Goliarda Sapienza - The Art of Joy

‘Oh, yes!.. What did they do to your face? You look like you ran into a cheese grater.’

‘Just don’t touch me. Ignore it; otherwise you’ll make the goddamned stinging worse.’

‘But what did they do to you, Nina?’

‘Nothing. They went to town with the razor blade. You know, the usual fun and games … if only that were all, Princess!’

‘For God’s sake, what else, Nina?’

‘Ah! I see the subject has brought you back down to earth. Good!’

‘For the love of God, what else did they do to you?’

‘Think about it: when it comes to games men in uniform play, what else can they do to reduce you to a colander, front and back, huh?’

‘And you can smile about it?’

‘What should I do, cry about it? Crying doesn’t fill the holes.’

‘How many men were there?’

‘That’s what I’d like to know! I have the impression there were three of them — you know how it is in all the confusion — but I’d swear that a regiment marched over me, a regiment with sabres and brass bands!’

‘You’re so funny when you talk, Nina!’

‘Oh, if you only knew, fijetta , how much I like to talk, kid! Like my father, who was an anarchist and taught us to be plain-spoken and not to worship false prophets. I remember at the time Italy entered the war — I was only seven, but I remember because at home we didn’t cook and I was so hungry — I remember my father at the window, spitting as he kept saying: “Don’t believe it, Nina, those people who want to go to war aren’t socialists, they’re traitors.”’

‘Oh, but you’re young then!’

‘I was born in 1908. Are you shocked? I can believe it! And don’t look at me that way! You think I don’t know I look like an old lady? But as soon as these cuts heal and I can dye my hair again … it’s these dark roots that make me seem old … I could use some henna! Tomorrow I’ll ask Sister Giuliana, just for laughs!’

‘What’s henna?’

‘Well, a balm! It gives you a nice reddish colour without damaging the hair like other dyes do. In fact, it nourishes the hair since it’s made from a plant, and since when has a plant ever done any harm, right? While we’re on the subject of health, I have to tell you something but … I know you’re going to get embarrassed.’

‘Me? About what?’

‘Naturally, you landed gentry aren’t taught. Like my father used to say, they spoil you. It was okay before, because who could take your privilege away from you? But now … Who would have thought that even you might sometimes end up in jail!’

‘What are you talking about? I don’t understand.’

‘It’s that I’ve noticed your modesty — I’ve watched you, what do you think! — and I don’t know how to tell you but … To make a long story short, can you feel how hard and bloated your belly is? It looks like a drum. You need to take a crap, fijetta bella . You have to shit, kid, or your head will split and your bowels will be on fire.’

It’s that plain talk or the warmth of Nina’s hand as she palpates the taut surface of my belly that makes me cry so hard and repeat in a distant, long-forgotten voice: ‘I can’t, Nina, I can’t.’ When had I last heard that childish voice echoing in a dark room? Was it Prando who kept saying: ‘I can’t, Mama, I can’t’, or was it Bambolina? Jacopo never cried; he just frowned like a sobre, mindful little old man.

‘When you’re done crying — crying is good for you — we have to do it, nennella ! 100Come on now, what are you ashamed of? It’s only the two of us. What if they had tossed you in with ten others — all having to shit in the same bucket in the middle of the room — what would you have done then, huh?’

‘One bucket for ten women, Nina? What a horror!’

‘And not women who are as delicate as you … all staring at you to see how you make out.’

‘Ghastly!’

‘No, it’s just that by the time you get there, they’ve already spent years and years inside, and inside you get bored. So a newcomer is a novelty, a sensation. How can I explain it? She takes your mind off things, like at the movies. If only they were satisfied to just look. On the other hand, what can you expect? Common prisoners, thieves, whores. Oh, not that I have anything against thieves and whores; hating them doesn’t fit with anarchist thinking. We hate the masters who reduce them to stealing and make them become whores. As the song rightly goes: “ Son nostre figlie le prostitute, son…, the prostitutes are our daughters”. 101But what the hell! I try to hold to an ideal, but they become hyenas! If this sainted lady hadn’t come, this teacher in the cell next to ours, they’d have eaten me alive! She was the one who made them send me here to the infirmary …

‘Come on, don’t worry! I’m going to bed now — if you can call it that! — and I’ll turn and face the wall. You pull this filthy sheet that Sister Giuliana calls a curtain closed and take a crap. Okay? No? Get over it now — what’s your name, anyway? Goddamn it! — this princess stuff isn’t for me … Modesta? Hell, what a name! Who named you that? It’s worse than Princess. Imagine calling such a beautiful lady Modesta, especially one who’s crying because she doesn’t want to poop … I can call you Mody, you say? Oh yes, that’s better … Look, Mody, will you make up your mind? What are you worried about if I swear I won’t look at you? The sound you might make? Or the stink? Listen, for the stink do this: take this piece of newspaper and while you go, burn the newspaper with this match — don’t waste it now! we only have a few of them — burn it in the bucket, I mean, and the smell will disappear, you’ll see. All right? Come on, get up and don’t think about me. Make believe I’m not here, pretend I’m blind and deaf: look how well I can act blind and deaf. I could even play a cripple when I performed. I wanted to be an actress when I was little … But what’s wrong, why are you gripping me? What is it? Are you in pain?’

‘No, no, it’s just that maybe from laughing or because of the massage you gave me … Oh, Nina, I’m so ashamed, I can’t hold it! I can’t move, I can’t hold it in!’

‘And you’re upset? It’s a stroke of luck! Lean on my arm. Good thing you’re not heavy! Here, take off your panties … no, I won’t leave you, there’s no need to cling like that … Let go of my hips! I won’t leave you, but let it all out. For God’s sake, don’t hold back. You can die from intestinal blockage. Don’t hold it in!’

Whether because of that ‘don’t hold it in’ or the warmth her hips conveyed to my arms, I let myself go, sinking my face between her thighs … I let it all out and she stood there stroking my hair and whispering: ‘There’s a good girl, brava , let it all out, all of it, it will do you good!..’ And, something I would never have imagined: as I let myself go, a pleasure sweeter than rosolio or Tuzzu’s tongue now makes me sigh and weep, not from shame, but from joy, as I say over and over again: ‘Nina, Nina, don’t leave me…’

‘“Don’t leave me,” she says. In jail! I swear, if I get out I’ll have to tell about it. Oh, how funny, a real joke!’

Throwing her head back, Nina laughs out loud, recalling endless fields of rye and poppies.

‘I’m hungry.’

‘I can believe it, given what you evacuated! I mean, good for your health, but for your stomach it’s a different story! We have no choice, either die of toxicity, or … You were less hungry before, huh?’

‘Not hungry, just nauseous.’

‘Of course, then after the nausea you would have become feverish.’

‘I’m starving!’