Elena Ferrante - The Story of a New Name

Once we were home Lila found words again, along with an overexcited expansiveness. Nunzia welcomed us, greatly relieved by our return and yet hostile. She said she hadn’t closed an eye, she had heard inexplicable noises in the house, had been afraid of ghosts and murderers. Lila embraced her and Nunzia almost pushed her away.

“Did you have fun?” she asked.

“A lot of fun, I want to change everything.”

“What do you want to change?”

Lila laughed. “I’ll think about it and let you know.”

“Let your husband know first of all,” Nunzia said, in an unexpectedly sharp tone.

Her daughter looked at her in amazement, a pleased, and perhaps slightly moved, amazement, as if the suggestion seemed to her right and urgent.

“Yes,” she said, and went to her room, then to the bathroom.

She came out after a while and, still in her slip, motioned me to come to her room. I went reluctantly. She gazed at me with feverish eyes, she spoke rapidly, almost breathlessly: “I want to study what he studies.”

“He’s at the university, the subjects are difficult.”

“I want to read the same books as him, I want to understand the things he thinks, I want to learn not for the university but for him.”

“Lila, don’t act crazy: we said that you would see him this time and that’s all. What’s wrong with you, calm down, Stefano is about to get here.”

“Do you think, if I work hard, I can understand the things he understands?”

I couldn’t take it anymore. What I already knew and what I nevertheless was hiding from myself became at that moment perfectly clear: she, too, now saw in Nino the only person able to save her. She had taken possession of my old feeling, had made it her own. And, knowing what she was like, I had no doubts: she would knock down every obstacle and continue to the end. I answered harshly.

“No. It’s complicated stuff, you’re too behind in everything, you don’t read a newspaper, you don’t know who’s in the government, you don’t even know who runs Naples.”

“And do you know those things?”

“No.”

“He thinks you know them, I told you, he thinks a lot of you.”

I felt myself flushing, I muttered, “I’m trying to learn, and when I don’t know I pretend to know.”

“Even pretending to know, one gradually learns. Can you help me?”

“No, and no, Lila, it’s not something you should do. Leave him alone, because of you he’s already saying that he wants to stop going to the university.”

“He’ll study, he was born for that. And yet there are a lot of things that even he doesn’t know. If I study the things he doesn’t know, I’ll tell him when he needs them and so I’ll be useful to him. I have to change, Lenù, immediately.”

I burst out again: “You’re married, you have to get him out of your head, you’re not right for what he needs.”

“Who is right?”

I wanted to wound her, I said, “Nadia.”

“He left her for me.”

“So everything’s fine? I don’t want to listen to you anymore, you’re both out of your minds, do what you like.”

I went to my room, consumed by unhappiness.

Stefano arrived at the usual time. We all three greeted him with false cheerfulness, and he was polite but a little tense, as if behind his benign expression he had a worry. Since his vacation was to begin that day, I was surprised that he hadn’t brought any luggage. Lila didn’t seem to notice, but Nunzia did and asked him, “You look preoccupied, Ste’, is something worrying you? Is your mamma well? And Pinuccia? And how are things with the shoes? What do the Solaras say, are they pleased?” He said that everything was fine, and we had dinner, but the conversation was forced. First Lila made an effort to seem in a good mood, but when Stefano responded with monosyllables and no sign of affection she became annoyed and was silent. Only Nunzia and I tried every possible means to keep the silence from becoming permanent. When we got to the fruit Stefano, with a half smile, said to his wife:

“You go swimming with Sarratore’s son?”

My breath failed. Lila answered with irritation: “Sometimes. Why?”

“How many times? One, two three, five, how many? Lenù, do you know?”

“Once,” I said, “ he came by two or three days ago and we all went swimming together.”

Stefano, still with the half smile on his face, turned to his wife.

“And you and the son of Sarratore are so intimate that when you come out of the water you hold hands?”

Lila stared straight into his face: “Who told you that?”

“Ada.”

“And who told Ada?”

“Gigliola.”

“And Gigliola?”

“Gigliola saw you, bitch. She came here with Michele, they came to visit you. And it’s not true that you and that piece of shit went swimming with Lenuccia, you went by yourselves and you were holding hands.”

Lila got up, she said calmly, “I’m going out, I’m going for a walk.”

“You’re not going anywhere: sit down and answer.”

Lila remained standing. She said suddenly, in Italian and with an expression that looked like weariness but which — I realized — was contempt: “How stupid I was to marry you, you’re worthless. You know that Michele Solara wants me in his shop, you know that for that reason Gigliola would kill me if she could, and what do you do, you believe her? I don’t want to listen to you anymore, you let yourself be manipulated like a puppet. Lenù, will you come with me?”

She was about to move toward the door and I started to get up, but Stefano leaped up and grabbed her by the arm, said to her, “You’re not going anywhere. You will tell me if it’s true or not that you went swimming by yourself with the son of Sarratore, if it’s true or not that you go around holding hands.”

Lila tried to free herself, but she couldn’t. She whispered, “Let go of my arm, you make me sick.”

Nunzia at that point intervened. She reproached her daughter, said she could not allow herself to say that terrible thing to Stefano. But right afterward, with a surprising energy, she nearly shouted at her son-in-law to stop it, Lila had already answered, it was envy that made Gigliola say those things, the daughter of the pastry maker was treacherous, she was afraid of losing her place in Piazza dei Martiri, she wanted to get rid of Pinuccia, too, and be the sole mistress of the shop, she who knew nothing about shoes, who didn’t even know how to make pastries, while everything — everything, everything — was due to Lila, including the success of the new grocery store, and so her daughter didn’t deserve to be treated like that, no, she didn’t deserve it.

She was truly enraged: her face was alight, wide-eyed, at a one point she seemed to be suffocating, as she added point to point without taking a breath. But Stefano didn’t listen to a word. His mother-in-law was still speaking when he yanked Lila toward the bedroom, yelling: “You will now answer me, immediately,” and when she insulted him grossly and grabbed the door of a cupboard to resist, he pulled her with such force that the door opened, the cupboard tottered dangerously, with a sound of plates and glasses rattling, and Lila almost flew through the kitchen and hit the wall of the hall that led to their room. A moment later her husband had grabbed her again and, holding her by the arm, but as if he were steadying a cup by the handle, pushed her into the bedroom and closed the door.

I heard the key turn in the lock, that sound terrified me. I had seen with my own eyes, in those long moments, that Stefano really was inhabited by the ghost of his father, that the shadow of Don Achille could swell the veins of his neck and the blue network under the skin of his forehead. But, although I was frightened, I felt that I couldn’t stay still, sitting at the table, like Nunzia. I grabbed the doorknob and began to shake it, to pound the wooden door with my fist, begging, “Stefano, please, it’s not true, leave her alone. Stefano, don’t hurt her.” But by now he was sealed within his rage, I could hear him yelling that he wanted the truth, and since Lila didn’t respond — in fact, it was as if she were no longer in the room — he seemed to be talking to himself and meanwhile hitting himself, striking himself, breaking things.