Dacia Maraini - Train to Budapest

‘Well, Papà, how come Mamma picked you? Wouldn’t that Mario who collected patents have been more suitable?’

‘You don’t even know what patents are, what are you chattering about.’

‘I do though, they’re a sort of stamp of ownership when you invent something.’

‘Good girl! He collected them to offer them to the industries that were coming into existence in Tuscany at that time.’

‘A special sort of corkscrew, a cork-and-wood machine for making coffee, a kind of soap made with sand and lard …’

‘How d’you know that?’

‘Aunt Miriam told me.’

‘Yes, that’s just how it was. He was a strange type, that Mario. I never liked him.’

‘Of course not, you were jealous. If he had married Mamma, what would I have been like? Taller and more beautiful?’

‘You’re very beautiful as you are.’

‘Tell me about Muzio who used to take her to the cinema. Were you jealous of him too?’

‘I always followed her. Even if I was so exhausted I was half-dead, I would slip into the cinema after them and sit at the back and see some film that didn’t interest me at all. Perhaps I even came to develop a special taste in films from watching American ones. Stefania liked Marlene Dietrich, she really adored her. She knew by heart the names of her lovers, who in any case were her directors or those who worked with her: the great von Sternberg, Billy Wilder, Orson Welles, Gary Cooper, Jean Gabin, Burt Lancaster. See, I remember them perfectly. In her room Stefania had photos of Marlene in every possible pose. I can see them to this day. In one Marlene was standing, arrogant and utterly beautiful in a black tailcoat, with a top hat on her head and a white carnation in her buttonhole. In another she was the exact opposite, very feminine, her body barely hidden by transparent voile crossed by silver branches that glittered in the lights of the set, a white mink stole over one shoulder and a very long cigarette-holder in her black-gloved hand. What a vision! Even I sometimes stood there bewitched, admiring those photographs. I don’t know where Stefania got them. She had so many and had pasted them up on the wall above her bed.

‘Sitting in the cinema I would often drop off because I had so little time for sleep. Sometimes I’d wake up to find myself alone in an empty auditorium. I would get up stiffly and go out to look for them. I might catch a distant glimpse of them saying goodbye outside her home in Piazza Dalmazia. My heart would stop as I waited to see if they would kiss. She would hold out her hand. He would seem to touch her hair with his lips, then casually go off. I would hide. I had become a real idiot for love.’

‘But why did she choose you if she wasn’t attracted to you?’

‘Things went on like this for nearly a year. With Mario taking her to the shingle by the Terzolle in the mornings and Muzio taking her to the cinema in the evenings. There was another one too, one I hated because he was twice her age and I thought him repulsive. A businessman, always smart, always wearing a tie. He would wait at the entrance of the school where she worked in Via di Casa Murata, and take her to the Cascine for a cup of cream with wafers. I could have killed him. She flirted with him, laughing shamelessly, but he was of no importance to her. I would watch her from far off eating that cream as voraciously as if she was gobbling up the man himself.’

‘And you were there all the time spying, Papà?’

‘Well, I was trying to understand. But the more I watched the less I understood. One day I saw them shut up together in a car having an argument, her and the businessman, at the corner of Piazza Dalmazia. He was waving his hands about and shaking his head again and again; his red cheeks really annoyed me. She was quiet and didn’t move. Now and then she would shake out her hair which was lying loose on her shoulders. She was so beautiful that even from a distance I was utterly overwhelmed. I thought: now I’ll go and save her from that brute, now I’ll go. But I was afraid she might turn on me. And what could I have done if she had stopped coming to the bakery?’

‘But what were they arguing about? Did Mamma tell you later?’

‘Yes, she told me. The tapir was trying to get her to marry him. She said no, she was engaged to Mario. But he went on and on. He said he wanted to marry her before the new fascist law taxing singles became operative. He even wanted to give her a child.’

‘And in the meantime she fell in love with you?’

‘Oh no, not at all. She wanted to marry Mario, the one with the patents, and she very nearly did.’

‘But why didn’t she then?’

‘Now that you’re a big girl I can tell you. Something happened so terrible that your mother never recovered from it.’

‘Tell me, Papà.’

‘If I tell you will you promise to forget what I say as soon as I’ve said it?’

‘How can I make promises if I don’t even know what you’re talking about?’

‘Just promise.’

‘I’ll try. But what happened?’

‘What happened was that Mario once saw her kissing Muzio and was so angry he went to ask a friend of his, a certain Nanni, to help him take revenge. Nanni was a fanatical fascist and one of a gang of thugs. He was very happy to get such a job. He said: Just leave it to me! Mario said, don’t hurt her too much; it would be enough if they tied her to a tree in the country and left her there for the night. That was what he wanted and his friend promised to do it. So a couple of mornings later, Nanni took some of his friends to wait for Stefania outside the Madonna del Bambino elementary school where she worked as a teacher. They pushed her into a car and drove her into the country where they tied her to a large oak tree. Stefania was confused, she didn’t understand. She asked in the shameless manner so typical of her: who are you? who sent you? And despite the fact that Mario had begged them not to mention his name, they blurted it out: your fiancé sent us because he saw you kissing another man. And they laughed as if they were doing a noble deed. She was furious and began showing her contempt for them, telling them they were cowards: four men against one woman, you disgust me! First they teased her, then they got angry. One of Nanni’s friends, a great fat boy who was always with them, thinking to impress his leader, slapped her face so hard her nose started bleeding. Despite the blood and the lamp-black from her eyebrows mixing with her tears, Stefania refused to give in to fear and went on shouting at them that they would regret it, and that she would hunt them down and kill them one by one with her father’s rifle.

‘At first, Nanni watched her with a certain admiration, then something in him snapped. Her furious face, cheeks red with tears and blood and eyes glaring with hate, made him determined to humiliate her once and for all, stamping on her boldness and forcing her to scream for mercy! But even when he started punching her, she went on attacking him. So you want the whole works, do you, said Nanni, you want to be fucked! And he jumped on her like a fury, ripping off her skirt and knickers. His companions stood watching, uncertain whether they could join in this feast of violence, or whether they must leave this victim to their leader. Meanwhile they got ready to unbutton their flies. Stefania was still struggling to free her hands from the rope. Then she bit Nanni’s arm hard, and the pain, far from stopping him, spurred him on. But before he could go any further he couldn’t stop himself ejaculating and let go, spitting and swearing and calling her a tart. Giving her a final kick in the belly he moved off with his companions, singing loudly: Show stone to the enemies before you, Keep your heart whole for your friends. Let your eye be bold, and your step be quick, And loud your cry of valour! Nanni felt he had now matured from a young boy into a real fascist and that this vulgar act had made a man of him in the eyes of the gang.