let’s not talk about Germans. I don’t like Zia’s expression when we speak of them. Tell us about your masterstroke, about how you routed Inès … Pietro considers it his greatest work, Zia.’
‘Of course! I can fight forcefully with my hands and legs, but with a woman, well! With a woman!.. Pietro had to make himself small as a snake and spy on her … But Mody knows everything, Bambù. I had nothing against Inès, but she was tormenting my Ippolito so I blackmailed her. She had a cascamorto, a lovesick suitor, but she couldn’t make up her mind to run off with him. She kept accumulating money, so I made her decide in a jiffy. But afterwards she too was happy. Women! Who can understand them! She said she couldn’t leave her son Jacopo, that her duty was to stay close to him. But while we’re on the subject, Mody, I shouldn’t, but … for my peace of mind can I be sure that you’ll find a companion for my dear Prince, to go fishing, walking with him?’
‘Of course, Pietro.’
‘Go open the door, Bambù. Crispina is here! She’s come just in time. I’m tired, and this languor that’s come over me even while talking about happy moments is a sign that I am truly exhausted and must sleep.’
* * *
Pietro sleeps deeply, and faced with that profound sleep, no one dares weep or shriek. His composed body, the smile that Crispina’s arrival fixed on his face for ever, inspire only respect.
Everyone was notified by Bambolina’s elegant script with its irrevocable words … Like back then, at Carmelo, when we could do anything we wanted, right, Cavallina? but only during the hours that Gaia’s calligraphy had firmly penned on that piece of paper, shiny as silk. Jacopo squeezes my arm for a moment. His clothes have a new smell of aseptic wards mixed with the whiff of a train — they’ve travelled all night — and he holds his Olimpia by the waist, as if to support her. That’s right, I had almost forgotten; even good things are forgotten. For every life that’s taken, another life is born: Olimpia is expecting a baby with my Jacopo.
‘How lovely Crispina is, Nonna! Every time she comes back, she’s even more beautiful! Is it true that I was in love with her as a child? Pietro always told me so.’
‘Yes, Carluzzu.’
‘I don’t remember being in love, only her singing. I have two Crispinas in my head: the one ’Ntoni used to push into the middle of the room to sing, and the impressive, confident woman on that immense stage. Remember how Pietro was sweating? Where was that, Nonna?’
‘In Milan, I think; it was so long ago. Pietro was happy! Life flies by when you’re happy.’
‘It’s true. But what are you looking at, Nonna? Why are you so pale?’
Prando is back there, standing near ’Ntoni and smiling at me. After so many years, he wants to talk to me. I’d rather stay there with them, listen to the stories about Pietro, drink some wine. But Prando needs me. I have to go to him.
‘What is it, Mama? Why are you looking at me like that? Your silence is humiliating me. Prando has come, and by coming he is apologizing for his past behaviour. Let’s put it behind us.’
Why is he speaking in the same voice he used as a child, when his foot in a plaster cast made him fidget and fret?
‘I had to see the doctor. Something is wrong with my heart. They tell me I have to make up my mind: either change my life and live another thirty years, or…’
With my hands I grasp the wiry curls and look closely at him: not a single white strand, not a shadow on those marmoreal features. But Prando isn’t lying. Only this warning could have bent his pride and made him return to the one who gave birth to him.
‘But you know what I told that blatant idiot? That without my work, which is more intoxicating to me than wine, and without my motorcycle, I can’t live. What should I do, end up like that wimp Mattia, who looks after himself like a delicate, sickly woman?’
‘But he’s happy.’
‘That may be, but I’d rather…’
‘Whom do you want to spite by dying, eh, old man?’
‘Old man, you call me — and you’re right. Why did you bring me into this world if you knew I would have to grow old?’
‘So, you want to take your revenge on me?’
‘That too. If a son dies, your son, you’ll regret giving birth to me. And you’ll be an old woman with regrets, for ever bound to my memory.’
‘You’ve loved me that much, Prando?’
‘That much. But you haven’t!’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Because you lived for everyone else, always travelling around, damn you, giving speeches and cosying up to everybody.’
‘Was I supposed to choose you, and reject a life?’
‘Yes.’
‘Prando, you have always wanted it all, even as a child. “Prando has two Mamas: Mama Stella and Mama Mody, and two aunts besides.” Remember?’
‘Yes.’
‘So then tell me: what could I do, I who am so much like you, who, like you, want it all?’
‘That’s true too! Finally a smile, Mama. When you smile, you become young again, like when I was a child. Prando is a bastard, but he’s also proud when you smile and look like a young girl … I want to hold you in my arms, and don’t protest, right, because I’m not well! Here, close to me, my mamma bambina, or did you lie? Maybe it wasn’t even you who gave birth to me? Maybe you’re my sister? With you, anything is possible. That’s what drives me wild! Even when I’m dead, it will drive me crazy!’
‘Yet you know that if I had been docile, all yours like Amalia, you would have tired of me, as you have of her.’
‘It’s true. Prando tires easily of the things he possesses. Money only bores me now that I have it, and even the motorcycle. I pretend it’s important to me, but I’ve lost my taste for it now that everyone can have one.’
‘I know you, Prando. Shall we put our cards on the table?’
‘Let’s put our cards on the table. What are you trying to say?’
‘Knowing your greed is insatiable, it seemed pointless to me to sacrifice myself.’
‘You mean you realized that the more slack you gave me, the more you bound me to you?’
‘Maybe, if you feel that way about it. Maybe … Who can fully understand their actions when it comes to love or affection? I only know that nobody likes the idea of being cast aside, and you, you’re a man who takes and discards … Who could you have got this from? The old man wasn’t like that. He knew how to love the things he won.’
‘Don’t talk to me about the past. The past is boring!’
‘You see? You rob life with both hands. With both hands you seized it — admit it! — and now you want to throw it away.’
‘Yes.’
‘Don’t your children mean anything to you?’
‘Very little! I like Carluzzu: he’s tough, he knows what he wants. Did you know he beat me up once?’
‘Yes.’
‘What a keen mind he has!’
‘Why didn’t you prevent him from seeing me all this time?’