Lila copied down on paper in her fine handwriting everything she had done and brought the copy to Capone. The secretary examined the pages, and he, too, was enthusiastic. He said to her things like: Where did you come from, Comrade, you’ve done really great work, bravo. And besides, we’ve never managed to get into the Soccavo plant; they’re all fascists in there, but now that you’ve arrived things have changed.
“How should we start?” she asked.
“Form a committee.”
“We already are a committee.”
“Good: the first thing is to organize all this.”
“In what sense organize?”
Capone looked at Pasquale, Pasquale said nothing.
“You’re asking for too many things at once, including things that have never been asked for anywhere — you have to establish priorities.”
“In that place everything is a priority.”
“I know, but it’s a question of tactics: if you want everything at once you risk defeat.”
Lila narrowed her eyes to cracks; there was some bickering. It emerged that, among other things, the committee couldn’t go and negotiate directly with the owner, the union had to mediate.
“And am I not the union?” she flared up.
“Of course, but there are times and ways.”
They quarreled again. Capone said: You look around a little, open the discussion, I don’t know, about the shifts, about holidays, about overtime, and we’ll take it from there. Anyway — he concluded — you don’t know how happy I am to have a comrade like you, it’s a rare thing; let’s coordinate, and we’ll make great strides in the food industry — there aren’t many women who get involved. At that point he put his hand on his wallet, which was in his back pocket, and asked:
“Do you want some money for expenses?”
“What expenses?”
“Mimeographing, paper, the time you lose, things like that.”
“No.”
Capone put the wallet back in his pocket.
“But don’t get discouraged and disappear, Lina, let’s keep in touch. Look, I’m writing down here your name and surname, I want to talk about you at the union, we have to use you.”
Lila left dissatisfied, she said to Pasquale: Who did you bring me to? But he calmed her, assured her that Capone was an excellent person, said he was right, you had to understand, there was strategy and there were tactics. Then he became excited, almost moved, he was about to embrace her, had second thoughts, said: Move ahead, Lina, screw the bureaucracy, meanwhile I’ll inform the committee.
Lila didn’t choose among the objectives. She confined herself to compressing the first draft, which was very long, into one densely written sheet, which she handed over to Edo: a list of requests that had to do with the organization of the work, the pace, the general condition of the factory, the quality of the product, the permanent risk of being injured or sick, the wretched compensations, wage increases. At that point the problem arose of who was to carry that list to Bruno.
“You go,” Lila said to Edo.
“I get angry easily.”
“Better.”
“I’m not suitable.”
“You’re very suitable.”
“No, you go, you’re a member of the union. And then you’re a good speaker, you’ll put him in his place right away.”
41
Lila had known from the start that it would be up to her. She took her time; she left Gennaro at the neighbor’s, and went with Pasquale to a meeting of the committee on Via dei Tribunali, called to discuss also the Soccavo situation. There were twelve this time, including Nadia, Armando, Isabella, and Pasquale. Lila circulated the paper she had prepared for Capone; in that first version all the demands were more carefully argued. Nadia read it attentively. In the end she said: Pasquale was right, you’re one of those people who don’t hold anything back, you’ve done a great job in a very short time. And in a tone of sincere admiration she praised not only the political and union substance of the document but the writing: You’re so clever, she said, I’ve never seen this kind of material written about in this way! Still, after that beginning, she advised her not to move to an immediate confrontation with Soccavo. And Armando was of the same opinion.
“Let’s wait to get stronger and grow,” he said. “The situation concerning the Soccavo factory needs to develop. We’ve got a foot in there, which is already a great result, we can’t risk getting swept away out of pure recklessness.”
Dario asked:
“What do you propose?”
Nadia answered, addressing Lila: “Let’s have a wider meeting. Let’s meet as soon as possible with your comrades, let’s consolidate your structure, and maybe with your material prepare another pamphlet.”
Lila, in the face of that sudden cautiousness, felt a great, aggressive satisfaction. She said mockingly: “So in your view I’ve done this work and am putting my job at risk to allow all of you to have a bigger meeting and another pamphlet?”
But she was unable to enjoy that feeling of revenge. Suddenly Nadia, who was right opposite her, began to vibrate like a window loose in its frame, and dissolved. For no evident reason, Lila’s throat tightened, and the slightest gestures of those present, even a blink, accelerated. She closed her eyes, leaned against the back of the broken chair she was sitting on, felt she was suffocating.
“Is something wrong?” asked Armando.
Pasquale became upset.
“She gets overtired,” he said. “Lina, what’s wrong, do you want a glass of water?”
Dario hurried to get some water, while Armando checked her pulse and Pasquale, nervous, pressed her:
“What do you feel, stretch your legs, breathe.”
Lila whispered that she was fine and abruptly pulled her wrist away from Armando, saying she wanted to be left in peace for a minute. But when Dario returned with the water she drank a small mouthful, murmured it was nothing, just a little flu.
“Do you have a fever?” Armando asked calmly.
“Today, no.”
“Cough, difficulty breathing?”
“A little, I can feel my heart beating in my throat.”
“Is it a little better now?”
“Yes.”
“Come into the other room.”
Lila didn’t want to, and yet she felt a vast sense of anguish. She obeyed, she struggled to get up, she followed Armando, who had picked up a black leather bag with gold clasps. They went into a large, cold room that Lila hadn’t seen before, with three cots covered by dirty-looking old mattresses, a wardrobe with a corroded mirror, a chest of drawers. She sat down on one of the beds, exhausted: she hadn’t had a medical examination since she was pregnant. When Armando asked about her symptoms, she mentioned only the weight in her chest, but added: It’s nothing.
He examined her in silence and she immediately hated that silence, it seemed a treacherous silence. That detached, clean man, although he was asking questions, did not seem to trust the answers. He examined her as if only her body, aided by instruments and expertise, were a reliable mechanism. He listened to her chest, he touched her, he peered at her, and meanwhile he forced her to wait for a conclusive opinion on what was happening in her chest, in her stomach, in her throat, places apparently well known that now seemed completely unknown. Finally Armando asked her: