Goliarda Sapienza - The Art of Joy

‘I’m not sleeping, Carmine. I just like lying here like this and listening to how much you wanted me and still want me, and not giving you what you want right away.’

‘Hah, just like a woman! That’s why I didn’t want to tell you. My words gave you the upper hand and now you want to take revenge. But Carmine can give you the satisfaction of making him wait.’

‘And with those vellute , did you say my name?’

‘“Modesta”, I said, and I wouldn’t look at them.’

‘Say it again.’

‘Modesta!’

‘Again.’

‘Modesta!’

‘Again.’

‘Modesta, you’re driving me crazy!’

‘Now say: Modesta, my gold mine.’

‘My gold mine, Modesta, I want to enter you all the way to your heart.’

Spoken by his voice, the word “heart” loses the ambiguity that had made me hate it. And I see my heart, the eye and nucleus, the chronometer and regulator of my carnal centre. In the dark, I listen with the palms of my hands to its violent throbbing, crying out with joy from my chest to my perspiring brow, unwilling to quiet down.

‘What is it, Modesta? Why are you feeling your chest? Why are you keeping your eyes open? Love used to put you to sleep before. If you’re worried about getting pregnant, put your mind at ease, because I took care of it like I promised.’

‘No, no! Yesterday I was afraid maybe but now … now you call me Modesta, and you went all the way to my heart. I saw it, you know, my heart.’

‘And what was it like?’

‘Like the wooden wheel that the carusi set aflame at Pentecost and drag down from the Mountain. I only saw it from a window, a long time ago. At that time I wasn’t allowed to go outside the walls. Around here they don’t do the wheel, Carmine. Why is that?’

‘No, of course not! This land is flat! What do they know about rye and wheat fields here?’

‘Have you seen the big wheel up close?’

‘Of course! Not only have I seen it, but for three years — at the age when the first stubble appears on your chin — just like my father and my grandfather before me — all of us Tudia have been big-boned up till this day! — I had the honour, along with one of the Mussumeci — another family of hefty stature, though dark-skinned and dark-spirited — of lighting and dragging the wheel in order to urge the sun to grant us the warmth that nurtures the wheat and rye.

‘Oh, that’s what it’s for? That’s the reason behind it?’

‘Of course! An ancient tradition!’

‘But didn’t you burn yourselves?’

‘Well, that’s where skill comes in! When the wheel is unleashed and bursts into flame as it rolls madly down the slope like an enraged beast, it takes an expert hand and quick reflexes to dodge the flames, as well as an understanding of the wind. Even when the air seems still as glass, you have to be aware of the wind. Once I had all my hair burned to ashes! That’s why for three years, we wheel guys shaved our heads almost completely.’

‘How did you push it?’

‘I’m surprised you don’t know, Modesta.’

‘From a distance I couldn’t tell, because all I could see was the wheel.’

‘But the women and girls go to watch when the wheel is being built.’

‘I was in the convent, Carmine. Don’t forget.’

‘Can you picture a wagon wheel? Each year, the most skilled craftsman assumes the job of making one that is as big as possible, with a wooden shaft in the centre as strong as iron. So one guy here and one guy there, holding on to this shaft, push or restrain it depending on the terrain, as you might imagine.’

‘I’m afraid, Carmine!’

‘It’s not fear, Modesta. You’re sleepy.’

‘Why does sleep make you frightened?’

‘Of course, a lack of sleep and food makes you cold and even causes strange sensations that can seem like fear. A weakened body can’t defend itself against bad memories and gives in to the mind’s imaginings. Sleep now. You’ll see, tomorrow morning you won’t remember. Sleep peacefully, because Carmine, as he promised you, didn’t leave his mark in your womb when he made you come.’

When dawn comes, Carmine goes away … In my sleep I see him slip away like a shadow. How did he manage to appear and disappear, yet still be ever present?

‘It’s because you have me in your heart, Modesta. It’s the same for me. I go away and I carry you, here, with me.’

‘Do you have a pocket in your heart to carry me in?’

‘Of course! the heart is a pocket, a huge basket that can hold everything.’

‘Yesss … everything! And then it breaks, like yours.’

‘When it breaks, it means that it’s carried enough burdens and pleasures.’

‘But why do you leave? At the first light of dawn, you leave. Even if I’m sleeping, I can feel you leaving.’

‘Now I’m back, actually.’

‘You’re back because it’s night, but then as soon as I fall asleep, you take the opportunity to leave. Don’t you ever sleep?’

‘Of course I sleep.’

‘Yesterday you were sleeping here beside me and then when I woke up, you were gone. How can you tell in your sleep that it’s getting light?’

‘It’s because all my life I’ve been waking up at dawn.’

‘Then go this instant if you have to leave. Go right now!’

‘But it’s nighttime now, and Orlando is all sweaty from the ride. Let me get some rest too.’

‘You rest and then you leave. But why?’

‘Temper, temper, figghia !’

‘And don’t call me figghia !’

‘When you throw a tantrum and start whining, you become my figghia .’

‘Why do you always have to leave?’

‘So I won’t upset your household and mine.’

‘Who cares!’

‘You’ve acquired a good reputation down in Catania. They admire you for the way you’ve managed things.’

‘But I never see them! And when I see them they look at me with daggers in their eyes.’

‘The women, naturally! They envy you. Pay no attention; they don’t count. But the men admire you for the way you’ve handled your affairs and your family.’

‘That’s not true.’

‘Oh, no? What’s the truth then? Let’s hear it. How come all the Brandiforti and others came to Cavallina’s wedding, hmm?’

‘Don’t call her Cavallina! My Beatrice is all grown up, and a happy woman.’

‘I’m glad. And for this very reason, why should we upset her and everybody else with childish fits of temper? And my family too, up there in Carmelo, why scandalize them when we have our nights together? Here, let me hold you.’

‘You were right, Carmine: I bled again. How did you do it? I keep meaning to ask you, and I always forget.’

‘Has it been that long, Modesta? Let me hold you. So much time has passed already, and it seems like yesterday.’

‘But how did you do it?’

‘Never mind. Men’s business.’

‘Tell me.’

‘I held my breath!’

‘Oh, sure, your breath! You make me laugh.’

‘So laugh. You’re just like my Linuzza! Always curious, always asking…’

‘Don’t say that name or I’ll clobber you!’

‘Oh, you’re just like her! She was jealous of my mother and you’re jealous of a dead woman.’

‘I don’t want to hear it.’

‘She’s dead, Modesta.’

‘And if she were alive, she’d be an old woman now.’

‘I’m old too, but you still want me.’

‘Are you saying that if she were alive, you’d want her more than me?’

‘I’m not saying anything. You can’t talk about something you don’t know.’

‘She died young so she could keep you tied to her for ever.’

‘That might very well be, if you say so, since being stubborn, like her, and a woman, you certainly know her better than I do.’