Goliarda Sapienza - The Art of Joy

She turns away with a slight bow and a hint of a smile, repeating: ‘Good night, Princess.’ You can tell she likes to call me that. Jacopo, Bambolina, tell all the children not to kid themselves: even in prison, princesses and leaders are treated differently. As soon as Sister Giuliana disappears behind the door, the woman leaps to her feet and starts talking to me like someone forced to remain silent for years, rushing at me like a starving person reaching for bread.

‘Who are you? Why did that slut Sister Giuliana make such a fuss over you? Plus, I’m not from the continent: I’m Roman!’

The voice is husky, maybe due to the long silence, but beneath the bruises and scratches (knife wounds?), the face, lit by flashing yellow-green eyes, doesn’t seem unattractive.

‘Who are you? Do you mind answering me?’

Pinned by that implacable yellow gaze, Modesta is tempted to respond just to close her eyes and have a little darkness.

‘ No, Modesta, the danger lies precisely in the cells: for every two real prisoners there is one, maybe even more convincing-looking than the others, who is an informer instead. ’

Joyce has had some experience with prisons, and what she says should be noted; it might be useful.

‘ You never can tell, Bambù .’

‘ But she’s boring when she starts in on that subject, Zia! ’

‘ We should listen, and then remember. ’

‘ Besides, you? in prison? Just imagine! ’

‘ You never can tell, Bambù, never! ’

Modesta remembers and opens her eyes again to observe that relentless creature, who talks and talks and asks questions … And when she turns to the wall and pounds her fists on the damp, flaking plaster, it’s even more excruciating to the eye and ear than the floodlight pointed at Modesta, and the individual sitting behind the desk:

‘Why, Princess, do you force me to sit at this table? It pains me more than it does you, you must believe me! Under this uniform is a man who is saddened to see you so exhausted, but unfortunately it is my duty. I beg you once again: try to remember something specific. Did someone perhaps want to seek revenge by involving you in matters that pertain to men? A rejected lover? With your charm, it would come as no surprise! Sometimes men who are rejected can become ruthless … Try to remember. All we need are two or three names. We’ll hand them over to the law, and you’ll be back home in less than no time!’

Behind the dark grille of the confessional, the thin voice of the priest in Palermo coiled like a snake and made me tremble with fear and horror, more so than Mother Leonora’s shouts or those of this officer, who for three hours has been pacing around the room shrieking like a lunatic.

‘No, no sitting today! Today we’ll talk better on our feet! Outside, the sun is shining … talk … You are so beautiful, Princess, so young! Why let your silence prolong a conversation that is so distasteful to us both?’

Now what is he doing? Why has he stopped? I had just got used to the steady gallop of those short bowlegs. Now though, at regular intervals, he stops and clicks his heels together, as if on parade.

And in the days that followed, each time I entered and sat down: ‘No, no sitting, we’ll talk better on our feet.’… The cigar! Why does he now stare at the small ember of his cigar, then look at me lingeringly as he twirls it between his fingers and feigns a smile? Years later, Joyce’s breasts were still scarred by a faint tracery … ‘I’m sorry, I see your eyes are closing, but we have to talk.’ Now, he too sits down, but he’s no longer smoking … They haven’t even changed my clothes yet. I’ve been here for several days.

‘ Well, my dear Modesta, my discovery was horrifying and my decision even more horrific. It’s chilling to sit in a cell and see those poor women come back beaten and raped, and realize with disgust that you, being privileged, remain healthy, with your clothes intact. Of course, they use words like weapons with the leaders, but that’s not saying much: words don’t cut the flesh like the razor blades they often use .’

‘And you?’

‘After a month I realized that I would lose all my credibility with those comrades who were farm women and workers. To get them to do these “embroideries” on me, as you poetically call them, I had to insult them personally and in any way I could. Only after days and days of this was I able to return to the cell with my head held high. It’s incredible to have to fight to be tortured, but the suspicious looks finally stopped, and we were united again. ’

The Romana is silent now. She bends over me, the yellow beacons of her pupils peering closely at my forehead, my neck, and on her resolute face I see subtle cuts. Joyce was right; they use razor blades.

‘Nothing, sure! Mummy’s little darling, not a mark! You come and go from there without a scratch, not a hair out of place, not even your lipstick is smudged, is it, Princess! Who are you, an informer? Tell Nina! Either you tell me or I’ll beat you up but good. Who are you?’

I’m sleepy. I could have followed Joyce’s example, but I have no intention of being a hero, and when she rushes at me with her sharp fingernails I grab her wrists with one hand — Nina is tall, but she has slim wrists — and slap her with the other, once, twice, three times. The slaps reopen the cuts, and she’s finally forced to get off of me and stop talking.

‘That’s so you never try it again. Remember that! Keep in mind, I’m convinced that you’re the one who’s an informer. Yes you, with your bruises, an informer! Bruises make informers more convincing, right! Who are you? Tell me or I’ll start slapping you again. Who are you?’

‘ Cazzi mia! My fucking business!’

I had never heard that word on a woman’s lips, and maybe because I instinctively smile, or because of the dialect that breaks the words into gentle, hesitant pauses, I’m left flabbergasted.

‘ Cazzi mia , bitch! You made me bleed. But I’m glad. You’re no informer if you’re so incensed. Get some sleep now. Tomorrow we’ll talk, the two of us…’

‘ Please, Princess, tomorrow let’s try to make our conversation more productive. Think about it: if we can see a way to resolve one or two things, tomorrow could be more pleasant, with this beautiful sunshine outside, being able to talk with you in a café, in a park…’

* * *

‘Do you have breath to spare, Princess, that you want to talk? Save it for those signori . From the looks of things, we’ll have plenty of time to chat!’

Never had Joyce been so sympathetic and smiling, despite the numerous grim cuts that blur her features in the dark room; bringing a long, shapely finger to her lips she gestures me to be silent to save my strength after my return from those discussions with the lawyers … No matter what time it is, she waits for me, still on her feet or lying down, but always attentive, her huge eyes wide open. And she doesn’t get upset if I make noise trying to find my cot.

‘ Thank you, Jò, for your understanding. Thank you, my love. ’

‘They worked you over but good, didn’t they, Princess? Wake up! Who is this Jò? your husband?’

‘I killed her…’

‘Oh, no, Princess! You have to wake up! Up to now I went along with you. I left you in peace because you weren’t raving, but talking nonsense like that is dangerous! Shit, if only there were a real lamp instead of this dim blue light from purgatory … they think of everything! Come on, sit up and open your eyes. That’s it: take a good look at me — good, so to speak — look at me: I’m Nina, not your husband.’