Giovanni Arpino - Scent of a Woman

‘A hundred million miracles. I’ll be clothed in gold and I’ll have a hundred saints around me,’ she continued, popping and rolling her eyes again.

‘Sure,’ I said.

‘Those men – the bastards – though, I’ll send them all to hell,’ she concluded happily.

‘Me too?’

‘I don’t know,’ she said wrinkling her nose. ‘You didn’t bring me ice cream after all.’

I stood up and she immediately retreated to the doorway of the balcony.

‘Are you leaving?’

‘Not yet.’

I took a couple of steps to see if I could hear any sounds in there.

‘The door is locked, the door is locked,’ the girl chanted in a singsong, laughing.

‘Right.’

‘My mama always locks it when there’s a gentleman. Did you come with a gentleman?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then you have to wait till Mama comes out. If you want, I can scream. She comes right away if I scream.’

‘No.’ I sat down again. ‘We’ll stay here and be quiet.’

She came back to the table, in a ray of sunlight that lit up the nearly blond stumps of her braids.

‘Do you go to kindergarten?’ I thought to ask.

‘I go but I get sick. Every time I go I come down with a fever,’ she said crossly. ‘Mama doesn’t want to send me any more. She says I’ll stay with grandma this year. But I don’t like that grandma. You know?’

‘Oh,’ I said.

‘Yeah. I don’t. She’s old, all she does is pray, pray, pray and she doesn’t understand. She never gives me any gifts. And she’s always crying. Mama, on the other hand, buys me lots of dolls. Know how many? Guess.’

‘I don’t know. Let’s see: ten,’ I guessed.

‘Fifteen!’ she shrieked, laughing. ‘Nobody ever guesses, nobody. Fifteen. One that’s very big, bigger than me even. She’s dark-skinned, all black, but I don’t like that one and I don’t count her. I never sleep with that black one.’

I heard the sounds of running water, the hum of words; the woman appeared with a sigh.

‘Go out to the balcony, Barbara,’ she said.

‘No, I won’t,’ the girl retorted.

‘Would you like some coffee too?’ the woman offered without looking at me; she was already bustling about the gas burner. ‘Tell me, that friend of yours, he’s a bit nervous. With you, does he talk?’

‘He’s just strange,’ I replied.

‘Strange all right, poor soul, him too,’ she said screwing the coffee-maker together. She had big hands and pale, unpolished fingernails. ‘Still, he’s a gentleman. Say whatever you want, but he’s a gentleman. And loaded: I mean, rich. Barbara, go out to the balcony.’

‘No,’ the child replied sullenly, shaking her head. ‘I’m staying here. Right here.’

‘Go or I’ll call the wizard!’ the woman hollered.

She had a powerful behind; her arms were rosy and plump as they slipped from her dressing gown. Taking her time, the girl retreated to the threshold of the balcony.

‘I don’t believe in the wizard any more. Or in the witch. I don’t believe in them, no I don’t!’ she shouted and stood there open-mouthed.

‘And you, young man, won’t you stay with me a little while?’ The woman turned around and smiled, her dark eyes always appraising. ‘Ten minutes, okay? Or are you ashamed because of your friend?’

‘Not today,’ I said embarrassed.

‘Whatever you say. You’re making a mistake though, another poor fool. But I’m not the type to insist.’ She laughed tiredly. ‘Here’s your coffee. With this contraption all you get is a cup and a half. Is half enough for you?’

‘It’s fine, thanks.’

‘I’ll take his in there. If you’re not staying, then leave quickly. And you, Barbara, you’ll be sorry if you move or shout like before. No television tonight if you do.’

From the doorway she turned, lowering her voice: ‘But he wasn’t wounded in the war, right? Too young. What, then? Well, it doesn’t matter, it’s this lousy world. Why doesn’t he get married? He must have a nice pension, I imagine.’

Before getting up I tried waving goodbye, but the child, peeved, slammed the glass door and stared at me from the balcony without waving back.

We walked for a long time; he was indifferent to the heat, his face turned upwards, the bamboo cane no longer held out ahead, but clasped tightly under his arm.

I didn’t feel like talking. Every so often I was amused by the hasty way people anxiously made way for us on the sidewalk, hugging the walls closely. We strolled around a large rectangular piazza with a skimpy park in the centre. My mind was blank; even the noise of the traffic drifted off without bothering me.

I remembered the revolver in the suitcase with a sense of lethargy: just as long as he didn’t shoot himself during these few days with me. Who the hell knew what was going through his head?

‘Why don’t you get married?’ I asked when we were seated with a couple of ice creams.

‘What?’ he answered coldly, irritated at being ambushed, though he quickly regained his composure. ‘What’s got into you? Are you out of your mind?’

‘I was just asking. It would be logical.’

‘Logical?’ He sneered, showing his teeth. ‘Bullshit. Get married. You sound like my cousin.’

‘I don’t see why not.’

‘Love isn’t polenta. Get married and then you’ll be happy. Better to get married than hang yourself,’ he continued mockingly. ‘You’re just like my cousin the aunt: she lives on proverbs. But she’s seventy years old. Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?’

He had settled the cup of ice cream between the slightly curved fingers of his left hand, now stripped of the white cotton glove. He stopped stirring it with his spoon.

‘Just my luck to get an antiquated, conventional conformist like you,’ he said.

‘I’m not antiquated. I think logically. Or at least I think I do. That’s all,’ I replied.

‘You think, ergo you’re annoying. It would be better if you were missing a cylinder,’ he laughed drily. ‘I would have preferred the usual illiterate, or at least a bizarre type. But no: instead they saddle me with a thinker, who as soon as he opens his mouth comes out with a hundred gaffes.’

I chose to just take it. At a table nearby two guys raised their heads over the straws of their soft drinks, listening intently.

‘But the world is full of nice women,’ I went on.

‘Really? You keep them. Enjoy yourself.’ He cut me off without lowering his voice.

‘There’s no need to put an ad in the papers to find the right one.’ I didn’t feel like holding back.

He was rolling a still unlit cigarette nervously between his thumb and forefinger.

‘You say that because you’ve seen me act soft in the head,’ he said then, choosing his words. ‘Think what you like. Feel free. If it matters, I’ll tell you that those types of women have always had that effect on me. We were better off with the brothels. But you: you can’t possibly have any idea. What a country this is! Completely laughable. Nothing works, so what do they come up with? Shutting down the bordellos. The country’s only real salutary institution.’

The two guys at the other table were sitting sideways to look at us. They laughed.

‘You know why I haven’t yet killed myself?’ he asked.

‘No, sir.’

‘Because even if I croaked it wouldn’t bother anyone!’ he shrieked shrilly. He quickly added, ‘This ice cream was disgusting. As soon as you get outside of Turin, forget desserts. Not even a decent beignet. Write that in your journal.’

‘You won’t ever die, sir,’ I said.

‘What’s that?’

‘I know it sounds stupid. But that’s what I think. I can’t explain it. I don’t think you should ever die,’ I said, confused.