Goliarda Sapienza - The Art of Joy

‘What do you see in my eyes, old woman?’

‘I see that you won’t die before my eyes are closed.’

‘And how long do you think you’ll live?’

‘Who knows? A long time, I hope.’

‘So my life depends on yours?’

‘If you want it to. If you don’t, kill yourself! But do it sooner, with a revolver. Waiting for death whining and snivelling is for the mediocre, and you’ve been a lot of things, but never a coward.’

‘You won the wager and Prando will repay you by wanting to live. What else can he do? What fun is it to die if you know that the one who gave birth to you won’t even shed a tear?’

* * *

’Ntoni: ‘What a fantastic idea to light up the garden bright as day, and inside, where most of the party took place, keep the parlours dim. All night I went around as though I were in a dream. A dream is what it is! Congratulations, Mody. This party is a dream!’

Bambù: ‘Carluzzu, hug me. I feel so deserted!’

’Ntoni: ‘You always feel deserted whenever a party is over, or a performance ends. Something is gone, leaving many small deaths inside … cold, rosy little pearls like the ones you’re wearing around your neck, Bambù.’

Carlo: ‘Always up to date, our ’Ntoni! You can sense it, can you, you old wolf, that they’re reassessing D’Annunzio?’ 120

Bambù: ‘No, Carluzzu, let ’Ntoni speak. I like it. Maybe he’s the only one who hasn’t changed.’

’Ntoni: ‘And how was I before, Bambuccia?’

Bambù: ‘The most amusing and original.’

’Ntoni: ‘And do you know why I haven’t changed?’

Bambù: ‘No.’

’Ntoni: ‘Because I haven’t married … What is it? Why are you crying, Bambù? My comment was meant to be funny.’

Bambù: ‘I want to see Jacopo! He never sends us news except once in a blue moon.’

Jose sends word of himself more and more rarely … He’s fighting far away and Jacopo follows him … For a moment, Modesta fears she will never see him again and clasps Prando’s head tightly to her breast.

Prando: ‘What is it, old woman?’

Modesta: ‘I’m afraid, Prando.’

Prando: ‘For me?’

Modesta: ‘No, for Jacopo. Always alone, fighting!’

Prando: ‘I actually envy him! It’s fate’s good fortune to have a head that allows you to fight with your mind. I could only fight with my arms, but the time for that is past. Maybe that’s why my body has come to weigh on me.’

Bambù: ‘Your body has come to weigh on you because you eat and drink too much.’

Prando: ‘That’s also true.’

Bambù: ‘Even now, instead of lying there on Modesta’s lap, why don’t you see to Ignazio? He’s fallen asleep on the rug. Go and put him to bed. He’s your son, isn’t he?’

Carlo: ‘Oh Zia, how contentedly he’s sleeping! I, I don’t know…’

Bambù: ‘What?’

Carlo: ‘Seeing Ignazio in this dim light … for a second it was like seeing myself. Yes, as though I too…’

Bambù: ‘Naturally … if you only knew how many times you fell asleep like your brother!’

Carlo: ‘And I was afraid too, wasn’t I, Bambù?’

Bambù: ‘You were afraid everyone would leave and never return. But then we gave you so much warmth and affection and … you got over it. We always had to hold you in our arms.’

Carlo: ‘Imagine! Now that you tell me that, I can feel powerful arms lifting me up in my sleep.’

Bambù: ‘Oh, of course, it was Pietro who, very quietly, without a word — he knew your father would never do it — would lift you up and carry you upstairs.’

Carlo: ‘Pietro! I can feel him still with us. I’ve seen him many times in my dreams, walking around among us with his impassive face … I’ll go and get Ignazio — or Ignazio-Carluzzu — and take him upstairs. I want to see what being a father feels like. Because Pietro was a father, right, Bambù?’

Bambù: ‘Yes, a father and a mother, Carluzzu … I’ll go and take a stroll around to see who’s still here. Parties are always like that! Until the sun rises and extinguishes the lights, no one has the heart to put an end to the enjoyment … Oh Carlo, look how beautiful! Everything is all white and shining, and the light bulbs against the greenery seem just like gleaming oranges … you too, ’Ntoni! Come on, get up, look!’

’Ntoni: ‘I was falling asleep. Good thing you woke me. I’ll come with you. You can’t miss a sunrise like this.’

Prando: ‘Shall we go too, Mama?’

Modesta: ‘Of course, Prando. A sunrise like this should never be missed.’

‘ Until the sun rises, no one has the heart to put an end to the enjoyment .’ It’s understandable. Who would dare commit such a crime?… Did I say that or did Prando, who’s whispering meaningless phrases in my ear? Or was it Bambù, running nimbly ahead of us, her slender hand raised — the wing of a dove — to point the way? Her slim torso sways back and forth in the silence.

Bambù: ‘Why is it so quiet, Prando?’

Prando: ‘The musicians are sleeping. Look at them: fallen like vanquished paladins.’

Bambù: ‘But people are still dancing…’

Prando: ‘Sure, everyone sings something, a waltz, a tango, whatever he likes.’

Bambù: ‘We should tell Argentovivo to bring us something hot. Look at those two huddling inside the niche; they’re numb with cold.’

Prando: ‘I already did. Here she comes, tottering with her tray. How fat and comical Argentovivo has become!’

’Ntoni: ‘She must be happy fat, because she talks less. There’s no avoiding it: either sex, or food, or incessant chatter.’

Argentovivo: ‘What’s that, signorino ?’

’Ntoni: ‘I was saying that plump and speechless you’re delightful, Argentovivo, delightful!’

Argentovivo: ‘You’re too kind, signorino .’

’Ntoni: ‘For you, I’m always a signorino , right, Argentovivo? What a comfort to remain young, for someone at least! Come, come dance with me.’

Modesta: ‘All of Carmelo’s rooms filled … If your grandmother were here, Prando, you’d hear it! Shouts of rage! Maybe it’s because I’m sleepy, but in this silence I’m afraid I’m going to hear her voice explode at any moment. Who’s yelling like that?’

Prando: ‘It’s Nina, Mama, and she’s not yelling. She’s singing, in the arms of her gallant beau. How repugnant I find him! Look out, they’ve seen us. Come on, let’s run behind the hedge. Maybe we can avoid the simpering of that pathetic gentleman.’

Nina: ‘Oh, no you don’t, Prandone! You have to stop keeping Modesta sequestered like that. We have a right to her company too. Oh, from a distance, don’t worry. But where are you taking her?’

Prando: ‘To bed, Nina.’

Nina: ‘To bed? But we’re just getting started! Stay, Mody, stay with your Nina.’

Prando is holding me tight. The hundreds of stairs, drapes and corridors of that house have transported me back to a deathly past. Nina must have sensed it because she loosens Prando’s arms firmly and laughs.

Nina: ‘Oh no, mummy’s darling boy! We let you have her all night, but now Mody is staying with us.’

Prando: ‘But she’s worn out, Nina!’

Nina: ‘You’d like that, my dear boy! You know what I think? That she’s tired of being sucked dry by your problems. Oh, these babies, Marco! The more you suckle them, the greedier they grow up to be.’

Prando: ‘You’re a bitch, Nina, a bitch, I swear to God!’

Nina: ‘Why don’t you go to Amalia? Look at her over there, how she’s looking at you…’

Prando: ‘Believe me, I’m going. Are you coming, Mama?’

I’d like to go. I’m tired, but by now Nina has taken me in her arms, and besides, I can’t be impolite to her friend. Prando is always rude to outsiders. To make amends, I hold out my hand to that gentleman, though I don’t catch his name.