‘How come you speak Italian so well?’
‘It’s simple: my mother was Sicilian and my father British. And in the battle that parents always wage to have you all to themselves, my mother won; that’s it. And so I rejected a specialist’s life — that of a doctor, in my case — as my father wanted, and returned to my maternal Eden.’
‘Poor Marco! That path must have cost you dearly.’
‘As it does all outsiders: hunger, a variety of jobs, adventures.’
‘Now I remember. Nina insisted that I meet you this winter, and to entice me she said: “My Marco is one big adventure!”’
‘Nina exaggerates. Basically I’m just a photographer … But you’re cold, Modesta.’
Yes, I’m cold. And grateful for his silence, I let him take my hands and help me up from the sand, which has become damp beneath me. When I stand up, my head spins — I must be really unwell — and it’s no wonder he holds me close against his chest to support me. Maybe La Certa has decided to keep her appointment right here on our beach, still filled with the cries of children, the fluttering of Beatrice’s white skirts, the sound of Carlo’s voice, and Pietro’s slow, solicitous step … Could be.
I open my eyes to decipher that message, but I encounter a calm gaze, as though he were intent on listening to some melody. That gaze prompts me to rest my head on his shoulder and listen with him.
‘You have an intense feeling for life, Modesta, which I now understand because I followed you this entire past year.’
‘You followed me, Marco?’
‘Yes. Not that I was really aware of it. I was very intrigued by your way of speaking, your way of falling silent. You were silent a moment ago as well, but I could see by your face that you were thinking. About what, Modesta?’
‘I was gripped by an intense curiosity about my death. Yes, as if another biological adventure could be read in that word, yet another metamorphosis that awaits us, Marco: me, you, Nina.’
‘I’m frightened by it…’
‘Naturally. But there’s also an intense curiosity to know. You’re a man, Marco, and you don’t know — or you knew and then, in your haste to act, forgot — the material transformations in your body, so the word makes you tremble a little. But if you hold me close, I, a woman, will help you remember, and not be afraid of that which must change in order to continue living.’
As he holds me tightly, his tremor disappears, and between my body and his, the eternal, shivery heat rises in waves until his eyes widen in mine with pleasure. Now I understand: I’ve learned many things in life, but never how to inhibit love … Can you inhibit love, Mimmo? ‘You can inhibit the intelligence of others, the facts of history, even destiny — I grant you, even destiny — but never love!’ And if Carmine hadn’t told me, how could I have known that the indifference I thought I felt for that man, the apathy and boredom, were merely my attempts to evade the mysterious imperative that always inspires fear, and which the scalpel of human speculation has not yet managed to dissect?
‘How could I have told you, Modesta, when I myself didn’t know it yet? But now that we’ve discovered it, if you like, we can be together for some time. I’ve been alone for many years, and wandering the world alone is tiring. Will you come with me?’
And so it was that with a simple gesture, abetted by Nina, life handed me the most beautiful gift a child’s mind could ever imagine. And from a man I had mistakenly thought to be a former golden boy, grown old in comfort and ennui, I discovered day by day, year after year, the wealth of knowledge and experience that only a mature body can possess.
From him I learned that I did not know my island — its powerful, secret physical body, its hot nocturnal drafts that fuse stone upon stone to solidify the spirit of the drywalls into a single block, the mystical breath that keeps the columns of the temples alive and makes them throb in the sunsets: ‘Here, Mody, this is where the stone widens so that the column breathes and produces the optical illusion of levitation’; the white silence of abandoned fishing nets, cast away by the sea and by man, yet for ever pervaded by the ghosts of the tuna that stop there, seeking the reason for their life and death; the eternal currents of the seas that converge around the island, at times enclosing it, at times releasing it, ever changing in intensity and colour. ‘That emerald coloured strip over there is the sea of Africa.’
From him I learned the art, which I still did not know, of coming and going from my land, forgetting it at times, travelling to different continents and oceans, then rediscovering it: new, and even richer with layered memories and sensations. And what can I say about our evenings and nights together? If only I could freeze them! Being alone together, holding hands, looking into each other’s eyes, recounting impressions, intuitions, talking …
‘They say so much about first love, don’t they, Marco? Lies, like all the rest.’
‘That’s true, Modesta. I never would have imagined it either, and unfortunately you have to reach our age to find out. Did you see how those kids were looking at us on the bridge today? I was almost tempted to tell them, but they wouldn’t have believed me.’
No, it’s impossible to describe to anyone this joy, full of vital excitement, at defying time as a couple, being partners in stretching it out, living it as intensely as possible before the hour of the last adventure strikes. And when this old youngster of mine lies on top of me with his beautiful body, heavy yet light, and takes me as he’s doing now, or kisses me between my legs just like Tuzzu did back then, I find myself thinking oddly that death might simply be an orgasm as satisfying as this one.
‘Are you sleeping, Modesta?’
‘No.’
‘Are you thinking?’
‘Yes.’
‘Tell me, Modesta, tell me.’
Rome, 1967–76
In Modesta’s World … A Translator’s Note
The daughter of Giuseppe Sapienza and Maria Giudice, Goliarda Sapienza was raised in an atmosphere of absolute freedom from social constraints, in accordance with her parents wishes. Her father did not even allow her to attend school, lest she be exposed to Fascist forces and influences. Goliarda’s protagonist, Modesta, creates a similar world around her, resisting society’s rules, rejecting conventional norms and opposing Fascist restrictions. Sapienza’s book was written over a nine-year span, from 1967 to 1976, and published by Stampa Alternativa in 1998, and Einaudi in 2008.
1. A chiana is a plain or flat expanse: in Italian it is a pianura, from the Calabro-siculan chianura or chianu.
2. A coppola is a traditional flat cap worn by men in Sicily.
3. Ceusa is the fruit of the ceuso, or mulberry tree.
4. Voscenza is a dialect term that is used to express one’s respect toward the person being addressed. A shortened form of Vostra Eccellenza, Your Excellency, it is sometimes accompanied by hand-kissing and can mean anything from Your Grace, Your Lordship, Your Highness … or simply a deferential Sir or Madam. Serafina, a character in Tennessee Williams’s The Rose Tattoo, says: ‘They said to his uncle “Voscenza!” and they kissed their hands to him!’ (Tennessee Williams, The Rose Tattoo: Play in 3 Acts, Dramatists Play Service, Inc.: 1951, Act I, p. 16).