Goliarda Sapienza - The Art of Joy

‘Could I have a cigarette?’

‘Of course, Princess.’

I need to smoke, but only so I won’t smell the scent of lavender on those impeccably shaved cheeks. I wonder why I waited so long to savour the fragrant smoke that envelops the foreign faces in a serene fog and focuses the mind. The leisurely act of bringing that little white cylinder to your mouth soothes your nerves, and you can distract yourself by following the tiny blaze as it unhurriedly approaches your lips. Joyce was right when she would carefully, almost reverently, pull her treasure out of its case. But hers weren’t white and blond like these; they were dark tobacco, wrapped in yellow paper.

‘Another cigarette, Princess? But of course, of course, I’ll leave you the whole pack.’

The big black car has stopped in front of the entrance to the Prefecture. The journey is over. It must be Sunday if so many black pleated skirts, two by two, crowd the sidewalks. ‘ The Duce has liberated us from corsets and cumbersome clothing. He wants us limber, in low heels, our stride brisk to serve the country. ’

We have to wait for them all to troop by before we can go inside.

* * *

‘It’s a disgrace, Princess, an outrage!’

If Pasquale the traitor hasn’t called me by name, there’s a reason for it and I have to listen to him. By using that title, he is advising me to be regal. I had forgotten that I was a princess and this armchair in the Prefecture is very comfortable. My head is heavy, but I dispel my drowsiness, and straighten my shoulders. I must not have smiled until now, because when my lips part in a condescending smile, the two non-uniformed officers stare at me, puzzled.

‘That what I think too, Prefect. And I won’t stoop to ask the reason for the disturbance you are causing me. I have been inconvenienced and affronted!’

Hearing these words, the two officers lean toward one another, whispering. Then the taller of the two murmurs sadly: ‘Orders from above, Princess, but we can assure you that we very much regret it.’

‘Of course, of course. A misunderstanding! I have done everything possible not to cause you any disturbance. A princess in contact with those good-for-nothing communists, just imagine!’

‘Exactly, Pasquale! I may address you informally as I do in private, may I not? It reassures me…’

‘But of course, Princess. I am honoured by your friendship. And I feel it’s important for me to state that I’ve had nothing to do with any of this. Orders came from Berlin to Rome: a misunderstanding, surely!’

‘From Berlin?’

Timur seemed so gentle, but Joyce is right to keep warning me: ‘ He’s dangerous, Modesta, dangerous like all the young men of the left who went over to Fascism … They’re the most dangerous, as though they want to cleanse themselves of a shameful past. ’

* * *

‘We’re in serious trouble, Modesta, done for!’

‘But they went away, Pasquale.’

‘To telephone, just to phone … We’re finished, damn it! May I ask what you were thinking when you revealed our friendship? If they check into it, they’ll discover who I was.’

‘Exactly! That’s what I wanted.’

‘Some gratitude! But what do you mean? Do you realize that what you did was stupid, plain stupid? If they suspect me, how will I be able to help you?’

‘That’s not true! You’re part of the norm. You were all with us, before. And that, as you well know, won’t harm you in the least. Declaring my friendship with you, on the other hand, means you have no choice but to help me, like it or not.’

‘Shrewd! I would have saved you regardless.’

‘I never believed you, Pasquale, or rather, I believed you kept a foot in both camps as long as it seemed that Fascism might end in five or ten years. But now you’re better off just throwing us all overboard.’

‘Clever, damn you!’

‘I only wanted to take precautions.’

‘Then listen carefully: your situation is a matter that lies outside my jurisdiction. The order to investigate your case came from Berlin. And one of those two came down from Rome purposely for you!’

‘Was it Timur?’

‘Who is Timur? What are you talking about?’

‘Joyce’s brother.’

‘No, Joyce has nothing to do with this, nor does this … what did you say his name was? But who gives a damn! This is all much more serious! They’ve arrested someone in Paris, an informer, a certain Marabbito who claims that over the years you’ve done nothing but finance comrades abroad, act as a spy, and who knows what else!’

‘That’s it? Is that what you’re getting all worked up about? I was afraid…’

‘But it’s enough to throw you in jail for years and years!’

‘Well, I thought it was something worse.’

‘What else did you do, you goddamn, idiotic woman! What did you do?’

Pasquale shouts and runs around the room like a crazed chicken. In just a few years he’s gone bald. Without the thick mass of blond ringlets — like a little angel! — his small round pate looks like a perfect ostrich egg. He doesn’t even have those few black strands that Mama carefully combed over Tina’s head … And for a moment Modesta is tempted to lop off that scrawny neck with a knife, the big one that Mama used to kill the hens. It wouldn’t be bad to watch that egg roll among the dark, opulent furniture in the Prefect’s office, enjoy the amusing spectacle a little while, smoking a cigarette … thereby putting a worthy end to his sweaty, drawing-room performances in uniform, when he entertains everyone with anti-fascist jokes, winking at some big shot: ‘ All winds blow over the island and we are excellent sailors! ’

‘Good God, are you crazy? Have you forgotten the special tribunals? They suspect you of espionage. Do you or don’t you understand?’

‘Are you reminding me that the death penalty has been reinstated?’

‘And you’re looking at yourself in the mirror?’

‘Luckily in my haste, I grabbed Bambù’s purse. She’s pretty, isn’t she, Pasquale? Look at these beautiful pearls … Fortunately there’s powder and lipstick! Bambolina is right about these things, like her mother. I’ve been neglecting myself for some time, and that’s not wise.’

‘What are you doing? Putting on makeup? Look, I won’t be able to go with you to Palermo. You’ll be in the hands of men who will interrogate you. They won’t give you a moment’s peace, never mind powder!’

‘On the contrary, you’re wrong! Powder and lipstick! I’m not so bad yet, am I, Pasquale? The tall one was giving me a certain look!’

‘Princess, Princess, Voscenza will do us the favour of sleeping here for tonight. You may close this curtain. That way you won’t see that woman over there … Anyway, all she does is sleep! Unfortunately we haven’t had any instructions … If she bothers you, have them call me at once. But tomorrow, you’ll see, we’ll arrange for a room just for Voscenza .’

That voice — do you hear it? — isn’t gentle like Mother Leonora’s, but I have to listen to it and do just what it suggests. For now it’s telling me to be sickened by the sight of that ageless, unkempt woman who lies shaking, hands in her hair, facing the wall. And I, like the voice tells me, make a face of disgust, but not too much so: disgust tempered by great compassion. I am in the hands of people who say they believe in compassion.

‘ Voscenza is too good to be moved by that woman. There’s no call to pity a subversive communist!’

‘But who is she?’

‘Someone from the continent, a wretched fool! She’s not even a teacher like the one in the next cell, who’s rumoured to be an organizer of the reds. A woman leader of the reds — what will we see next! Oh, Princess, I see you are upset … Voscenza is tired, I’ll let you rest.’