Goliarda Sapienza - The Art of Joy

Thinking about these things, the hatred left her, giving way to a lassitude that spread through her chest and arms, forcing her to lie down on the sun-warmed bench. Was hate deserting her? Or was all that milk they made her drink in the evening diluting the strong feeling that had earlier sustained her? Even if she wanted to dream, like in a novel, once she reached the town, would she be able to elude the carabinieri ? Could she find a position as a maid — how charming she would look with her apron and starched white cap — in a house where she would meet an officer, a friend of the family — or better yet, why not? the son himself — who, beguiled by her charm, would ask her to marry him? Where had she read all this? Ah yes! It was that pathetic Annina, the lay sister, who was punished endlessly for reading that drivel. But even if that officer asked her to be his wife, she wouldn’t be able to marry him. Men don’t marry women who have lost their virginity. Mother Leonora had me in her grip. There was no way out. If only I had that certificate! Then too, if I ran away I would lose the inheritance I had worked so hard to come by. Maybe it was better to stay. On the whole, Mother Leonora was kind to me; she had forgiven me, after all. And perhaps in time she would become gentle again, like before …

Mimmo’s face, blurred by the sun, appears against the sky, up there among the vine leaves …

‘ You shouldn’t give in to the lure of the sun like that, princess. Being poor is a venom that weakens us; the lack of food muddles the brain. I have to agree with Giovanni on this. He says that the poor fancy the rich as being kind and generous so that they won’t feel even more humiliated at having to kowtow and revere them .’

Mimmo was right, that sun was harmful. It had muddled my thinking. It was only my awareness of being poor that made Mother Leonora seem kind and beautiful to me … I shouldn’t fall asleep in the sun; it had happened once before and I fell into the well. My eyes snapped open. How long had I slept? Mimmo wasn’t there, yet I had heard his voice. Had I been dreaming? I was about to get up — the bench beneath me had lost its warmth and shivers were running down my arms — when Mimmo’s voice once more pinned me to the chilly surface. Mimmo had spoken, but not to me, and now his lilting voice was trying to persuade someone there behind the hedge. Something told me I should listen. You could tell from the way they spoke that they hadn’t seen me. Plus, the hedge that separated us was tall and dense. I closed my eyes again, pretending to be asleep.

‘ Voscenza will forgive me, Mother Leonora, for being so bold as to contradict you. For once, listen to an old man who, though ignorant, knows about these things. That balustrade you lean on at night is rotted. It should be replaced.’

‘But it’s made of iron, and besides it’s very old. As long as I’m alive I won’t allow that masterpiece to be replaced by that horrible railing the village blacksmith made.’

‘But the blacksmith is a fine craftsman, Mother, if I may say so, and he made it to look like the other one in every detail.’

‘How can you say that! You can tell it’s an imitation, and a poor one at that.’

‘True, Mother. But what harm is there? We’re only going to remove it; it’s not like we’re discarding it. We’ll remove it carefully and put it someplace else, where you can see it whenever you like. But do me this favour, Mother. I don’t like to think of you going around that tower, leaning here and there.’

‘But it’s made of iron, Mimmo!’

‘Iron, yes, but corroded, eaten away by age and bad weather. In some places — just yesterday I went to check — there are spots that look like they’ve been sawn. Sawn, I swear to God! With all due respect, Voscenza, I wouldn’t want to see you go tumbling down some night…’

The voice went on imploring, but I’d stopped listening. That sawn reinspired the lost hate that had been drowned in all that milk they made me drink in the evening. Besides, I never liked milk.

Starting that night, I got busy. I had to work quickly, because Mimmo was very good at convincing people, rich and poor, men and women, animals and devils, as Sister Teresa said.

A saw was easy to find in the equipment shed behind the kitchen. There were saws of all shapes and sizes. And after gulping down the milk and soft, bland bread among all those flaccid white faces — I swear! what other colouring could all those future brides of Christ have? — instead of going to bed I waited until all the doors were closed before slipping out. Hugging the walls closely — I knew every stone of those corridors, every corner and every door — I climbed up toward the cool darkness, even darker than the pitch-black of the stairs. Luckily there was neither moon nor stars. Though the mornings were sunny, for days and days a dense cloud covering descended from sunset to dawn, obscuring Mother Leonora’s firmament. She moaned about it — it wasn’t the cloudy season — but for me it was a sign that I had to act, or saw, if you prefer. For several nights I sawed until dawn, protected by that mass of clouds until the first light of day. I sawed at four places, the four points that supported the weight of the telescope. When my work was done, I threw myself on my bed, exhausted — I hadn’t slept for days and days — and contented. At last I could sleep. Now all I had to do was wait for a clear night.

Strangely enough, however, I couldn’t sleep a wink, maybe because I had become used to sleeping little or not at all, or because I was worried that the balustrade might be replaced. I would fall asleep but then quickly wake up, obsessed with keeping an eye on it. A clear night did not come. It rained now, even in the daytime.

‘What a shame, princess, just this year when nature promised such a great harvest! There hasn’t been such a spell of foul weather around here as long as anyone can remember. All that good wheat and hay will be ruined if this continues.’ I prayed along with Mimmo that the skies would clear, because otherwise my wheat and hay would rot as well if things went on like this.

There was nothing I could do. At night, clinging to the window bars, I almost wept with rage. Not a star could be seen, not a breath of wind stirred that dark, dense mass. Exhausted, I sank onto the bed. Let it all rot, wheat and rye and hay. That night I would sleep. I’d had enough. And I slept so deeply that, according to what they told me afterwards, only Sister Costanza’s slaps — she never missed an opportunity — were able to wake me up. Howling, weeping, doors slamming in the wake of the frantic clanging of the bell, dragged me out of bed terrified. I thought: an earthquake!

‘Worse than that, child! Worse! Hurry, come to the chapel, you’re the only one missing. We’re all in the chapel, praying. Mother Leonora fell from the tower! Who would have expected it?’

I had never heard such joy in Sister Costanza’s sorrowful voice.

‘Who would have thought she’d go up to her observatory! There’s been nothing but thunder and lightning all night. Who would have imagined it! Come, hurry! Mimmo has laid her out as best he could; he’s the one who heard the scream. Come to the chapel to see her one last time and keep vigil for her!’

Keep vigil? Me? All night and maybe the next morning too, when I was dying for some sleep? I wouldn’t dream of it.

‘Come, child, get a move on! Don’t stand there in a daze. Naturally, I understand how you feel; you are the one most affected by this tragedy. You were so devoted to her and she loved you so much! But take heart. Accept this great trial that God has sent you.’

So then, if I were the most affected, I could very well faint out of grief and thus avoid the ordeal they wanted to inflict on me. E caddi come corpo morto cade , I fell like a dead body falls, as the Poet and master of life says. And there was no way to wake me, either that night or the following day.