Goliarda Sapienza - The Art of Joy

‘Oh, come on, Modesta, it’s been years now. Not only has it never happened again, but—’

‘But I can’t bear it when you do that!’

‘I can’t help it; please believe me. It’s in my nature. It’s stronger than me.’

‘Even though you know it terrifies me, it—’

‘In fact, you have no way of knowing it, but I control myself with you and I try, I assure you, I try not to give in to that impulse. But believe me, what you call my “disappearances” are not covering up anything serious. At most, they’re minor little foibles owing to my temperament or perhaps to my odious upbringing.’

‘But can’t you do it for me? I’ve changed so many things in my life for you.’

‘It doesn’t seem like it.’

‘There, you see? It is something serious and not just minor idiosyncrasies, as you say. What have I done? Did I offend you? Why won’t you speak? I’d rather hear you shout or have you slap me than endure these silent battles, these hypocritical words! I’ve told you everything, everything about me. You know me as no one else does.’

‘This is the first time you’ve called me a hypocrite, Modesta. It’s a harsh word.’

‘Oh! Forgive me, Jò. I wasn’t thinking that. I swear to you that’s not what I thought. I’m just so upset! Hold me, Jò. Can you feel how I’m shaking?’

‘I know that’s not what you thought, little one, but the word hurts just the same.’

‘Oh, forgive me. I’ll punish myself for that word and I’ll kiss you until the pain goes away. Oh, Jò, hold me tight! Squeeze me, hurt me, but don’t disappear!’

‘You’re the one who’s hurting me, little one. You’re biting me.’

‘Yes, yes, I’ll bite you … your neck, your lips … I’m hurting you, aren’t I? There … on the neck, that way you’ll have to cover yourself up so it won’t show. Does it hurt? Tell me, does it hurt?’

‘Oh, Modesta, yes, but a sweet pleasure too … Bite me, bite me!’

‘I’ll eat you all up, Jò: all of you inside me, even your breasts! And you’ll never be able to disappear, locked inside me. Never!’

* * *

Wrapped up in their embrace, Jò and Modesta don’t notice the dark wing lowering over the horizon.

‘It’s already night, Modesta.’

‘And Giufà flies through the night, riding on the moon.’

‘We’ve ended up on the carpet. How quickly day turns into night here!’

‘It’s only when I’m in your arms that I’m not afraid of losing you, Jò. Why?’

‘I can’t get used to this sudden darkness. I watch the sun sink, yet night always takes me by surprise, as if the darkness were lurking there, waiting for the right moment to leap out. In Turkey it’s not like that, at least not in Istanbul.’

‘We’re much further south, Jò … Down toward the scorching heart of Africa. In Scicli, amid the mulberry vines, you can smell the tang of Africa at night: dry, sharp as a blade, a Durendal that cuts through the laurel.’

‘Did you lock the door, Modesta?’

‘Yes, but you know no one would dare enter. I’m the mistress here.’

‘But they could spy on us.’

‘No one spies on the master here on the island.’

‘You people are incredible! And the kids? They might be looking for us.’

‘No, no! With all the fun they’re having, they’re sure to have forgotten all about us.’

‘How can you say that?’

‘Because it’s a fact.’

‘They’re ingrates.’

‘What should they be grateful to us for?’

‘You feed them. You protect them.’

‘That’s the rub, Pietro would say. My ability to feed them puts me in the role of master, the pa-dro-ne , Jò! And why should they be grateful to a master? You accuse me of being paternalistic with Pietro, then you’d have me be the same with the children. To consider oneself indispensable to young, defenceless human beings, just because you feed them, is the most atrocious paternalism.’

‘Still, I hear someone coming up to look for us. It must be Bambù, or Prando, who’s noticed your absence.’

‘No, they’d only notice it if I left them without food and games.’

‘What you’re saying is appalling.’

‘It’s human nature. A baby is forced to love you because you feed him. Carlo wanted to organize a youngsters’ union against abominable grandmothers. I would form a children’s union against the formidable duo of father and mother, who demand love in exchange for a crust of bread or a plaything — too high a price for any normal individual to pay.’

‘Now you’re going too far, Modesta. They’re knocking. It’s Bambù, you’ll see.’

‘No, it was Pietro’s stride.’

‘At your service.’

‘ Voscenza will excuse me, Princess…’

‘Go into the bathroom, Jò. I’m afraid your dress is all rumpled.’

‘It was you, Modesta.’

‘Go and change.’

‘Just a moment, Pietro. I’ll put on a robe and open up for you.’

‘What is it? Is Voscenza not feeling well, Princess?’

‘No, Pietro, just a bad headache, but I slept a little and it went away.’

‘I know what you mean. What chaos with these carusi ! It’s nice to see them so cheerful, but it’s exhausting … Stella sent me to tell you that our Bambolina has decided to have dinner on the beach. Oh, just like her mother, she’s always up to something! So they’ve all gone to the bay of the Prophet to set things up. She’s also decided to stay up till dawn to see if the Prophet’s hair will bleed when the sun rises. It’s the time for this mirage! Stella wanted to know if Voscenza agrees.’

‘But of course. They’re on vacation and it’s their party. Stella knows they’re free to do what they want.’

‘Then I’ll go and reassure her. She was uneasy.’

‘Go.’

‘We’ll see you at the bay, right, Mody? You’re not still feeling poorly, are you?’

‘I’m just fine, Pietro. I’ll be there soon.’

In place of the lightweight voile dress, a long white silk tunic covered Joyce’s arms and shoulders. Under that white throbbed the marks of my bites. Standing on tiptoe, Modesta kisses Joyce … her swollen lips, their corners ending in two small weeping commas, are scorching.

‘You have two little commas on either side of your lips, Jò. Or are they two parentheses?’

‘They’re two wrinkles, Modesta.’

‘They’re not! They’re two parentheses that add meaning to the sentence of your face.’

‘What meaning? Tell me.’

‘I don’t know. I’m trying to understand, but I can’t seem to.’

‘It’s just time’s warning that I’ll soon be old.’

‘That’s not true. You won’t ever be old.’

‘No one can stop time.’

‘Why don’t you have any children, Jò? Or do you have them, and like nearly everything else about you, you’re keeping it a secret?’

‘What do children have to do with it?’

‘Because, as Shakespeare says, if you can’t stop time, you can prolong it in your children. 77For better or for worse, they’ll attest to you in the world.’

‘I don’t care about the world!’

‘Or maybe like the Dark Lady of the sonnets, or the fair youth of her dreams, you’re heartless and miserly? Are you miserly, Jò? I’m beginning to think so.’

‘Given the way you are, I may seem miserly to you.’

‘And how am I?’

‘My father, a gentleman of austere Todi, would have said extravagant.’

‘And yet everyone accuses me of being miserly! Poor Prando had to beg for that motorcycle … How handsome he is! I can’t get over it. But I don’t like the way he looks like a statue! Does he seem intelligent to you? He’s so withdrawn that sometimes I think he’s stupid.’