Scent of a Woman

by Giovanni Arpino

  I saw Sara reach out her fingers to touch his right hand as it gripped the glass.

  ‘Do you have a headache? Do you need anything? Some ice?’ she asked, her wide eyes enormous in her small, pale, too round face.

  Her girlfriends on the couch silently made fun of her, mimicking her with puckered lips, their eyes half closed.

  ‘No, no,’ he replied, abruptly moving his hand away, the mechanical twitch of an annoyed smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

  ‘A game, a game!’ the others now shouted, though studying their friend with avid suspicion.

  ‘No screaming. Mother of God, please, my head. A game, as many games as you want, but quietly. Otherwise that’s the end of it. There’s a play on the radio tonight. Be good or I’ll go to my room,’ the lieutenant implored them, his limp hands moving around in space.

  ‘What game do you want to play, Fausto? You decide,’ Sara asked softly, leaning over intently.

  He laughed, his shoulders immediately assailed by a shudder: ‘The only one there is, by God. Blind man’s bluff.’

  We had moved out to the terrace for ice cream, the night air hot and humid.

  The pistachio-hazelnut cream had melted in the refrigerator; we drank that sluggish glop from glasses after dousing it with whisky.

  ‘Remember how often you used to dream? Do you still dream?’ Sara’s voice was cautious but determined. ‘Once you told me that you had heard an animal under the bed. Running. Small. Orange-coloured. Some kind of rabbit you thought. Or maybe an armadillo.’

  ‘Armadillo. What the hell is that,’ he retorted tonelessly, ‘I don’t remember a thing.’

  ‘But Sara does.’ Michelina’s voice was sweetly ironic as she paused a moment with the tray of empty glasses. She was tiny, quick to show her teeth, and she had chubby knees. ‘Sara is like a bad conscience. She remembers everything; she never rests.’

  ‘Don’t be catty.’ The lieutenant sighed from afar. He was stretched out in a wicker lounge chair, having relinquished any desire to control the evening.

  ‘Ciccio!’ The gloved left hand went up.

  ‘Right here.’

  ‘Good, don’t go anywhere,’ he said wearily.

  Sara looked at me as if seeing me for the first time, with a faint sad smile, her hands clasped under her chin. Her nails were well trimmed, but she had gnarly fingers that she continually tried to hide.

  ‘Why don’t you take off your jacket? With this heat,’ she spoke to him softly, ‘don’t you want to be more comfortable?’

  ‘How silly you are,’ he replied.

  ‘Next year I’ll be at university,’ she tried again.

  ‘And your sister?’

  ‘Oh, Candida will do just fine as a cashier at the restaurant with my mother. She’s good-natured. A girl who will soon marry, poor thing.’

  ‘Why poor thing?’ He laughed.

  ‘Because she’s a worthless creature, “made out of nothing”, God help her.’ Sara’s reply showed some irritation at the hopeless bother of that conversation. ‘Whether she marries a head cook or maybe even a grand pasha, it’s all the same. It all goes back to that.’

  ‘And you’re not like that. Right?’

  ‘Me? No. Of course not!’ She was suddenly animated, her hands clenched. ‘Fausto, you haven’t even asked me what I’m going to be studying at university.’

  ‘I bet you’ll tell me just the same.’

  ‘Rude and impolite.’ She laughed, though nervously. ‘Well: medicine. Happy?’

  ‘Should I be? If I should be, I am.’

  ‘I’m intelligent. Really. Everyone says so. I’m not like the others. As for why I chose medicine, you should know, you of all people.’ She was twisting her fingers, her big bright eyes intent.

  The girls had gathered around the fan in the living room; they took turns gently offering the back of their necks to the cool breeze, chattering away.

  ‘Empty glass, Sara.’ He sent her off, then immediately snapped his fingers and said to me, ‘Ciccio, ten minutes by the clock. Then drag me off to sleep. No matter what.’

  ‘Couldn’t I sit over there? Just for a moment at least. You understand, sir.’

  ‘Don’t you dare move.’

  She had returned with three glasses. She too took a sip, cautiously, unable to suppress a grimace.

  ‘You’re the most elegant man I know. A milord!’ she burst out suddenly. ‘I swear, Fausto, there is no one more elegant and fascinating than you.’

  ‘By God!’ He gave in with a helpless smile. He raised his glass.

  ‘Oh yes. Toast, toast!’ Sara was excited.

  From the fan the girls leaned forward watching closely, though they didn’t have the nerve to move.

  ‘What shall we toast to?’ Sara asked anxiously.

  ‘You choose. I assure you, it’s for the best.’

  ‘To nothing. Nada. Al rien ne va plus. To this life, daughter of the great Buonadonna whom we know …’ The besotted, tipsy voice of the lieutenant faded away, lost down there in his corner.

  ‘On the contrary, I’ll toast to you. To you and to my hopes. What do you say?’ Sara flushed, lightly touching his knee with her fingertips.

  ‘Amen,’ he concluded, draining his glass.

  ‘It’s time to go, sir,’ I tried.

  ‘Fausto, now I have to tell you. Listen to me. Now …’ the girl continued, trembling a little. Her voice promptly cracked.

  ‘No, keep quiet. Understand? Shut up. For the love of God.’ He twisted his head away abruptly.

  Those shining eyes closed a moment, then reappeared even more submissive, tired.

  ‘At least tell me why you came,’ she tried in a whisper. ‘No one thought you would again. Not even Vincenzo. I knew he phoned you, that you spoke together, but that’s different from …’

  ‘Poor lieutenant.’ He smiled. ‘Once upon a time he still laughed. Now he no longer even laughs. Just puffs and snorts.’

  ‘Why did you come? Just like that? For no reason?’

  ‘Stop it, Sara. Your sister, your friends: they’ll criticize you. Make fun of you.’

  ‘Who’s criticizing? Who? Who’s making fun? If you only knew how afraid they are of me. And they should be!’ She got angry, her face reddening. ‘Go on, please, at least tell me this: why you’ve come.’

  ‘Not without a reason. Since you’re so curious. No: not without a reason. But that’s enough now. No more questions, young lady.’ He put an end to it by getting up, searching for my arm.

  On the phone Candida calmly reassured their mother. They would leave soon, it wasn’t even midnight. The ice cream was really a disaster.

  A flurry of cheerful greetings went around again.

  At a very late hour, from my bed, I heard stifled sobs that drew out into weeping which lasted a long time before growing gradually more quiet and stopping. Then steps moving away from the bathroom in the hallway.

  Undoubtedly the lieutenant.

  9

  ‘My leave is about to expire, sir. I’ll have to go back tomorrow. Tomorrow night at the latest.’

  ‘We have plenty of time,’ – he waved his hand, annoyed – ‘it’s not a problem. And if you get back late, you can blame it on me. Right?’

  We were in the now empty dining room of the restaurant, all the other tables cleared, the fierce afternoon sun scorching the street outside the windows.

  He had retreated into a hopeless black mood, his occasional maniacal outbursts lacking conviction, that wicked cheerfulness I knew in him gone. The shadow of a beard darkened his cheeks.

  At the table the girls had surrounded him with attention to no avail, his glass always full, a scoop of clams left at the bottom of the soup tureen just for him, the shade of an awning arranged just right. Sara and Candida’s mother, leaving the cashier’s desk, turned to him for an opinion, setting aside her absorbed widow’s look for a moment.

  He put up with it, thanking her with forced smiles. Beside him Sara spoke very little, she to
o preoccupied by some concern.

  ‘Just one thing, sir. Will you stay in Naples or come back to Turin with me?’

  ‘Good Lord, Ciccio, so many questions. Can’t you be quiet for once?’ he objected disconsolately.

  It was the idea of a party that perked him up a little.

  It had been the lieutenant’s idea, and now everyone was making an effort to plan it, to make it perfect, just the event that was needed, from the prosciutto to the dessert, from the fish in aspic to the seafood and champagne.

  ‘Uncorked. In a carafe. That way it improves,’ the lieutenant explained.

  ‘Vincenzino, you’re a turkey as usual,’ was his assessment. ‘Since when do you put champagne in a carafe? Ignoramus.’

  ‘A venial sin. I won’t say another word.’ The other, confused, sought to defend himself.

  The girls laughed.

  ‘Sara: cat got your tongue?’

  ‘Sara isn’t talking. Can’t you see she doesn’t want any part of it? She’s thinking, my God how she’s always thinking.’

  ‘Poor Sara, does nothing but think.’

  She endured her friends’ laughter and irony with her eyes firmly lowered, her hands hidden under the tablecloth.

  Then: ‘We’d all better go see to our own chores now,’ she said dully. ‘Go our separate ways. Otherwise we won’t have any desire to see each other and celebrate tonight.’

  ‘Don’t you feel all right, baby?’ he asked. The words fell into a sudden silence.

  ‘Fine. Why? Don’t worry about it.’ The girl blushed, surprised.

  A pale yellow butterfly appeared and flitted along the table in uneven spurts, its tiny wings frantic. Ines, Michelina and Candida raised their hands in confusion, attempting to catch it.

  ‘Nitwits,’ Sara muttered, immediately shrugging her shoulders with indifference.

  ‘A butterfly,’ I whispered in his ear.

  Sara’s eyes quickly studied me a moment.

  It escaped Ines’s fingers and came to rest right in front of him, the two gossamer wings joined on the tablecloth. Without thinking about it, Sara reached out and caught it easily between her thumb and forefinger.

  ‘See?’ She laughed.

  ‘Under here, under here!’ Candida cried.

  A small glass goblet was overturned and the imprisoned butterfly circled around, its wings stretched out low, its trembling antennae exploring.

  ‘Poor thing.’

  ‘What a gorgeous yellow. Look at those black spots. They look just like velvet.’

  ‘Is it true they only live a few days?’

  Listless and hot, the girls watched it, resting on their elbows. Now the butterfly stopped; a slight shudder ran through its wings.

  ‘Girls, girls, where do you think you are? Kindergarten? Is that any way to act? A fine consolation!’ the restaurant owner’s voice complained from the back.

  ‘Signora, let them have fun,’ the lieutenant echoed.

  ‘I like the black ones,’ Sara said.

  ‘Black? The ones with a skull on their wings? How cheery,’ Ines protested.

  ‘Such a long face you have today.’

  ‘Sara, did somebody give you the evil eye?’

  ‘What difference should it make to you people if I like the black ones,’ she retorted.

  His right hand moved slowly, feeling along the table until the goblet was within reach.

  ‘Black did you say? Are you sure?’ he asked her softly, attempting a smile.

  ‘Yes. Why?’

  The gloved left hand crashed down on the glass, shattering it amid frightened shrieks.

  ‘There. Now it’s black,’ he said then, not pulling away from the shards.

  ‘What’s going on. What fell?’ The lieutenant roused himself. ‘Weren’t we planning a party?’

  ‘Two assignments for you, Ciccio. My white suit to the cleaners: have it cleaned and ironed, right away. And the champagne. I don’t trust the others. That seltzer they’d try to foist on us,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Ten bottles. It won’t be too much. Krug.’

  ‘Krug. Yes, sir.’

  ‘Take your time. We’re not going out today.’

  ‘That Sara …’ I began.

  ‘What about her?’ I heard his voice lying in wait.

  ‘Nothing. Coming to Naples I would have expected anything, but not these girls. And Sara. I didn’t know.’

  ‘And what was there to know?’ he snapped. Then, more wearily, ‘Worry about yourself, Ciccio. It’s useless to make a mystery out of others. Think about yourself, be a tourist.’

  From the window of his room, as I was folding the wrapped-up suit, I saw them in the wicker chairs on the terrace, he undaunted despite the heat, a cigarette dangling from his lip, the lieutenant limp, as though asleep. The sunshade cast a skimpy grey circle, protecting them against the intensity of the sun; beyond the parapet the city’s muffled roar extended as far as the deep blue sea.

  ‘Should we talk about it again? Are you thinking about it?’

  ‘No, captain, why? Don’t you believe me?’ the lieutenant said weakly, his hands trembling at once. ‘Didn’t we say that discussing it further is worse?’

  ‘Worse, all right.’

  ‘So then, drop it. It’s all clear now. Please,’ the other breathed, ‘we’ve said everything over and over. Enough.’

  ‘Ten days ago, when I phoned you, and even before, you seemed more certain.’

  I stopped fussing with the paper wrapping so they wouldn’t hear the rustling. His voice did not seem to have shaken off the sadness that had gripped him in these past few hours.

  ‘But I am certain. Just like you. More than you, maybe, if I may say so. Don’t be doubtful, Fausto. Now let’s stop it. With this heat …’ the lieutenant said.

  ‘I heard you. Last night.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have. You shouldn’t have!’ the other cried, but his fury only lasted a moment, the words quavered in his throat again. ‘It’s my business. Some people cry, some people laugh. What does it matter? What difference does it make? Do you have to teach me everything now?’

  ‘Right. But then, I don’t give a damn.’

  ‘If only there were something, just one thing, you gave a damn about,’ the lieutenant mourned.

  ‘The way I came into the world, I can go back: alone. Tomorrow. Tonight. To each his own destiny,’ he said brusquely.

  ‘No, no. By now it’s all decided. No more misgivings. If you still doubt me now, then you’ll offend me. For certain,’ the other objected with the faint voice remaining to him. ‘But look: it was you who brought it up again this time. You have to admit it.’

  ‘You’re right. Touché.’ He laughed bitterly.

  ‘And the party? Won’t it be a mistake? Those girls, poor things, may the Lord Almighty forever protect them, that Sara who just can’t resign herself. And yet she is so intelligent.’

  ‘The party is fine. A great idea. Nothing better. And let’s try to enjoy ourselves too.’

  ‘Of course. Such wonderful girls, aren’t they? Wasting their time, all that patience, on people like us. Remember Sara and Candida’s father? The things he wouldn’t do for you. The devotion he showed you. And he probably saw you no more than three times. But you, with Sara, couldn’t you …’

  ‘Don’t even mention her, by God, you big idiot!’ he burst out furiously.

  I appeared at the door of the restaurant to ask about a nearby dry cleaner. At a table in the dimly lit dining room Sara had her back turned, poring over her books.

  ‘I’m not studying so far in advance, I’m not that fanatical!’ She laughed, blushing. ‘Just a preliminary glance. The new textbooks. Medicine. How scary.’

  ‘Cheer up. University is the simplest thing. You’ll see,’ I replied, and told her about the suit.

  ‘How come? Where’s the other soldier? That Miccichè, the records clerk? That lazy shirker. He has a special gift for sniffing out the least bit of additional bothe
r. Give it to me. I’ll send one of the kitchen boys. Sit down.’

  She returned, ill at ease, her arms crossed, hands tucked under her armpits.

  ‘The other girls are preparing things. In the kitchen I’m not worth a thing. Such a disgrace. I just can’t learn; certain things women do just don’t appeal to me. I’m hopeless. They, on the other hand – you should see how hard they work and how much they enjoy it. And they’re still girls, all a year younger than me.’ She sat down, closed the large volume and avoided looking at me. ‘Can you stay? Just for a minute. Are you thirsty? Would you like something to drink?’

  I waited for her to begin, but she kept her eyes on the spine of the book. Rolled up white napkins were set out in double rows. An air freshener had cleansed the air.

  ‘They didn’t go to sleep,’ I said finally.

  ‘He never rests, that one.’ She smiled quietly, a furrow between her brows.

  ‘Neither does the lieutenant.’

  ‘Oh, poor Vincenzo doesn’t count.’ She dismissed him with a grimace. ‘Haven’t you seen how he is, a nothing, a nobody? A good man, a saint, certainly, but what does it take for him to be one?’

  ‘They don’t even seem like friends.’

  She laughed, a sharp burst, then said harshly, ‘Nobody can be his friend.’

  ‘I heard them talking, out on the terrace. I couldn’t understand. It sounded like some kind of pact.’

  ‘Fausto couldn’t make a pact about anything with anyone.’ She brightened a little. ‘By now you know how he is. He’s one of a kind. A genius. Don’t you think so? Either you love him or you don’t.’

  ‘He’s also a terror,’ I ventured.

  She laughed happily.

  ‘He certainly is.’ She raised her voice a little. ‘A terror, a devil, a scourge from God, call him whatever you want. But the others? Who are they, where are they, where are they going, what do they want? Look around, don’t you see? The world? A failure.’

  She had untucked a hand and was now flicking her thumb repeatedly against her clenched fingers, the nail flat and pink. ‘A failure, nothing more,’ she repeated slowly.

  ‘I’ve seen him say and do certain things,’ I burst out. ‘The arrogance he has! Then of course, a person gives in, justifies it, maybe finds it amusing and even says he’s right. I’m his friend for real, and he knows it.’