Goliarda Sapienza - The Art of Joy

The ‘thing’ was still a man. I had seen him touch himself several times as he looked at me. And each time, Pietro had promptly sent me away with some excuse. Had I wasted all that time? Yet it had taken time for Ippolito to get used to me. One day when I was late, I found him tied up, drooling, and Pietro desperate. That’s what I had to do: get sick and let them stew in their own broth, as Mimmo would say.

The next morning I awoke with a severe headache, unable to swallow any food. And tossing out all the pills, drops and purgatives the doctor brought me, I held out against Beatrice’s desperate tears, the Princess’s demands — by now she was saying, ‘Without her, I feel like I’ve lost my right arm’ — and Pietro’s entreaties. He was no longer able to manage his dear Prince, who had been up to all sorts of mischief since he’d stopped seeing me in his room.

I couldn’t imagine what would happen when I saw him again. However: ‘One action leads to another action, and eliminates inaction which, though restful, in the long run turns into a quagmire.’ In that year I was able to ascertain that Ippolito’s degree of idiocy was not as extensive as Tina’s. His brutishness had been caused simply by his having been abandoned. At least now he spoke a few words: ‘hungry’, ‘sleepy’, ‘peepee’, ‘Mama’, and, oddly, he called Pietro ‘Uncle’.

Ten days later, when I showed up, nothing important seemed to happen. Ippolito, after crying and drooling with excitement, was quiet all day. But in the evening, when it was time for me to leave, he began screaming and holding on to my skirt. Overcome by my long absence, he was now afraid that I would not return. Pietro struggled to pry his hands loose, but the entire night was hell, and we had to resort to the straitjacket and the pills like before. Something had happened.

In the days that followed, they assembled in the rose-coloured parlour in fighting trim, arguing in front of me without seeing me.

The doctor: ‘And I insist that, since he has not calmed down either the first or second or third night, another solution must be found. With all those baths, bromides and the straitjacket, we’ll end up killing him. I cannot assume the responsibility for a murder. My duty as a doctor—’

The doctor again: ‘It is my duty to advise those responsible — and you are responsible as well, my dear signorina — that as of this morning Ippolito has been refusing to eat. Pietro is unable to make him swallow anything, not even by opening his jaws with forceps. My duty as a doctor—’

The Princess: ‘From the very beginning, my dear signor doctor, with all your duty, I said it was folly to leave a girl with that “thing”. Who, though he may be a “thing”, is still a man. I’m well aware of how much those little “visits” of his cost me.’

The doctor: ‘Those little “visits” are one thing; it’s clear that Signorina Modesta is another matter. I insist—’

Don Antonio: ‘And I forbid it! And I will be forced, if you insist, to appeal to the Curia. We clergy cannot allow one of our sheep, pledged to God, to be compromised by sleeping in the room of a man, even as a nurse. I remind everyone that the spiritual journey of this soul is very dear to His Eminence. There is not one time that he does not ask after her.’

Beatrice wept silently, staring at everyone so wide-eyed that it was frightening to see.

The Princess: ‘Well then, bring him a more attractive girl, since he’s become so picky.’

The doctor: ‘We did, Princess! And we went even further. We called Carmela back.’

The Princess: ‘Who is this Carmela?’

The doctor: ‘The one he was once so fond of … That’s right, Princess, the daughter of that petty thief who was killed in the citrus grove in Licosa, the one who didn’t want to come anymore after she got married, remember? Just as well. Anyway, yesterday she agreed, even though she has three children. The result? While he wouldn’t even look at the others, he would have strangled Carmela if Pietro hadn’t been there. There’s no doubt about it. My Ippolito has fallen in love. Basically, even though he doesn’t have all the right feelings, it’s clear that after being with a decent girl he doesn’t want anything to do with those earlier trollops. Even Pietro realized it. When he brings him a new one, the Prince turns his head and repeats stupidly: ‘Mama, Mama, Mama.’

The Princess: ‘What does Mama have to do with it?’

The doctor: ‘That’s the point. Since the first day, he’s called Signorina Modesta Mama.’

The Princess: ‘Imagine that!’

* * *

I had hoped for something to happen, but the uproar of slammed doors, shouts and screams, commands and countermands forced me back to bed. There was nothing else I could do, because the Princess now looked at me with eyes whose gaze I dared not meet. In my safe haven, I received news from Argentovivo and the doctor. The Princess’s latest decision was that I should not see him and that they should continue bringing the ‘thing’ those girls. She was certain he would forget me. But the doctor, when he was with me, sniggered and kept repeating, ‘Say what you will. I may be crazy, but I’m not sorry my Ippolito has fallen in love.’

The days passed and, forced to stay in that bed, I began to feel sick for real, when one fine evening the door swung open so unexpectedly and so loudly that I huddled against the wall holding my head in my hands. Who could it be? Sister Costanza, surely. She was the Mother Superior now. And if she used to do it before ‘to discover the hidden little vices of all those little sinners’, imagine now that the convent was in her hands.

‘Girl! Pardon me for entering your room, but they told me that you are not well. And I’m sick and tired of both your illness and all the talk and nonsense that your presence in that room has caused. So we have to make a decision. I spoke with Carmine, and he agrees. He admitted that there is no other solution, partly because, like it or not, the blame for all this havoc is yours, and you must be the one to take responsibility for it. All in all, given that in a hundred years I’ll be food for worms, as that joker Hamlet says, it wouldn’t hurt for you to be part of the family legally as well. You will be better able to look after affairs, at least as long as Beatrice and the “thing” are alive. But take heed! I don’t want any grandchildren. This family of cripples and imbeciles must end with my husband. There’s no use in your protesting. It’s your fault and the fault of that impetuous Leonora, who, for each thing she did right, always did a hundred things wrong. I’ll give you three days to recover. Because Don Antonio is going to marry you in the private chapel, at night. Don’t count on my presence. I haven’t seen the “thing” since he was born, and I certainly have no intention of seeing him now. The doctor and Pietro will be your witnesses, because no one — understood? — no one must see him. Oh, another thing: tell your friend Cavallina to stop it. For ten days now she’s been plaguing me with her tears and sighs. Try to get her to calm down unless you want me to send her off to some boarding school in Switzerland. Do we understand each other? Good night.’

The door slammed more forcefully than before, but, strangely, her shouting had brought a warmth to my cheeks and a peace I had never known before. Like after a job well done, eh, Mimmo? Basking snugly in that peace, I sought out Mimmo on the silk-covered walls, along the plush velvet drapes that protected me from the night. A job truly well done, right, Mimmo?

‘ That’s right, Principessina, and afterwards one can enjoy the most satisfying exhaustion there is. ’

Mimmo was always right. Even though married to a monster, I was still a principessina . And the languor that very slowly crept over me was indeed the well-deserved sleep that follows a hard day’s labour in the fields.