Nicola Gardini - Lost Words

The cat, as if enchanted by the sound of the girl’s voice, turned to gaze at the wall of ivy marking the end of the garden.

I brushed aside the leaves and saw them.

The cat picked them up one by one in her mouth — there were six — and put them in a row. Then she lay down on her side to nurse them.

With the same naturalness as the animal who had stretched out to nurse her newborns, Rita pulled up her T-shirt.

“Do you want to touch them?” she asked me. “If you like, I’ll let you suckle them, like a kitty.”

She grabbed my hand and placed it over her breast. Her nipples were hard.

“Now we’re engaged,” she announced.

At sunset, after using a bowl of milk to entice the cat to go down to the cellar, I led my mother to the secret lair. The kittens were awake and mewling softly, one after the other. My mother picked them up with one hand, two at a time, and stuffed them into a plastic bag from the supermarket.

“What’re you looking at?” she scolded me. “If I start feeling sorry for cats, then I’m really pathetic. Does anyone ever feel sorry for me?”

She tied the bag shut with a tight knot and slammed it hard against the corner of the building. One, two, three, four times, until the translucent white of the plastic bag had turned ruby red.

To keep the cat from recognizing the smell, we buried the bodies under three feet of garbage.

*.

An unknown man appeared at the window. He was bald, his red cheeks riddled with purple veins, and wearing winter clothing.

“I’m Baioni,” he introduced himself. “May I speak with the doorwoman?”

Hearing his voice, my mother rose from the bed and came out to see.

“And who might you be?”

Her eyes were swollen with sleep and her hair was glued to the nape of her neck.

Once she would have corrected him, to say that she was the custodian . But not anymore: now she was indifferent to everything, even to things that used to infuriate her.

To identify himself, the unknown man lifted a leather suitcase up to the window. She opened it. This was also new: when had she ever, before the sale of the building, allowed a traveling salesman to come in? Exposing herself to the risk of being attacked? Neglecting her errands, not to mention her personal security and the general order of the building? But there was something about Signor Baioni that inspired trust. He had gentle manners and a kind face, like a friar. My mother unlocked the door and invited him to follow her into her room.

Within a few seconds the large double-bed had turned into a jewelry display case. I had never seen so much gold before. I was bedazzled. My mother, instead, feigned perfect equanimity. Among the many precious items, she claimed not a single one was any good. The salesman raised his index finger to implore her to be patient. From an inside pocket of his heavy checked coat he fished out a sachet.

“Don’t even bother opening it,” she barked. “I’ve always hated colored gemstones…”

“Your wish is my command!” Baioni said, like an obsequious waiter. “And emeralds do get scratched so easily… You’re right. For a woman like you, only diamonds will do! I should have realized immediately… So here you are, Signora…”

“ Signora Elvira,” she quickly interjected, flattered.

Baioni stuck his hand into another secret pocket and extracted a small doeskin sachet.

“Inside you’ll find the ring that’s perfect for you .”

With a jubilant expression he emptied the contents of the sachet into the center of the satin bedspread: a shower of jewels.

My mother tried on the rings, one at a time. He proposed the earrings, too. No, not the earrings. That would be too much.

“As you wish, Signora Elvira.”

My mother studied the ring that she’d slid onto the middle finger of her left hand.

“My hands are all wrong for diamonds”—she began to pity herself—“look at them: dry, chapped… you can’t imagine how much work they’ve done… and all for what?”

“There is a perfect ring for every woman,” declared Baioni, a true salesman. “The hard part is to find it… but you clearly have, Signora Elvira. An excellent choice: fourteen little diamonds and a larger central diamond in the middle… it would be the envy of any woman… See how nice it looks on you! With a ring like this on your finger, who’d notice how dry your skin is?”

“And how much would it cost?”

Baioni took out his price sheet.

“Six hundred thousand.”

She laughed in his face. It was a tenth of the cost of the house she had wanted to buy!

“Signora Elvira, let me explain,” Baioni continued passionately. “A diamond is no ordinary gemstone. It’s much much more. Its value will increase! A diamond is a gift that will last a lifetime…”

She was unimpressed by his palaver.

“How much lower can you go?”

Baioni took a deep breath.

“I’ll give it to you for five hundred, because it’s your first purchase, your first diamond. An excellent price — but don’t tell anyone! They’d never believe you… you can pay me fifty a month. It’s a bargain. And it also comes with a warranty…”

She bit her lip. She held her hand out and brought it close. She tilted her head back, first to one side, then to the other.

“Do you like it?” she asked me.

I said I did, reminiscing about Miss Lynd’s diamonds, which were ever bigger and shinier.

“The boy knows what he’s talking about,” Baioni smiled, while placing the other jewels back in the doeskin sachets and the little envelopes. “And you’ll find that even your husband will see you in an entirely new light…”

My mother opened the armoire, fished out the steel box, and removed two one-hundred-lira bills. Baioni took them, and signed the receipt.

“So we’ll see each other next month then… Ah, and do you think in the building there might be other women who…”

“Heavens no!” my mother stopped him. “I have strict orders not to let anyone upstairs, no Jehovah’s Witnesses, no Avon ladies, and no jewelry salesmen!.. Besides, you’re not going to find anyone who deserves diamonds here… In here they’re all petty and cheap. They think they’re grand but true nobility is not what you see on the outside — it’s what’s on the inside that counts. Don’t get me started! Do you know what I think? I don’t give a damn about the lowlifes who live here. They can all go to hell. For ten years now I’ve been kind to everybody. Enough already. From now on I’m ignoring them. They tell me: ‘Elvira, next time please remember to polish my door.’ And I say: ‘Of course.’ But next time I won’t even mop the landing. Why should I care? Do they care about me? Worthless bums…”

Baioni was taken aback by her sudden outburst. Speechless, he made a slight bow and went on his way.

My mother sat down and studied the ring on her finger. Her face was burning. Like a remorseful thief, incapable of determining whether she had stolen a precious object or pure junk, she wondered what she had gotten herself into. What if the diamonds were fake? She’d been such an idiot! Giving her money to a complete stranger! The thought that Baioni would be coming by next month for the second installment reassured her — but what if he didn’t come back? What a fool she’d been to be cheated like that! She, who knew that the world was filled with con artists!

*.

Fearing that my father would see it, she kept the ring hidden in the steel box. When he was away, she would take it, rub it with dishwashing liquid, and then study it carefully under a lamp. For her the ring could never be too shiny. “Look at it!” she would command me. When she would ask me, “What do you think?” there was no point in answering, “It’s beautiful,” because something had been gnawing at her ever since that damn Baioni had dropped by. If it weren’t for the two hundred liras it had cost her, she would have thrown it in the trash.