Goliarda Sapienza - The Art of Joy

Already I was a grandmother … As I reflected on the idea — inevitably more upsetting than any war — I looked away from Carluzzu and saw Inès enter through the parlour’s French door.

I hadn’t seen her in years, and if it weren’t for the perception of danger that her name, whispered beside me, carried with it, I wouldn’t have recognized her. The smiling charm that had made her seem beautiful had vanished, along with the dark curls, now wound tightly around her head in a harsh braided crown. The small swollen lips, pinched in a disdainful expression, had thinned to a rigid blade of command, and her body, bolstered by the ‘position’ she had won, had lost its agility and grace.

‘Eh, Mody, a new broom sweeps clean! You should see her now, a harpy with her maid! And something Pietro cannot tolerate: despotic and harsh with the signor prince. That woman has decided to kill him so she can marry: I can see it in the way she rolls her eyes right and left! All she does is hoard money. Plus, she no longer satisfies the signor prince and he’s itching for her, the poor creature! I’ve talked to her, but she doesn’t want vellute . Why not? I thought. If you accepted that arrangement, back then, why won’t she, instead of making the poor soul suffer? By this time, he trembles and runs away when he sees her. Action is needed here, Mody. Listen to me!’

‘And what is that, Pietro?’

‘It’s simple: get rid of her by natural means, using her own venomous ways.’

Inès comes forward with regal bearing and stops in front of Jacopo, who is still arm in arm with Nina. Jacopo hasn’t seen her, so taken is he by Nina’s smile. I can believe it! What else can matter to him when Nina is talking and laughing? But Inès raises her hand — at one time delicate and tremulous, now loaded with rings — and places it firmly on her son’s shoulder, separating the two. Jacopo turns pale as a corpse and abruptly pushes Nina away. Staring at him in surprise, she exclaims,‘What’s come over you, my dark-haired boy? Is this your girlfriend perhaps? Is that why you’re flustered? Look how red he is! Oh, Mody, come and see!’

Nina laughs louder, staring at Inès defiantly. Inès, chin raised, hisses: ‘You see filth everywhere, signora . Or is it signorina ?

‘ Signorina, signorina! ’

‘Oh, now I see, signorina . But things here aren’t like they are on the continent! I’ve known Jacopo since he was a baby, and I’ve come to embrace him as a mother.’

‘Sorry, I was just joking. Besides you’re so young and beautiful I thought I was paying you a compliment!’

‘Such compliments aren’t appreciated here, isn’t that so, Jacopo? Have you nothing to say to me?’

‘But Inès, I came to see you as soon as I returned…’

‘Yes, but only for a minute.’

‘Well, to reassure you and then … then I had to reassure the others as well.’

‘Of course. But afterwards I waited all day for you.’

‘Well, I would have come back later on, after … You see? They’re playing music. Crispina was singing. Come on, Crispina, go on with your singing! Besides you’re here, aren’t you, Inès? You’re here with us now. Cheer up, Inès. Don’t be like that!’

Jacopo’s voice becomes uncertain, stammering. It’s time to act. As if Pietro has understood my intention — maybe from my stride, certainly not from the smiling expression on my face — I find him standing silently by my side, and I hear myself say, ‘Oh, Inès, a pleasure to see you! Come, let’s not ruin this party in Jacopo’s honour. Our Jacopo is happy. You should be happy as well. Come, let’s hug. It’s also been a long time since we’ve seen one another.’

Rigid and hostile in my arms, she whispers, ‘Jacopo is mine, mine alone, and I don’t like this slut. Why was she holding him so tight?’

‘All right, Inès, you’re here now, aren’t you? Stay with your Jacopo … and you, Nina, come and see how amazing Carluzzu has become. He says he can sing like Crispina. Let’s see if it’s true. You too, Pietro, you were certainly right: your Crispina must study music. You were right about that other matter as well: we’ve wasted too much time, we must resolve things.’

‘Of course, Mody! I’m relieved to hear it, and with your permission everything will be arranged in the best possible way.’

‘I don’t doubt it, Pietro.’

‘What’s wrong with that Inès, Mody? Why did she get so incensed? Is she in love with Jacopo, maybe?’

‘Come on, Nina! Have you forgotten she’s his mother?’

‘Oh, right. But how does that change things?’

‘Territorialism. You invaded her colony!’

‘Hell, Mody, you’ve restored my good mood! Olimpia, come here, my precious colony! My adored Somalia, my Abyssinia! You crack me up, Mody! I’d like to write a song about it and sing it in the streets … Oh Bambuccia, there you are, finally! Where were you hiding? Come and hear your aunt’s latest … Come, you too, with your lands, your plantations! How is your colony?’

Nina and Bambolina laugh, and Bambù goes along with that amiable moment. And when Nina, looking around the crowded room, exclaims: ‘Where is your chosen twin? Your ’Ntoni? Uh-oh! Something has happened here. It’s the first time I’ve seen you two apart,’ Bambolina answers calmly: ‘’Ntoni had a slight indisposition, but he’s asleep now. I think it’s best to let him sleep. But afterwards, Zia, later on, when this delightful impromptu party is over, ’Ntoni has asked to speak with Jacopo.

‘Now let’s go get more wine, Nina. What kind of hostess are you, for heaven’s sake! Don’t you see they’ve drained every drop and are looking for wine and other drinks as if they were dying of thirst?’

* * *

‘So, Mama, will you make up your mind or not? Are you going to run for deputy, yes or no? You’d be at the top of the list. Down in Catania, they’re insisting on it. It would be a matter of pride for us: a communist deputy, a Sicilian woman, in Rome. Plus, I would love to have my mamma bambina side by side with me.’

‘No, Prando. Joyce wrote to me as well: no! Despite the fact that we have only a little money, and a salary wouldn’t hurt. But if they pay you — and from what I’ve seen, the pay isn’t paltry — they become your masters and tie your hands. No, Prando, I want to be free to speak.’

‘You’re unpredictable, Mama, as unpredictable as you are irritating! The communist cause…’

‘I enrolled, didn’t I? I support it. In fact, since I’ve discovered this gift of public speaking that I didn’t know about…’

‘Oh, you’re simply fantastic!’

‘Fine, I’ll work for you, but on a grassroots level: in the piazzas, with the crowds, not in a building where there are already a great many of you to defend us.’

‘That’s true too. Young people don’t know how to speak in public. It’s strange.’

‘Twenty years of silence have an effect.’

‘In fact, the few who are able to speak are those who did so like me at the Littoriali — that is, in a Fascist setting.’

‘Exactly. So you’ll fill a void with me. Is it a deal, Prando?’

‘Still, I’m a little sorry. I dreamed of seeing you there in Rome alongside Joyce.’

‘Such a fine party, wasn’t it, Prando?’

‘Oh, wonderful! Whenever a party is unplanned, it turns out well.’

‘Too bad it’s over, right, Nina?’

‘Too bad. But why haven’t Jacopo and Bambù come back? They’ve been up there with ’Ntoni for an hour. I’m a little worried.’

‘Here they come. I’m off.’

‘Why, Prando? Stay! Don’t you want to hear about ’Ntoni?’