Nicola Gardini - Lost Words

At first the area seemed deserted. But then, immersed in the green, I was able to make out quite a few other people. All men. All naked. Ippolito got undressed, too. He saw a couple of guys he knew and started up a conversation with them. You could tell he was a regular, like the others. I kept my shorts on.

I’d been so happy when he proposed that day of vacation, but now all I wanted to do was escape! We ate sandwiches that my mother had prepared and fell asleep in the shade.

When I woke up, he was gone. He came back a little while later, covered with sweat and dust. I took out my Latin book and tried to read a few lines. “What are you doing?” he teased. “Put down your books! Here, you need to take a nice dip in the cool water. Come on! We’ll go for a swim in the Adda, the ‘River of Providence.’”

I stood up reluctantly and followed him down to the riverbanks. The water swirled and foamed, even where it was shallow. Reciting a passage from The Betrothed , he climbed up a tall boulder and, ignoring the menacing look of the surface of the water, dove in. He reemerged a few feet away, where the water was churning with foam. He went under again. I happened to notice a sign: “DANGER: No Swimming Allowed.” I raced along the bank as far as I could, following the path of the river. I wanted to shout his name, but when I opened my mouth only the faintest sound came out, covered by the roar of the current. I couldn’t hear my own voice. In the distance, I saw Ippolito’s head come back to the surface, and then disappear for good.

I stood there staring at the water.

When the sun descended behind the rock wall, I reached the spot where we had left our things. An older man getting ready to leave noticed that I was alone and asked the others for help. Some of the young men who’d been chatting with Ippolito offered to climb up the ridge, and from up there, try to see what had happened to my father . The man and I went back to where we had parked the car and waited.

The sun was setting up there, as well. When the young men came back they had no news. There was nothing left to do except report his disappearance to the local police office. One of them accompanied me there and left me at the entrance.

To simplify matters I told them I had lost my father, as the others had said. A policeman brought me home. My parents were waiting for me in front of the gate like two tormented souls. It was late at night.

The policeman questioned my parents and made them show their identity cards — he didn’t believe dad was my real father until I admitted that I had lied. Once the policeman was finally convinced that Ippolito wasn’t my real father, he pelted my parents with insults: the beach where Ippolito Fochi had taken me was a shameful place!

As soon as the policeman left, my father went wild. He yelled at my mother, accusing her of delivering me to a pederast — it was a miracle that I hadn’t drowned. From now on I could only go out with his permission… Stunned by the tragedy, she said nothing and didn’t move. She hugged Ippolito’s clothes to her chest while tears streamed down her face and neck.

The next morning a taxi stopped in front of the gate. He wasn’t dead after all! He was covered with scratches and insect bites, but he was in one piece. The merciless current had dragged him along the rocky bottom, tossing him against the sharp cliffs until, when despair had almost got the better of him, he came back up, far, far away. Struggling, very slowly, also because he was exhausted from holding his breath underwater, he climbed up a steep bank and found shelter in the woods, where he spent the night, like Renzo in The Betrothed . In the morning, at dawn, cutting his feet on the harsh terrain, he made his way back to the beach, where someone came to his aid.

My mother was also resuscitated. She could barely keep herself from throwing her arms around him, but, mentally, she covered him with kisses and loving caresses that healed each wound. She washed his clothes, over which she had cried all night, and hung them out to dry in the sun. That evening she took her finest skein of wool out of the basket and started to knit a sweater for him. It was time to start thinking about winter.

Here I am!” she announced, drumming her fingernails against the window. A second later Signorina Terzoli opened the door and came in. “Ah, I didn’t realize you had company,” she exclaimed upon seeing Ippolito.

He continued eating his spaghetti.

“Signorina Terzoli, do you remember Professor Foschi?” my mother asked her coldly.

“Of course I do! Maybe he doesn’t remember me, but I remember him. Wilma Terzoli — pleased to meet you.”

Ippolito stopped chewing and stood up as a sign of respect, but she forced him to sit back down with a friendly pat on the back.

“Don’t mind me, please, continue with your meal! My goodness, what are those scratches on your face?… You should put some lotion on those… Are you visiting?”

“No,” my mother answered for him, “the Professor moved here right before the August holidays.”

“Who knows why I thought he would rent out his mother’s apartment — it must be so full of sad memories!.. Anyway, I won’t be any bother, don’t worry. Here everyone knows I’m a peace-loving person, right Elvira? Why I’m even careful about flushing the toilet after ten o’clock at night… Sometimes, if all I’ve done is pee, I avoid flushing altogether. We shouldn’t waste water, you know. In Africa they really need it, poor things… Well, I’ll let you eat in peace, don’t mind me. Elvira, I’ll come back later. I have so many things to tell you! You can’t imagine everything that’s happened to me!”

In the meantime she cast certain gazes in the direction of Ippolito, who had gone back to eating with gusto. “I’ll only tell you one more little thing, then I’ll go… I spent the summer trying to get rid of a rash. Isn’t that ridiculous? I call it a rash but who knows what it really was. At first I was scared to death. My neighbor at the beach knew a dermatologist in Savona. I made an appointment to see him and he gave me a lotion. It didn’t do a thing. I went back to him two more times, and each time he came up with a different diagnosis. What a waste of money! In the end he had to admit that the skin is a mystery, they know very little about it. I really like how he defined it. ‘The skin is a filter.’ Do you want to know what brought me some relief?… Cabbage. I read somewhere that it has therapeutic powers. Every night I applied some cabbage leaves to the infection and now, thank goodness, it’s getting a little better. Is Signora Dell’Uomo back from the mountains yet?”

My mother shook her head. “You’re the first one back.”

“Strange, she swore she would return by the beginning of September. I’ll have to ring her up later. Anyway, I’ll let you eat in peace. What did you cook, Elvira? Mmmm… What a nice ragu! Is it good, Professor? Please, don’t let me keep you from eating! My refrigerator is bare. I defrosted it before I left. Let’s hope I still have macaroni somewhere in the cupboard…”

“No good home should be without pasta,” my mother concluded.

Terzoli took the hint and finally went on her way.

“Why didn’t you ask her to join us?” Ippolito asked my mother.

“Her? You must be kidding! Did you see her? Didn’t you hear how she treated you? Terzoli is vicious! Keep your distance from her! Do you know what she’s going to do as soon as she gets home? She’s going to pick up the phone and tell everything to Dell’Uomo. ‘The doorwoman had Miss Lynd’s son over for lunch!’… You don’t know how nasty those two can be. But I couldn’t care less about them — forgive me for speaking this way — and she’s also going to talk about how your forehead is covered with scratches, and that you gave me a pearl necklace. They’ll even start saying that my diamond came from you!”