Goliarda Sapienza - The Art of Joy

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As I leave the parlour I catch a glimpse of Joyce’s face. Or is it Timur’s, that gaze deep as a well, which for a moment observes the children’s silence over my shoulder? My arms and legs feel heavy, but even in the dark I know the way that leads to sleep. Maybe dying is nothing more than a somewhat longer sleep, a relief that is finally never-ending … I barely have time to collapse on the bed before Prando’s voice yells from behind the door.

‘If you don’t open up I’ll kill myself, Mama, I’ll kill myself!’

He comes toward me, tall, taller than in the parlour. Or is it the small room that makes him seem taller than Carmine?

‘You want to sleep after throwing me out like that? I’ll kill you, or I’ll throw myself out the window to keep from tearing you to pieces!’

At the window I grab him by the arms, he’s not serious … I just have to hold him back, without using force, and he stops and rests his head against the window pane. He’s crying now, only a slight shaking of his strong shoulders, the silent weeping of an adult male. Are men unable to cry, or have they been forbidden to do so? Is it perhaps this prohibition that nurtures in them the insensitive arrogance of a master, the hostile look he gives me as soon as he is reassured by my tender gesture? Those tears, held back with some effort, are not those of a mistreated child, but the tears of a rejected man, the same look Mattia had: ‘ You don’t love me, Modesta! ’ Without taking my hands off his shoulders, I reach out and stroke the skin on his neck, as pebble-smooth as Mattia’s was.

‘I’m not the one who threw you out, Prando; you know that. It’s you who are clearly tired of being among snot-nosed brats and old people. That’s what you said.’

‘You’re not old! It’s those appalling words that made me say I wanted to die. You’re the most beautiful, Mama, the most beautiful! Even Andrea says so … I don’t know, I don’t know what came over me. Sometimes I think I hate you, at other times I can’t stand not seeing you. A cursed breed, we Brandiforti, cursed! I have it in for everyone. I’ll become an imbecile like my father!’

‘Your father is not an imbecile. It was his illness that made him the way he is. You’re not ill, are you? Or has something happened to make you afraid?’

‘No, nothing, Judas Priest! I watch carefully. What do you think, that I’m crazy? But what’s wrong with me then, what’s wrong with me?’

‘I’ll tell you what’s wrong.’

‘What is it, Mama?’

‘It’s that we two love each other too much and we’re too much alike.’

‘You think so? Now that you’re holding me in your arms I feel that’s true.’

‘It’s true, Prando. Doesn’t everyone tell you that you’re the spitting image of me when you smile?’

‘Oh, hold me, Mama!’

‘See how alike we are, Prando? First we shout and call each other names and now I don’t remember a thing, do you?’

‘It’s true, it’s all forgotten … even as a child I was like that.’

‘Do you remember what you always told me as a child, when you discovered that Papa was too ill to live with us? You always said: “Don’t be sad, Mama, I’ll marry you when I grow up.”’

‘It’s true, now I remember. First I thought I’d dreamt it…’

‘I would marry you, too, Prando, if you weren’t my son.’

‘You’d marry me? Go on! You don’t think much of me at all.’

‘Are we starting in again?’

‘But do you really think well of me? Look me in the eye and repeat it.’

‘I think the world of you, Prando, but you have to go to Palermo and spend some time on your own, look around a little. Did you know that the girls in Palermo are very beautiful?’

‘That’s what Andrea says, but you … how come you notice these things?’

‘It’s because I too am a little bit like a man, Prando! What do you think?’

‘Certainly when you act like you did earlier, you’re really a terror. You should have seen!’

‘What?’

‘I have to laugh.’

‘Why?’

‘When you walked out, ’Ntoni gestured for us to applaud.’

‘You’re kidding!’

‘Then he said that you would have made a great actress. And I punched him, poor ’Ntoni! But I immediately apologized and I put a steak on his eye and spoke to him a bit, and … I feel very sleepy, Mama, why? Can I sleep here with you for a while?’

From the way his head grew heavy on my breast I realized that mentally at least he had possessed me. But I was burning all over. Who knows how much I had wanted him without knowing it!

Power of the imagination. As ugly as I had felt at hearing the word “old”, that’s how beautiful I now felt soaking in cool bath water, with Prando sleeping in the next room: beautiful and content, like a little bride in a romance novel, on her honeymoon … After her wedding, Beatrice became more beautiful and proud each day … I did not enjoy this serene bliss for long. I just had time to get out of the bathtub when Prando’s voice reached me, upset.

‘Hey, Mama! Where are you?’

‘I’m right here.’

‘What happened?’

‘You fell asleep.’

‘No! Tell me, how can that be?’

‘It’s because you’re like me. First you get angry and shout, then you fall asleep. Can you imagine Jacopo falling asleep after arguing with Bambù?’

‘Not a chance! He goes on and on every time! Last week, after that quarrel with Bambolina, he pestered me for three days. He gets fixated on something and that’s that!’

‘To us they seem like fixations, Prando, but it’s just that he’s different.’

‘That’s for sure! How long did I sleep?’

‘Not long.’

‘And what did you do?’

‘I took a bath.’

‘Was it you who put this blanket over me?’

‘Of course, first I covered you and then…’

‘You took a bath … What a lovely dress! It’s been a long time since you’ve worn it. It’s my favourite.’

‘I know.’

‘Why did you get all dressed up like that? Did you get all dressed up because of that Tudia who’s coming to dinner?’

‘Not again, Prando!’

‘Why have you started seeing him?’

‘It’s business, like with Attorney Santangelo and the others; you know that.’

‘Yes, but that Tudia isn’t an old man and the way he looks at you incenses me. I’m all sweaty, look! Will you let me take a shower in your bathroom? This nap has left me feeling so lazy … I’d like to stay here even longer, but I’m hungry. What should I do, Mama? Take a shower or a bath?’

‘Whichever you like.’

‘If I take a bath, will you wash my back?’

How long had it been? It seemed like yesterday that Prando could have drowned in the bathtub as easily as in a lake, and Modesta had to be careful back then, very careful … Now his feet, big as a statue’s, toy with the chain of the stopper.

‘I’m famished! Who’s cooking tonight?’

‘Jacopo and ’Ntoni. I think it’s their turn.’

‘Oh God, no! Who knows what revolting stuff they’ll make!’

‘The last time it wasn’t all that bad.’

‘Why on earth don’t they follow Stella’s instructions? I’m hopeless at it too, but I stick to Stella’s advice. Oh, Mama, did you know that last week at Andrea’s I was a big success with the roast? There were ten of us, and afterwards Andrea wanted to learn how to make it. He too, a communist! Whereas before, he couldn’t even make himself a couple of fried eggs.’

‘That’s the fault of mothers who make a mystery out of cooking and spoil their sons with their gastronomical delicacies. It took me a long time to learn too. There was no way to get Argentovivo and your aunt Beatrice out of their kitchen.’