Goliarda Sapienza - The Art of Joy

The days passed, revolving around that promise, that lava silhouette that emerged — at times pensive, at other times glowering — in a pool of water which from the beach always appeared green, until I was able to see up close that it was not an optical illusion, that in fact the sea was always green around the Prophet’s colossal head. With Carlo’s help, I had done it. Just in time; large clouds were already appearing on the horizon. I was trembling with elation over the swim and because the air had turned cool overnight. Carlo, too, was elated. He stood aside, silent, after helping me climb onto the Prophet’s tresses. He never spoke when we were alone; I had to wait for Beatrice to hear his voice. Gaia had worked all too well … But by this time I couldn’t undo it. Maybe it was better that way. I couldn’t get used to that youthfulness and intelligence that assailed me with a fervour and language that were new to me. I had to steal that mastery of his: his ability to play the keyboard of words the way I could make a hundred nuances echo from the notes on the piano. For months now, I had been grasping each new word on the spot and repeating it to myself so I wouldn’t forget it. In time, I would talk like him, just as in time I was able to feel the remote, unreachable lava of that small island beneath my feet.

* * *

‘Lying in the sun without an umbrella, Modesta? You’ll ruin your skin! How many times must I tell you? You’re already so dark! It’s unattractive, that dark skin, like a peasant woman’s.’

‘On the contrary, if I may say so, the Princess is ahead of her time. And perhaps she knows it. In Riccione there are many women who have accepted heliotherapy upon the advice of us doctors. The healing properties of the sun have been known for some time, only this medical truth clashed, as always, with modesty, or rather with an aesthetic ideal it hides behind. Last summer we saw swimsuits that were actually scandalous — for the husbands, of course! But times change. You can’t stop progress, and the Princess, dear Beatrice, perhaps consciously, or following her instinct or love for the sun, as she likes to call it, is doing something to promote women’s liberation. Paleness and fragility, after all, are nothing but subtle bridles to curb and tame female nature, just like the Chinese bind their little girls’ feet in the name of beauty. Now, now, Beatrice, don’t get upset. I can see I’m boring you. It’s the fault of my job: a professional deviation.’

‘I’m not bored, Carlo. It’s just that I feel like playing croquet. Shall we go?’

The two run off to look for mallets. Beatrice has given him permission to call her by name. It’s normal; they’re just kids. ‘Consciously’, ‘heliotherapy’, ‘professional deviation’. What marvellous expressions!

* * *

‘No, Beatrice, no! You’re very kind, but it’s hopeless for you to go to so much trouble to see that the Princess takes an interest in me. Don’t you see that even when I speak, she not only doesn’t listen to me but she closes her eyes as if…’

‘On the contrary, I do listen to you, and to prove it to you I can tell you that you’re sympathetic toward those socialists you talk so much about.’

‘May I ask how you realized that?’

‘From the way you spoke, some days ago, about women.’

‘And you weren’t scandalized? You didn’t send me away?’

‘Why should I have?’

‘Well … Attorney Santangelo had advised me…’

‘Santangelo doesn’t interest me. What interests me, instead, are these sympathies of yours. Well? No answer?’

‘Forgive me, Princess, I’m very confused. You have the ability to surprise me continually. I never imagined that you were interested in politics.’

‘No, we’re not at all interested in politics! Modesta! How can you think of joking about these things? Can’t you see you’re embarrassing him? Carlo has no sympathy for those godless atheists! I don’t like it when you act like that! I’m going to take a swim.’

‘No, Doctor, I would advise you not to follow her; you’d lose her. Let her swim. Later we’ll explain to her that there’s nothing wrong with those socialists. It takes patience with Beatrice, and time. I can see you’re puzzled. Believe me, it’s better this way. Sooner or later it would have come out. Or were you hoping that Beatrice would never find out? Why are you staring at me in a daze?’

‘It’s not that. It’s just … the fact is that I’ve never heard you speak so gently and at such length. It’s your voice that enchants me. You should speak more often.’

‘You haven’t answered my question. How did you become a socialist?’

‘It was at university. Two or three critical meetings, and everything became clear to me.’

‘Are there many socialists in Milan?’

‘Many, yes. And even more in Turin. Even here in Sicily there are many.’

‘Are you serious?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you know them?’

‘To be honest, I’m here in Catania to make contact with comrades.’

‘Ah! Now I understand why you haven’t bothered to look for other patients besides us these past months. I found it very surprising. But I attributed it to family affluence and — forgive me — indolence.’

‘I must admit, you don’t miss a thing. Your diagnosis was nearly accurate. No, definitely not indolence! But a certain economic stability that allowed me to see my actions clearly. I’ll explain. For some years my calling as a doctor has come up against many situations that stripped it of the aura of sanctity I had seen in it as a youth. I realized that being a doctor in this society is nothing more than trying to repair the damage caused by working conditions in mines and factories, by prejudices or by circumstances of poverty and filth — damage created at a rapid rate, much too fast for good intentions and the paltry efforts of individual doctors. What good does it do — in a lifetime — to save a hundred people, ninety-nine of them wealthy or well off, when you’ve realized that medicine must first and foremost prevent illness for everyone, indiscriminately? A doctor’s profession in such conditions is equivalent to that of a missionary who goes to Africa to heal the lepers and save some souls … above all his own! Come to think of it, they’re no fools: if they truly eradicated suffering, how could they continue to enjoy those playthings they call the soul, evil and redemption? I was joking. Partly because I’m becoming pompous. And so to conclude this very pedantic little speech: a doctor’s profession is only valid if accompanied by political action that aims to provide everyone with healthful, liveable homes and genuinely efficient hospitals. To do this it is necessary to act, act deep down at the root causes. There is no other way.’

‘Is that what socialism is?’

‘Yes, but I can see you’re preoccupied. I’m afraid I’ve bored you.’

‘You know very well that not only did you not bore me but … don’t be coy!’

‘You’re right.’

‘You resort to acting demure because I’m a woman, and this allows you to presume that your talk is too profound for…’

‘Touché! I apologize. But it’s so rare to find women—!There are some extraordinary women, truly extraordinary, among the socialists, but still very few, unfortunately very few!’

‘You taught me to swim, didn’t you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Would you teach me … would you introduce me to some of these socialists?’

‘I’d like to kiss your hand. Such a lovely hand! Thank you for not withdrawing it. I love you, Princess!’

‘Weren’t you in love with Beatrice?’

‘I am very fond of Beatrice, but since I’ve heard you speak, I realize that I was clinging to Beatrice to get to you. Forgive me. No, don’t pull your hand away! I am not fond of love. I’ve already suffered too much in the name of love. If you intend to quash all hope, with your permission I will stop coming here. There are many doctors in the city. Now I must go, Princess. No! Don’t be angry with me if I don’t come tomorrow. I have no hope, I can see that! Think me vile if you like, but don’t hold it against me, because I loved you for an hour.’