Goliarda Sapienza - The Art of Joy

‘What is it, Beatrice? What’s wrong?’

‘Oh God! He’s here, he’s coming. Don’t you hear him stomping up the stairs?’

Indeed, a heavy stride — the tread of someone wearing hobnailed boots or wooden shoes — was making the stairs rumble.

‘Close the door. I’m scared.’

‘Yes, but what’s wrong?’

Now safely inside the room, clinging to me, she slowly opened the door again, and mutely pointed to a huge man, a giant who was tramping down the corridor, coming toward us. He had to be over six feet tall, solid as a door, with broad shoulders and a small, round, bald head on a neck that looked like a column. That round knob seemed more like a continuation of his thick, muscular neck than a head. The neck had two bulging eyes, so pale they seemed colourless.

‘Who is he?’

‘Come, I’ll go speak to him. With you, I’m not afraid of anything … Good day, Pietro.’

‘My respects, Principessina .’

‘How is Ippolito?’

‘Fine, Principessina , everything is fine.’

From his great height, he stared down at us blankly. Although you couldn’t tell from his face, his surprise at being spoken to completely froze him. Rigid like that, he looked like a metal statue.

‘Does Voscenza require some service, Principessina ?’

The slow voice was equally expressionless.

‘No, thank you, Pietro. I merely wanted to ask about Ippolito.’

‘He is well, thank God, he is well. May I go now? Bacio le mani a Vossignoria , my respects to your ladyship.’

Rigid, he turned to the right and continued climbing the stairs with his iron tread. So that was the noise I heard every morning.

‘He’s scary, isn’t he, Modesta?’

‘Of course he’s scary. But who is he?’

‘He’s the one who takes care of Ippolito. See, he’s going to the top floor. He’s the only one who can deal with “the thing”, as Maman says. How scary! Make sure you close the door. I had never spoken to him before, brrr … what a dreadful voice! This wing of the house is awful: “the thing”, Papa’s room … brrr!..’

‘You’ve shown me all the rooms, but not the Prince’s room, your father’s.’

‘That room frightens me. It’s not nice, perhaps, to talk about a dead person like that, but I can’t hide anything from you. The fact is that I … I don’t remember when … oh, yes, when he began to make me go to him each afternoon to read aloud and study astronomy. I must have been ten years old. Of course, I’m not as intelligent as Maman, or you. Even the tutor — have you noticed how he always addresses you when he’s explaining something? Well, so … I didn’t understand astronomy and he would get angry. So when I went to his room I would start shaking … You see, just talking about it makes my hands shake. I didn’t know what was happening. Ignazio said I read well, whereas with Grandfather, I got flustered.’

‘Did you say Grandfather? Wasn’t the Prince your father?’

‘Yes, yes, I made a mistake. I got flustered, like with him … I, I…’

As if cowering in trepidation, she huddled in my arms. How could she seem so tall from a distance, yet so small in my arms? How did she manage to go from tears to laughter so quickly it made you dizzy?

‘May I ask how old you are, Beatrice?’

‘You noticed, didn’t you, Modesta? You see and notice everything.’

‘No, I don’t see. As a matter of fact, I’m beginning to feel really confused with all these names, these aunts and uncles, grandparents … Really, I’m sorry to ask you so many questions, it’s just to…’

‘But I like it when you ask questions! You seem less like a nun … Oh, sorry! I meant less serious, more like me. Your hair, is it thick? You wear it so tightly pulled back, I can’t tell. Let me undo this bun, this tuppo is just like the one my tata had … Let me, just this once!’

‘Of course, go ahead if it makes you happy. I see you’re smiling again.’

‘Come over here, beside the window. Dear God, all those hairpins! You’ll damage your hair this way. It’s harmful to pull it so tight.’

‘I won’t need it where I’m going. After the novitiate they’ll cut it.’

‘Don’t say that! You mustn’t say that! I can’t bear to think about it … Two more months and … do you realize we’ve known each other for a month? Don’t go away! Don’t leave!’

She was crying now, in the farthest corner of the room. It was her way of distancing me. But by now I knew how to get her to come back and how to make her smile. All I had to do was distract her with something new. I finished removing all my hairpins, and with my heavy braids thumping behind me at each step … how long had it been since I felt that vital weight? like when I would go and look for Tuzzu …

‘ If you don’t keep quiet I’ll cut off your braids and go and sell them in the village. Nice and thick they are, sturdy. So help me God, if I can make even a lira I’ll do it! ’

‘ Are they worth that much? ’

‘ Of course! ’

‘ What do they do with them? ’

‘ Make wigs for old people. ’

‘ What are wigs? ’

‘ Uffa! What a nuisance! Always questions and more questions! I don’t have time and I don’t feel like answering you. Be quiet, I have work to do! ’

‘Be quiet, Beatrice! Hush! Look, look what a surprise. Hold the hairpins, come on, look!’

‘How thick they are! One of yours would make braids for me and two others … What’s wrong? You have tears in your eyes. Oh God, I’ve never seen you cry! Oh God! No one will tell Maman. Have you lost your vocation?’

‘No, I haven’t lost it. Mother Leonora gave it to me and…’

‘So then you’re crying because, even though you haven’t lost your vocation, you’re sorry to leave me, right? Tell me, are you sorry?’

‘Yes, I’m sorry.’

‘That makes me feel better. I was afraid, because they say that people in the convent love no one but God. That’s what Aunt Leonora used to say … How strange; with your braids you look even younger. And you, how old are you?’

‘I was born on 1 January 1900. That’s what the archivist at the convent told me. She said that with me it was easy to keep count.’

‘So that makes you seventeen, like…’

‘Like who?’

‘Like me.’

‘Go on, you realized it! I can tell you’re not surprised. Maman is right: you see and notice everything. She also says she hasn’t met many young women as intelligent and determined as you. And she’s very annoyed because she can’t seem to come up with a nickname for you. She says you’re the opposite of your given name and … why are you turning pale? She’s not angry with you! You know how she is; she’s just irritated that she can’t manage to find you a nickname.’

Terrified, I was about to draw my hair back up in a bun. Beatrice was naive, but the Princess was not; it would mean trouble for me if she were to see my braids!

‘What are you doing? No, no, leave them down! Besides I have the hairpins now and I’m not giving them to you! I’m so glad you realized it! That way I don’t have to pretend not to be lame, or older … But please, don’t let Nonna know you know.’

‘So then the Princess is your grandmother, and not your mother?’

‘How could she have had me? I don’t know how old she is. She seemed very young to me too, before Ignazio left for the war, but then when they brought him back on a stretcher, in just a few months she became all ashen and shrivelled. I hate seeing her that way. Up until two years ago, you should have seen her ride a horse … Not even Carmine could keep up with her.’