Carlo: ‘Oh Zia, how contentedly he’s sleeping! I, I don’t know…’
Bambù: ‘What?’
Carlo: ‘Seeing Ignazio in this dim light … for a second it was like seeing myself. Yes, as though I too…’
Bambù: ‘Naturally … if you only knew how many times you fell asleep like your brother!’
Carlo: ‘And I was afraid too, wasn’t I, Bambù?’
Bambù: ‘You were afraid everyone would leave and never return. But then we gave you so much warmth and affection and … you got over it. We always had to hold you in our arms.’
Carlo: ‘Imagine! Now that you tell me that, I can feel powerful arms lifting me up in my sleep.’
Bambù: ‘Oh, of course, it was Pietro who, very quietly, without a word — he knew your father would never do it — would lift you up and carry you upstairs.’
Carlo: ‘Pietro! I can feel him still with us. I’ve seen him many times in my dreams, walking around among us with his impassive face … I’ll go and get Ignazio — or Ignazio-Carluzzu — and take him upstairs. I want to see what being a father feels like. Because Pietro was a father, right, Bambù?’
Bambù: ‘Yes, a father and a mother, Carluzzu … I’ll go and take a stroll around to see who’s still here. Parties are always like that! Until the sun rises and extinguishes the lights, no one has the heart to put an end to the enjoyment … Oh Carlo, look how beautiful! Everything is all white and shining, and the light bulbs against the greenery seem just like gleaming oranges … you too, ’Ntoni! Come on, get up, look!’
’Ntoni: ‘I was falling asleep. Good thing you woke me. I’ll come with you. You can’t miss a sunrise like this.’
Prando: ‘Shall we go too, Mama?’
Modesta: ‘Of course, Prando. A sunrise like this should never be missed.’
‘Until the sun rises, no one has the heart to put an end to the enjoyment.’ It’s understandable. Who would dare commit such a crime?… Did I say that or did Prando, who’s whispering meaningless phrases in my ear? Or was it Bambù, running nimbly ahead of us, her slender hand raised — the wing of a dove — to point the way? Her slim torso sways back and forth in the silence.
Bambù: ‘Why is it so quiet, Prando?’
Prando: ‘The musicians are sleeping. Look at them: fallen like vanquished paladins.’
Bambù: ‘But people are still dancing…’
Prando: ‘Sure, everyone sings something, a waltz, a tango, whatever he likes.’
Bambù: ‘We should tell Argentovivo to bring us something hot. Look at those two huddling inside the niche; they’re numb with cold.’
Prando: ‘I already did. Here she comes, tottering with her tray. How fat and comical Argentovivo has become!’
’Ntoni: ‘She must be happy fat, because she talks less. There’s no avoiding it: either sex, or food, or incessant chatter.’
Argentovivo: ‘What’s that, signorino?’
’Ntoni: ‘I was saying that plump and speechless you’re delightful, Argentovivo, delightful!’
Argentovivo: ‘You’re too kind, signorino.’
’Ntoni: ‘For you, I’m always a signorino, right, Argentovivo? What a comfort to remain young, for someone at least! Come, come dance with me.’
Modesta: ‘All of Carmelo’s rooms filled … If your grandmother were here, Prando, you’d hear it! Shouts of rage! Maybe it’s because I’m sleepy, but in this silence I’m afraid I’m going to hear her voice explode at any moment. Who’s yelling like that?’
Prando: ‘It’s Nina, Mama, and she’s not yelling. She’s singing, in the arms of her gallant beau. How repugnant I find him! Look out, they’ve seen us. Come on, let’s run behind the hedge. Maybe we can avoid the simpering of that pathetic gentleman.’
Nina: ‘Oh, no you don’t, Prandone! You have to stop keeping Modesta sequestered like that. We have a right to her company too. Oh, from a distance, don’t worry. But where are you taking her?’
Prando: ‘To bed, Nina.’
Nina: ‘To bed? But we’re just getting started! Stay, Mody, stay with your Nina.’
Prando is holding me tight. The hundreds of stairs, drapes and corridors of that house have transported me back to a deathly past. Nina must have sensed it because she loosens Prando’s arms firmly and laughs.
Nina: ‘Oh no, mummy’s darling boy! We let you have her all night, but now Mody is staying with us.’
Prando: ‘But she’s worn out, Nina!’
Nina: ‘You’d like that, my dear boy! You know what I think? That she’s tired of being sucked dry by your problems. Oh, these babies, Marco! The more you suckle them, the greedier they grow up to be.’
Prando: ‘You’re a bitch, Nina, a bitch, I swear to God!’
Nina: ‘Why don’t you go to Amalia? Look at her over there, how she’s looking at you…’
Prando: ‘Believe me, I’m going. Are you coming, Mama?’
I’d like to go. I’m tired, but by now Nina has taken me in her arms, and besides, I can’t be impolite to her friend. Prando is always rude to outsiders. To make amends, I hold out my hand to that gentleman, though I don’t catch his name.
Modesta: ‘What did you say his name was, Nina?’
Marco: ‘Marco Clayton, signora. Clearly, Nina, your Modesta doesn’t want to know me.’
Nina: ‘Go on, Mody, I’ve introduced him to you a hundred times! What, are you getting forgetful on me now? Don’t you remember that evening when you came to my house with Carlo, and then to the theatre? You have to forgive her, Marco. When Mody is with Carluzzu, she doesn’t notice anyone else.’
Of course, that evening … Pietro was still alive and Olimpia was still here with us. Nina is right; he was also at the wake and at the funeral service. Now I remember that face, always there beside Nina …
I’m sleepy and Prando is calling to me with his eyes. I should follow him. But what about that gentleman? ‘Remember, Mody, that a princess, even if she isn’t one, must never offend anyone, not even the humblest of men.’
Marco: ‘Well, Nina, how about a nice cup of tea? I have the feeling your Modesta is very tired. We should go.’
He’s offended. He smiles, but you can tell he’s hurt. I have to say something.
Modesta: ‘Forgive me, but I really am tired…’ Now why do I hear my voice saying, ‘You’re a musician, aren’t you? Can you swim?’
Nina: ‘What’s got into you, Modesta? You crack me up! Didn’t I tell you, Marco? She seems oh-so-serious and then…’
Modesta: ‘Let’s go for a swim, then!’
Nina: ‘But the sea is far away, Mody.’
Modesta: ‘It seemed far by carriage. But now, by car, it’s less than an hour,…’
Nina: ‘What do you say, Marco? Should we make her happy? Jump in the car and take her to the sea? Look at that impudent face! She’s always like that, my Mody. Even in jail she managed to come up with some wacky idea, and you could kiss peace goodbye!’
Marco: ‘Really?’
The two of them laugh, and it’s clear that they’re only staying with Modesta to be polite. You can tell by the way they look at one another that they’re just waiting to be alone so they can laugh and joke around. I’ve become too serious! By trying to imitate Nonna Gaia and make people respect me, I’ve become possessed by her, and now I’m old and harsh. Or is it because I don’t fall in love anymore? After me, Nina had a grand affair — à la Grand Hotel,121 as she described it — and then another sublime or springtime love … ‘What are you living for, if you don’t fall in love in springtime?’ But it must not have been so sublime if after three months, at the height of August, she’s letting that musician look at her that way.