Goliarda Sapienza - The Art of Joy

The priest had come to Modesta to report and protest, but for the moment only knives could resolve the matter. In front of her, in the first row, Prando’s marble profile seemed more flawless and dazzling for the faint cut that scored his cheek from his eye socket to his chin. The wound under Modesta’s hair throbbed at the contained violence of that profile. Prando was growing up, a stranger, yet a precious part of her life. Bambù, too, was growing up, and even sweet Jacopo had grown too big to hold in her arms …

The lights went out. How would Pietro’s little daughter manage to see now that the curtain was rising?

‘Why do you keep turning around, Modesta?’

‘I’m watching Pietro’s daughter, Joyce; she’s way back there. Look, look at her, he’s got her sitting piggyback on his shoulders. That way she can see even better than in the first row … How good Pietro is with his daughter!’

‘I find him scary.’

‘I don’t know what I’d give to have him as a father.’

‘Because you never had a father.’

‘But I did have one, and I want to have one again. Better yet, you know what? Starting today, Pietro is my father, and that tiny creature — she looks like a doll on his shoulders — is my sister!’

‘Hush now, bambina . See how marvellous Mela looks in that tunic? Who would have thought so?’

‘And wait till you hear her, just wait!’

As Modesta had read in Mela’s eyes at one time, the amorphous triangle of her face, under the spotlight, was moulded into an absorbed, intense presence. A music-playing angel? An image floating up from an idea? Joyce would have said: ‘An oneiric angel, evoking spaces and emotions welling up from deep within.’ Modesta is not surprised when applause bursts out over the absolute silence of the hands, now motionless on the keyboard and assured as a lava flow. She wasn’t surprised then, or at the Conservatory in Palermo. Because at the time they met, the nerves and veins of her body were able to read the future, whereas now Modesta is lost. Staring at Prando’s wound, Jacopo’s smile, Bambù’s flush of pride at the success of her protégée, no image, no flash of insight reveals itself, and her senses are numbed by the sadness of no longer being able to hold them in her arms. They will go away; stopping them would mean making them hate her. For some time, ’Ntoni has hated Stella and avoids her.

‘Forgive me, Modesta, I can talk freely with you … It’s not that I can’t stand her, it’s just that she oppresses me with her “ Picciriddu miu … picciriddu miu! ” Just yesterday, I introduced her to a boy my age, not a man, mind you — a boy like me. And she, by God! asks him to look after me: “Be careful that ’Ntoni doesn’t catch a chill. His throat is delicate!” Insufferable! As soon as I get the chance, I’m leaving. I don’t know where, but I’m going.’

The opportunity had come: Angelo Musco’s troupe. ’Ntoni was leaving in September, signed up to go on tour. Better an acting company than a regiment. Ciro, Bambù’s unhappy sweetheart, had voluntarily enlisted for the war in Spain just to get away from another foolish mother. It was Prando who called almost all women scimunite , halfwits, including Stella: ‘ You’re kind and dear, Stella, but scimunita , a fool like all women your age! Mama says it’s a question of upbringing, but I have my doubts .’

‘What’s wrong, bambina , why aren’t you applauding?’

‘Please, Joyce, don’t call me bambina , at least not in public.’

‘But no one can hear us. Why aren’t you applauding? Don’t tell me she was better in Palermo.’

‘No, no, it’s just…’

‘Why on earth do you keep turning around to look at Pietro? That’s all you did during the performance. It’s discourteous toward Mela.’

‘The play is starting now, Jò. Wait till you see how funny ’Ntoni is! Now he’ll finally tell us about Giufà. I can imagine how Pietro’s little girl will laugh … Look, look how she’s staring at the closed curtain. Pietro probably told her that Giufà was about to appear.’

Pietro immediately noticed my gaze through the crowd. After endless moments of perspiring hesitation, he decides to stand up, careful with his enormous body not to step on all the delicate dresses rustling at his feet.

‘Look, Jò! Poor Pietro, he looks like an elephant trying to move among the flowerbeds in a garden.’

‘And you’re laughing at him! He’ll be offended. How strange you people are. I really don’t understand you.’

‘Pietro? Offended? What are you talking about?’

‘The understanding between you two is scary.’

‘Is Voscenza perhaps in need of my services, Mody?’

‘I see you managed not to knock off any heads, Pietro!’

‘And God knows how I did it! Outside, this big body is useful for keeping away traitors and snakes, but here among these figurines it’s a hindrance! How can I be of service?’

‘You have to go back and bring me something precious.’

‘Does Voscenza want her fan? Something to drink?’

‘No! What’s the most precious thing you have?’

‘Crispina is the most precious thing Pietro has! Ah, you want to hold her? Oh, of course, Mody, she’ll be thrilled. I’ll be right back.’

Somewhat embarrassed, Pietro prepares to retrace his arduous journey. This time he stumbles … and nearly falls!

‘Here she is, Mody, the youngest of this fine assembly.’

‘And who is the prettiest one here, Crispina? Hmm? Who is she?’

‘Me pretty and you pretty and Mama pretty.’

‘And what about your papa?’

‘Strong as an ox.’

‘He’s strong because he carries you piggyback?’

‘No! I’m little, it’s that my papa … my papa … um, I forget … When is Giufà coming?’

‘Soon. Is Giufà strong like your papa?’

‘No, he’s silly!’

‘Why silly?’

‘He’s silly. The birds aren’t scared of Giufà. And he learns from the lamb, the fox and the sparrow.’

‘So Mody, it’s true you’re really fond of Crispina and will keep your promise?’

‘Did you have any doubt, Pietro?’

‘It’s not that I doubted you, Mody, it’s that nature is unpredictable! And you might not have taken a liking to this picciridda through no fault of your own. I was worried! In a year she must go to school. Believe me, Mody, if she were a boy I wouldn’t be bothering you: I’d take him to the fields with me. But a femminuccia , it’s better for a girl to prepare herself by learning to read and write, as you know. Oh, they’re starting! I’ll take her from you, since it’s so hot.’

‘No, no, leave her with me Pietro. I’ll give her back after the show, don’t worry. Starting tomorrow, Crispina will come here every morning, Jacopo will see to this young lady. I’ve already spoken to him about her … Crispina, look … look how Jacopo is staring at you!’

‘Is he Giufà?’

‘No, Giufà is behind the curtain. Hush now, hush. I hear him crying. Do you hear him moaning and groaning?’

‘Giufà is always crying!’

‘No, now he’s crying, but later you’ll see … Watch, watch how he pulls his hair and bangs into the trees and walls.’

‘There are no trees!’

‘Of course, it’s make-believe! See those coat racks? Those are the trees, and those sheets are the walls. Poor Giufà! Now hush, he’ll start talking in a minute.’

GIUFÀ-’NTONI Oh! Such a misfortune, a misfortune! As if the first one wasn’t bad enough, now this second misfortune. And then, when it rains it pours.

TREE-BAMBÙ What misfortune are you talking about, Giufà? You seem hale and hearty, very elegant in that cow-dung-coloured outfit with yellow sparrow’s vomit touches on your hat.