Goliarda Sapienza - The Art of Joy

Death no longer lurks in the stillness which suffuses his eyes, his cheeks, his smile. In time, Prando’s smile will acquire the inner calmness that Carmine had as an adult. Soon Prando, too, will have white strands among the curls, a sign that the fire has subsided. Grateful for this revelation, Modesta extends her hands to Mattia. Her hands feel small between his big, warm palms … Crispina’s hands?

Mattia: ‘Thank you, Modesta. But now we should talk about those paintings. Pietro mentioned…’

Modesta: ‘But aren’t you missing a finger like they said?!’

Mattia: ‘A finger? I heard that too. If you disappear for a while, legends crop up. For that matter, I actually almost lost not just my finger, but my whole hand. But all I have is a bracelet as a souvenir of your aim. Look, see under the cuff?’

Modesta: ‘And I almost lost my head! Look, look under my hair.’

Mattia: ‘It looks like a little snake…’

Modesta: ‘The snake I have in my body, as you used to say, and you brought it out into the light.’

Mattia: ‘And has it quieted down?’

Modesta: ‘On the contrary, it’s restless and makes me change direction at every step. I’ll never quiet down, Mattia. I can’t help it. But now let’s go down to the beach. I didn’t feel like waiting up until dawn before, but now I do. Let’s go.’

Mattia: ‘And about the paintings?’

Modesta: ‘We’ll talk about that tomorrow; the details can wait till day. Now I want you to meet Prando and Jacopo … Oh, wait, do you have children?’

Mattia: ‘No.’

Modesta: ‘And are you sorry?’

Mattia: ‘The details, as you called them … Tomorrow, with the day, Modesta. Let’s go.’

* * *

Jacopo: ‘I fell asleep, Mama, how maddening! Then the light woke me. How infuriating! Did he appear?’

Modesta: ‘This is Jacopo, Mattia. Jacopo, meet Mattia.’

Jacopo: ‘Pleased to meet you, signore , a pleasure … Did he appear, ’Ntoni? Did he appear?’

’Ntoni: ‘No.’

Jacopo: ‘Too bad!’

’Ntoni: ‘But you were sleeping…’

Jacopo: ‘Well, you could have described it. You can imitate anything.’

’Ntoni: ‘I’ve never thought of imitating a mirage. Not a bad idea.’

Prando: ‘Oh, sure! Maybe with Mela accompanying you on the piano. Whoever heard of such a thing!’

’Ntoni: ‘Well, why not, Prando? Always a defeatist.’

Prando: ‘Look, saying “defeatist” is just as bad as saying me ne frega, “I don’t give a damn.” 82It’s best not to use vulgar Fascist terms, as Mama tells us. What is it you say, Mama? Oh, yes: by using the words of the Fascists you end up absorbing them. Slowly but surely they’ll go to work inside you, and one fine morning you’ll find yourself ready and waiting for them, with a black shirt and breeches. To me, it’s always seemed like an exaggeration, but … How come you’re not answering, Mama? Maybe I didn’t express your thoughts very well?’

Mattia’s smile has erased any irritation Modesta might feel toward that stony profile, so flawless even after a night without sleep. ’Ntoni’s features are gaunt, like after a fever. Mela, her eyes mere slits, looks like she’s wearing her orphan’s smock again. Bambolina, pale, nearly asleep, is leaning against the boat, perhaps shivering. Prando’s impassive profile and harsh voice are nothing but strength. Maybe the irritation she felt toward him was simply fear.

Prando: ‘From all indications, my dear ’Ntoni, even though my beautiful mother didn’t deign to look at us before, at least she spoke to us. Now it seems she has decided to ignore us completely.’

Modesta: ‘You expressed my thoughts perfectly. Words nourish us, and like food they should be carefully chosen before they are swallowed.’

Prando: ‘Such a sweet disposition my mother woke up with this morning! Or is it because she hasn’t slept?’

Prando must have sensed the fear Modesta disguised as irritation; he must have been aware of it from childhood, since he’s so defiant. Nature doesn’t allow us to repair in an hour what we’ve done wrong for years, so Modesta is forced to act as before, waiting for time to apply a soothing balm.

Modesta: ‘You’re insufferable, Prando, and I forbid you to be a killjoy, as Bambù says!’

Bambù: ‘You’re right, Zia, just ignore him! Even with me he’s always that way, he likes to be a naughty boy.’

’Ntoni: ‘You mean a tough guy, Bambolina. The movies are to blame. He’s in love with Jean Gabin.’

Bambù: ‘Oh, that’s true! If he didn’t have such perfect features, he’d look like Jean Gabin.’

’Ntoni: ‘Of course! I saw him coming out of the cinema, copying his walk.’

Prando: ‘Idiot! I don’t copy anybody!’

Bambù: ‘But you’re too beautiful, cuginetto , to be a tough guy like him.’

Prando: ‘Oh, stop that beautiful stuff, Ida! It’s offensive to a man.’

Bambù: ‘Since when is it offensive?’

Prando: ‘To hell with you all, and damn me for stooping to the level of such picciriddi ! I’m going for a ride on the motorcycle.’

Bambù: ‘I’ll come with you, Prando.’

Prando: ‘But you’re so sleepy you’re ready to drop!’

Bambù: ‘Not any more. Take me with you.’

Prando: ‘But you’re shivering all over!’

Bambù: ‘I’m cold! Don’t go! I’m cold! Will you hold me?’

Prando: ‘Hey, Mama, I have the feeling this party will end up in the hospital. I’ll bet they’ll all be in bed with a fever tomorrow.’

’Ntoni: ‘The fishermen! Here come the fishermen!’

Jacopo: ‘Come on, let’s go prepare the fire. Who knows how many fish they’ve caught! I’m so hungry! You’ll see how good the soup is when they make it.’

Prando: ‘Listen to this little Jacopo of ours telling me how good the fishermen’s soup is, as if I didn’t know! What patience you need with these picciriddi , eh, Pietro? And you, my beautiful cuginetta , my little white dove, have you warmed up? Can you manage to walk?’

Bambù: ‘I can! Mela, Stella, the fishermen are here!’

Modesta: ‘Off they go, Mattia, look … off they go!’

Mattia: ‘They’re flocking toward the horizon like sparrows who’ve learned to fly. But you nurtured them, and that should be a consolation to you. Tell me the truth, my little lava devil, is Prando Carmine’s son?’

‘Yes.’

‘He doesn’t look like me, but he’s the spitting-image of my father when he was young.’

‘He resembles you, too.’

‘You think so?’

‘I took a gamble having you meet him. I watched everyone closely to see if they noticed anything, even Stella. But no one spotted the resemblance.’

‘You like to take chances, don’t you?’

‘Yes, I do. No one noticed it. It’s incredible!’

‘If they don’t know … No one is clairvoyant; clairvoyants don’t exist … So, as I told you, all you have to do is remove the frames and roll up the canvases — I’m sending you an expert — then each canvas has to be placed in a tube like this. As you know, I have a history of trips to that country, and, what’s more important, unsullied trips.’

‘But you also said that you didn’t want to go back to America.’

‘I didn’t want to because it was associated in my mind with the grief I carry, but deep down I was waiting for an opportunity. New York is the most beautiful city in the world if you have money.’

‘Oh! Antonia died while you were over there?’

‘Yes, I stayed too long that time and my wife, perhaps distraught — or maybe it’s my imagination — punished me by dying along with our child. Or maybe it was fate, like with my father. Loss surprised him when he was distracted by his travels, as it did me. Or then again, maybe we Tudia males — did you hear your Prando? — harbour an egoism so absolute that it kills those who aren’t strong enough to fend off the fury that constantly possesses us.’