Goliarda Sapienza - The Art of Joy

‘You mean an asinello , right, Carluzzu? Sooner or later, we have to learn an Italian word or two, don’t we?’

‘ Asinello, ’u sacciu . I know the song too: Sciccareddu di lu me cori… ’ 112

‘Oh, Zia, when you were away I thought I might be mistaken, but now seeing you two side by side … Did you know that Carluzzu looks just like you?’

‘Well, what a surprise, Bambù! Prando is Mody’s son.’

‘Of course, of course, Nina. But Prando doesn’t resemble Modesta. And you Carluzzu, do you love your nonna ?’

Carluzzu doesn’t answer and stares at me, serious. Indeed, I was a grandmother … how did it feel? Nina had asked me many times, but I had no answer. Even now, with that overly serious face, the big wide eyes staring at me, I don’t feel anything, but I’m beginning to understand. Up till now, my inattention toward the last born concealed envy toward someone whose youth reminds you of a time that is past for you, and of a future that you will not live to see owing to biological constraints. And everyone’s insistence on the fact that that small creature looked so much like me? Sensing an old person’s envy which, if badly directed, might explode, they were probably trying to arouse my tenderness in order to protect him. His little face, so intent on studying me, was further confirmation of my conclusion: Modesta must seem tall to him, powerful … like Nonna Gaia, Nonna Valentina. Of course, it would be easy to intimidate and dominate him with authority, just as it would be easy to suffocate him with excessive love, thereby protecting oneself against the ever-present threat of a ‘league against abominable grandmothers’.

‘Just look at them, Jacopo: two peas in a pod!’

How can I resist the temptation of power that makes my brow throb now that he, perhaps sensing my doubt and confusion, smiles with my smile and touches his hand to my face to feel through my flesh where the danger, or tenderness, of my being lies? His palm reads me, and as soon as I decide not to use that power, the little hand gains strength and pretends to slap me.

‘You must like your nonna , don’t you, if you do that! He always does that when he likes someone, even with Olimpia.’

‘Olimpia! Where is Olimpia?’

‘It’s really an obsession. Always fixated on Olimpia! Just look at him. That’s always the way: first a slap, then he kisses you.’

I feel like I’ve been able to strip the word nonna off my skin — or transform it into something small and tender like him.

‘Oh Zia, he’s just like you: always restless, always up to something, and he asks so many questions! You must have been like that as a little girl. I can just see you! And then too, he has a mania for dragging…’

‘Dragging, Bambù?’

‘Yes, he drags tree limbs, gathers leaves, and he never stops asking questions. He’s alert, intelligent, but what worries me is his fear that everyone may disappear at any moment. What do you think, Jacopo? Could it be because of the war? Because he saw you all leave one after the other?’

‘That could be. But at the moment it’s ’Ntoni we need to worry about. Right now he’s sleeping, but he’s in bad shape, worse than you think. And as I told you earlier upstairs, your loving care, your words, won’t help him. He needs medical care and that’s that. The soul can fall ill just like the body. He was wounded inside and the wound will only heal with the help of a physician who specializes in these things. It’s not solely because of the war, the concentration camp, as you thought. There’s also Stella…’

‘So you’ve really made up your mind, Jacopo? I was hoping you would have second thoughts.’

‘Bambù, you’re really stubborn, you know? If he himself realizes it and he’s not well … Did you see how he asked to go when he saw a glimmer of hope? If he realizes it, all of you should realize it as well. When I returned, I too dreamt of nothing but studying here and enjoying the sunshine, our home! What did you think? I dreamt of it for years, but clearly it’s not possible.’

‘But he could go to Milan himself, to that doctor.’

‘No! He asked me to go with him, and all in all it will be best for me too that way: I’ll study and quickly become apprenticed … I’d say this is a warning. As always after a war, times speed up. Yes, the pace has quickened and this is probably a sign that we shouldn’t waste a moment. We’re behind Europe by at least twenty years! Mama, please, you talk to Ida. I know you understand.’

‘I understand perfectly. But we have to consider the accounts: we have very little money now.’

‘Damn! With the newspaper having risen to thirty liras in a year! Shit, Mody, I’ll accept the offer of that bitch who’s loaded with money. I’ll go into business!’

‘Into business, Nina?’

‘That’s right, Jacopo. Back there, on the island, I started knitting, and crocheting hats, scarves, sweaters and shawls isn’t bad. Plus, with that shitty Esmeralda we’ll have helpers. I like to choose and match colours. I’ve always had a passion for colour, maybe because I’m begalina , half blind, as my mother used to say, and colours stand out.’

‘Oh, dear Nina, thank heavens you’re staying here!’

‘We’ll work, Mama! And it will be a good thing for both ’Ntoni and me to start looking after ourselves, financially speaking as well.’

‘Anyway, I’m going to bed. What a day this has been! I have to bolster my strength so that tomorrow I can face Esmeralda’s favours and her intentions to save me through redemptive work, concepts that motivate that aristocratic lady. She’s beautiful though; damn, she’s gorgeous! They talk a lot about proletarian beauty … to console us and keep us in line in our poverty. Before, I didn’t look at the rich, or I looked at them and didn’t see them, since my eyes were blinded by that populist platitude. Until I realized, damn if I didn’t realize, that they are not only rich but beautiful, fragrantly scented and often intelligent! Like you, Jacopo. Damn this rotten world!’

‘You’re making me blush, Nina. Come, I’ll take you up.’

‘Oh sure, go ahead, take me up, give me your arm. Not everyone has the chance to be accompanied by a young man like you. Good as gold! At least I’ll be able to tell my grandkids: “So, you won’t believe it, my dear grandchildren, but your grandmother, long ago, had the good fortune, thanks to incarceration and prison cells, of landing among the most elegant and refined people…” And they’ll say: “No, really, Nonna? How did that happen? Tell us!”’

Nina’s voice trails off toward the darkness of the parlour. I’d like to follow that voice and go on dreaming while she talks. But the buzz of voices, the clanging of trains, the muffled sound of pressing throngs branch out from my future and invade the room, keeping me pinned in my chair … I’d like to drive off those crowds and go back with her to a small cell, where being more than a few feet apart from one another is unthinkable. Why is that? Is it nostalgia for that lost cell that’s making me cry like this? How could I have known it if life hadn’t shown me? How could I have known that my greatest joy lay concealed in the seemingly darkest years of my life? One must surrender to life, always without fear … Even now, between train whistles and the slamming of compartment doors, life calls me, and I must go.

The ability to speak and to transport my listeners, which had suddenly revealed itself in me, exciting my senses and my mind as though I were under the influence of a drug, kept telling me that this natural gift — most likely firmly ripened in the fertile soil of years of silence, study and reflection — could serve to bring us women like Nina, like Bambolina … To awaken them from a twenty-year lethargy, let them know that they aren’t the first, acquaint them with examples from the past.