Goliarda Sapienza - The Art of Joy

To get out of that situation, I had to die. And die just the way Mimmo had suggested to me: that is, by jumping out of the window. But which one? Fortunately there were bars on mine, because it would have been too high and, on top of that, there were no geranium beds, no trees or shrubs that would keep me from breaking all my bones. I cared about this body of mine, which had given me so much joy.

I searched for three days without finding a single window that did not have those loathsome iron grilles. Finally, discouraged, I sat on the grass and leaned my head against the rusty rim of the well. The flock of sheep, as Mimmo called them, never ventured there. Why not? Indeed, why was it they never came near the old well, and when one of them glimpsed it from afar, she swiftly crossed herself three times and looked away? That’s their business. For me it was better this way. I had at least found a place where I could concentrate undisturbed in the sun, since by this time I was no longer able to either think or read in my cell. How could I manage to die if all the windows had bars? ‘ E caddi come corpo morto cade ’… 9How could I appear perfectly dead, ‘even as a dead body falls’, to quote the Poet, without really ending up in the odious arms of La Certa ?

‘Did the princess by chance call for me? If you’ll excuse my saying so, you should not let yourself be lulled into sleep like that, under the April sun. April entices us with her false warmth. She caresses you with caring hands, but she’s ready to abandon you to the venomous dampness as soon as shadows fall.’

‘Who told you I was looking for you, the oak tree?’

‘As usual, and it was right. Even now, your eyes are calling to me, princess, but they don’t know whether to trust a stranger or not. Because, even though I’ve seen you grow with the tenacity of a healthy plant, we’re still strangers, aren’t we?’

‘Do you know why the sisters never come near this well and why, when they see it, they cross themselves as if they’ve seen the devil?’

‘I see that since they’ve kept you in quarantine you’ve sharpened your tongue, eh, princess?’

‘Not just my tongue, Mimmo, I’ve sharpened my wits as well. It’s just that…’

‘What? The well? It worries you, this well? Stay away from it, child!’

‘Why?’

‘Because it lures tormented souls. I myself have counted two of them who listened to its voice.’

‘Whose voice?’

‘The well’s water of oblivion, princess. And they jumped in. I fished two of them out myself, with these arms. My father, in his day, pulled another one out. My grandfather, God rest his soul, who knows how many! But he was of the old school, and kept quiet about it. At that time people kept quiet about everything. Even at home, with one’s own blood, you didn’t talk. People were mute in those days! But things have been changing these past twenty years. In the villages down in the valley people are beginning to talk, guardedly, of course, but they talk. And on the continent, from what my son tells me — he’s a merchant, so he comes and goes — there’s a flurry of talk and new ideas. They even speak out against this war that has broken out. When did people ever speak out against a war, before! This son of mine, Giovanni, says that the wind of rebellion is coming here too, stirring people’s minds, especially in the sulphur mines and saltworks … You should hear him! He’s really passionate about these new rebellious ideas.’

‘Rebellion against whom?’

‘Who else do the poor rebel against? Against the rich, the barons, the Church.’

‘So the doctor was one of these?’

‘Of course. Not at first, but in the last few years he changed, like my son Giovanni.’

‘But he’s not poor. He’s a doctor.’

‘He must be an exception. Although my Giovanni tells me that over there, on the continent, there are many doctors and teachers and lawyers who are on the side of the people.’

‘But can what your son tells you be true?’

‘Of course! And I’m worried. He’s always talking about these things. He’s a hothead, my Giovanni! I’m afraid that one fine day…’

‘And what do you think about it?’

‘Me, princess? I’m wary by nature. Then too, even though I criticize the rules of this convent and many, many other things about the Church that aren’t clear, I still believe in God. Oh yes, I believe in God.’

‘Ah, why, don’t they believe in God?’

‘Well, if it were simply that they didn’t believe in Him, child, that I could understand. But they hate and oppose Him. That’s what makes me wary, you see. Without the Gospel’s teachings, our young people have only a dark future ahead of them … You’re all flushed. What is it? Is it the thought of all these godless people? Eh, it’s Mimmo’s fault! You’re right, my child. Mimmo talks too much!’

What could I say? That discovering that I was not alone in doubting God had brought on a heat flash, forcing me to clamp my mouth shut to keep from screaming with joy? Lowering my head and clenching my fists to drive my nails into my palms (this would make me grow pale, I knew), I said, ‘Don’t worry, I’m all right, Mimmo.’

‘It worries me seeing you hanging around this well. I told you, I pulled two of them out myself, with my own arms.’

His anxiety showed me I was right on the mark. He wouldn’t let me out of his sight again, not for a moment. My eyes rolling, the pallor increasing as my nails dug into my palms, I stood up, lurching so that he had to hold me up.

‘Don’t worry, Mimmo, it was the sun and the dampness. You were right. Good thing you woke me. Although now … Maybe it would have been a blessing for me to get acute double pneumonia and go to be with God … Thank you, Mimmo. Goodbye.’

Without looking back, I set off toward the convent with an unsteady step, as they say in novels. Behind me I sensed him standing stock-still, frozen by his concern, and I almost felt pity for him. The urge to turn around and run to reassure him was so strong that I staggered for real. Yet this was no time for pity. It was time to act.

But acting did not turn out to be as easy as I’d thought. For days and days, masses of clouds raced over the convent like the immense wings of crazed birds, and I was afraid. I went to the well, I stared into its depths, but there too, the cloud masses flapped their dark wings against the slippery walls, only to end up being sucked under by the stagnant water at the bottom. I was shivering with cold. Mimmo was certainly always around now, like a sentinel, and this assured me that his concern was ever vigilant. But he did not approach me again. Surely his apprehension had overcome his relish for chatting with someone, which always did him good. He himself had once told me:

‘Forgive me, Voscenza , if I don’t talk today, princess. It’s just that I’m gripped by thoughts that kill my appetite and my desire to talk.’

And coward that I am, I couldn’t make up my mind to take the leap that would have liberated both him and me. How could I? I didn’t even dare think of those lava walls that slid round and round all the way down to the invisible depths. By day I pounded my head and chest, accusing myself of being cowardly. At night the well’s eye never left me, staring at me from the dark corners of the cell, keeping me awake and clinging to the sheets for fear of falling in. I could never do it. It was hopeless. If only I’d known how to swim! If only Tuzzu had taken me to see the sea and taught me to swim! He said it was easy even for a silly ninny, a scemuzza , like me.

‘ First you have to learn to do the dead-man’s float: you just lie on the water like you lie on the grass, on your back, confident, and spread your arms and legs. If you’re not afraid, then the water holds you up just like the earth does now. ’