“Maybe it was intuition on Cecilia’s part, but she figured out that Arturo needed the Queen of Clubs, and so she played the Queen. The Ace of Clubs was in Matilde’s hand and was doing everything in his power to get away. Matilde stared at him, still undecided about which card to put down, when, as if obeying an order, she played the Ace. Cecilia jumped in her seat with joy! Arturo called briscola, racked up the most points and won the game.
“Not only is Arturo a nice boy and one of the best automobile mechanics around, but in your home he’s the only chance to keep your father from completely destroying the family. Laura and Arturo’s wedding gives your parents some hope for the future, otherwise there would be no reason for them to stay together. You know, sometimes it’s better for families like yours to just break up and let everyone go their separate ways in the world. It would mean so much less fighting and less pain—much more serenity and spiritual strength. And you barely understand what I’m telling you. I certainly don’t know what miracle is working on you today so that your brain can process all this information. Of course, it’s only when you have those scissors in your hands that you really have fun. Oh! Then, your eyes—how your eyes shine! How you must suffer from being barely able to think!
“If I were to tell you to kill yourself, you would do it without a second thought. It’s strange how you only understand things that please you or things you’d like to do. Anything else, you think with satisfaction, isn’t a comment worthy of one of your paper cut-outs!
“You also want revenge on Laura because her shoes aren’t made of gray leather like yours. You look at her shoes with such hatred. You spy on her through the keyhole while she’s dressing. You know all of your family’s biggest secrets. They don’t have the slightest idea how much you know. If you were able to talk, you could even tell them how many times your mother has darned her secondhand stockings.
“And yet you are surprised when your mother kneels by your side and prays for you to get better? Don’t you have any idea why you grind your teeth and get suspicious of anyone who comes to comfort her when she cries? Even if that person is Cecilia? Every time you’re the slightest bit happy, you want to talk about the number of bricks there are in the walls of each room in the apartment. You counted them! And no one knew what you were doing! After ten years you gave Cecilia the first little bunch of hair she ever left in the teeth of her comb. You found the hair in the courtyard. And you drool for an entire day over the leftover ends of thread your mother throws out after sewing. You stuff your finger in your mouth and then let your anger build up for over a month.
“So why am I telling you all this? Because I know you want Arturo to marry Cecilia instead of Laura. Cecilia loves you and is a good sister to you. But Laura has betrayed you. She never dries the spit from your mouth when you moan because you’re feeling even worse and you don’t understand anything anymore. Cecilia would always stay by your side, and she never wanted them to put you into the asylum.
“Do you know where you are now? You’re in my kingdom. Watch that you don’t step on the feet of my beloved wife. It is true though, my dear Fiocco, that once you tried to throw Laura into the well! If she hadn’t dropped the bucket and grabbed on to the pulley, you would have drowned her. Do you remember? You can’t even speak, and yet you’re so strong, you could have won that fight. You delight in reminding her about it. Why is that? Especially when you are all at the table. You’ll raise your hand and wave in the direction of the well. You laugh and gesture again, to show her how easy it would be to finish her off. Honestly, you don’t think she’d last a day if they left you alone with her! You plucked the feathers off the two turtledoves while they were still alive. Did you do that because they were her birds? Is that why you stabbed Arturo with a knife? Fortunately, you only pricked the palm of his hand. Now Laura has gone and asked Cecilia why she defends you. Your sisters wouldn’t even be sharing a bed anymore if Laura wasn’t going to be married soon. But you still want to kill her. I know how much you hate her. And I’ll tell you another thing: if you do manage to kill her, it will be because you figured out where to hide behind the living room doors. You figured out you must surprise her before she has time to turn on the lights. But Arturo will never marry Cecilia. Then you are going to start beating Cecilia in order to punish yourself. It will go on like that until your parents’ friends, Enrico and Giulio, have you locked up with all the other sick people.
“It’s inevitable because your drunkard father secretly thinks it’s funny. He wants you to kill your mother. But it isn’t important what he wants. One glance from her and you fall to your knees. If you did kill Matilde—just like that, for no reason and without any goading from him—he would steal a million lire and give it to you to make you rich. Does that make you laugh? Be careful you don’t drool all over my wife’s dress. Get a hold of yourself! Then Enrico and Giulio would make your father marry the woman they are both in love with, and they would never leave his side.
“Storms are the only thing that frighten you now. You’d even go to Laura during a storm, and then abuse her once the thunder stops. But you should keep in mind that the Queen of Hearts is observing you with her steely eyes. Prepare a lamb for slaughter, indeed not! She will do anything to protect Laura. You’re crazy! Don’t you realize that you think her crown is made of gold, and her dress is silk? You think of her the way others think of God. But the mere sight of my black beard disheartens you.
“Do you know what people say about Laura and Cecilia? They call them ‘the sisters of that idiot.’ Your sisters have heard them. At first, they thought they were being unjustly offended. They were hurt by how mean people could be, how shameless and cynical. That nickname made them feel like the whole family shared some kind of deformity. They had the feeling that everyone knew about them, no matter where they went. At first, they thought maybe they were idiots too somehow. And don’t forget that you resemble each other physically. Neither of them were ever able to explain that. They feel chained to your sickness, and that will certainly make them age prematurely.
“Your mother loves you because she blames herself for your unhappiness; every day it gets worse. You are part of her and she feels responsible for everything you do—such is motherhood. Your sisters avoid you because you smell so bad it’s almost nauseating. You horrify them. They even teased you themselves when they were younger. The more you didn’t act like the other children at school, the more your own sisters would tease you. Every so often, they decide you are more animal than human, and try to pretend you aren’t their brother.
“Now you have foolish dreams. Do you really think you’re going to be a millionaire someday, a billionaire even? Tell me you don’t believe that! Do you know what makes Cecilia’s heart race? She is going to be Arturo’s sister-in-law and she is in love with him. She knows he will be unhappy and won’t love her once Laura dies. I have no idea how she knows all that, but it torments her. She even weeps for your mother, because Ugo makes her suffer.
“You had already gone to bed, or rather, they had sent you to bed, and Cecilia had been in to help you off with your shoes. Ugo came home and punched his wife. His two friends, who never say a word, stood back, pretending they hadn’t seen anything. Arturo and Laura were in front of the window, behind the curtains. Cecilia had work as a sales clerk in a clothing store back then. She was in the kitchen. Matilde cowered and buried her head in the crook of her arm. Arturo stepped forward. Naturally, Laura was begging him to defend your mother. When Ugo is drunk he laughs just like you and walks just like you. He takes your mother and shoves her into the kitchen knocking her against Cecilia, making Cecilia spill boiling water all over her hands. Her hands still haven’t healed. Arturo grabs your father and tries to hold him back against the wall. Laura cries. Your father is infuriated, and takes a knife from the table and hits her over the head with the handle. Arturo uses all his strength to hold him back. But the friends are on your father’s side, and they set him free.
“The party last
ed until morning. They drank five more bottles of wine and then, having finished the game, threw all the cards, along with the table and chairs, out of the window into the courtyard where you found us. Arturo and the women locked themselves in the kitchen to tend to their wounds.
“Your father wanted to drag you from your sound sleep and set you up on a kind of throne on the sofa in the living room. Instead, he and his friends came in to gawk at you, and they poured wine all over you and your sheets, trying to get you drunk, too. It wouldn’t have taken much for your bed to go up in flames.
“Whatever you do, don’t think that your father loves you. When you were twenty years old he tried to hack off your fingers with those very same scissors you’re holding now. And don’t you remember what he did to you when you were a little boy? You were all living in the country then, and hadn’t moved into this house yet. You fell into a fountain, so he put you into the oven that was still hot from baking bread to dry you out. And he laughed so hard! They had to drag him away and explain to him that you might die and he would be condemned for murder. In the meantime, your mother sneaked you out of the oven and saved you. But he never did believe there was any real danger. And even though you don’t understand people when they talk, you know he bragged about the whole affair and insisted that cooking in the oven would have done you good. You make him laugh when he’s drunk. That’s all there is to it.
“The next morning, your father didn’t have the guts to show his face. That’s why he still hasn’t come home. Arturo is too good to abandon Laura. Now, leave us cards in peace.”
But Fiocco answered,—Since I can talk to you without saying anything and without needing the usual words, I beg you to do something to keep me from killing my sister. Would I really do something like that? It’s true that I feel very clever, and have no need for revenge, but my cleverness is very tempting. It would give me great pleasure to kill her. But if the Queen of Hearts doesn’t want me to kill her, you’ll have to turn her into a card and tell her not to hate me anymore. You said this is all inevitable and has nothing to do with me. And I confess that when I am around her … But why does she have to be my sister?
The Queen of Hearts responded, “I hope a roof falls on your head before you have a chance to commit this crime.”
Fiocco started moaning, and he moaned for a long time. Eventually, his mother looked out into the courtyard and saw him. She came down and called his name right into his ear, over and over, trying to make him stop crying. Fiocco finally stood up, but he wanted to bring the two playing cards with him and cut them up into little pieces.
Through the kitchen window of another apartment came the sound of a maid, laughing.
L’AMORE
The cloudy morning brightened, but the sea remained pale.
Virginia Secci had already begun her morning walk, and was moving slowly out toward the far end of the pier made from wooden planks and posts. I watched her from the window of my house, only a few yards from the beach. The sails on the nearby boats were yellow and orange, whereas the boats in the distance seemed to take on the color of the sea itself; almost white.
I never once took my eyes off Virginia because I was in love with her, and I was so very sad. I didn’t even feel like leaving the house. Every time I looked at her, I became sad like that—maybe because I loved her too much. I would have liked to whisper dear and innocent words to her, although I did need to keep an eye out for her husband. But I loved her despite him, and was unable to renounce this long-held desire.
That’s why I waited for her to return from her walk. In the meantime, I liked to reflect on the naive, sweet, tender things I never said to her.
When she walked close to me—as she was forced to, because I had planted myself on the front stoop of my house, and she lived in the house next to mine—I was overcome by a familiar, ecstatic sensation and didn’t even acknowledge her as she passed, although I watched her. I felt myself turn white and, after having met her eyes, shifted my gaze out to the sand. I listened to her footsteps fade.
If I had a voice equal to my thoughts, I would never be afraid to speak. But I don’t have an everyday voice, a voice I use with everyone, to speak about anything.
As usual, after having seen her, I locked myself inside the house.
Through the half-closed shutters, light reflections off the waves beat brightly across the wall and down to the floor—like mobile, weightless mirrors.
I looked out the window again in the afternoon, though I was almost certain I wouldn’t see Virginia a second time, and the pain I felt was surly and vague like the face of her husband.
While I was standing there, the sea turned an even deeper turquoise, rendering the sky more pale than the water.
Long strips that were almost white ran across the water, reaching all the way to the beach; then they disappeared.
I couldn’t remember how long I’d been in the town of Cattolica. Maybe I was convinced that I’d only just arrived. If Virginia had talked to me, I would have told her I loved her.
The sky was entirely gray the next day and it had rained those last hours before dawn. The sea was green at the shore, and purple toward the horizon. I didn’t see Virginia. I don’t know why, I almost believed I would be able to forget her. But that evening, I couldn’t settle down because I hadn’t seen her that day.
I was prepared to invent any sort of excuse that would take me to her house—because even finding out she had suddenly died would torment me less than this. But a storm came; a mighty gale blew through Rimini. Many of the fishing boats returned to the harbor, moving painfully, in single file, up the winding stream called Tavollo.
That night I couldn’t sleep and I promised myself, not knowing whether I was dreaming or really thinking, that I would see Virginia the next day—even if I had to go find her myself.
But when I woke up, I realized there was no way I could keep that promise to myself. And so I stood in the doorway of my house, waiting for her walk along the pier. But she never left her house.
After noon, the sky became bright, almost serene, then the sea was a splendid turquoise.
The bath houses cast small, oblong shadows.
Not seeing Virginia seemed the most insane cruelty. And, in the meantime, I was convinced her husband, the lawyer Germano Secci, had taken to circling my house with increasing frequency. If he did want to address me, as I first imagined, he might have found some way to do so. But of course, it was he who behaved as though I should notice him. So I avoided him, not because I was frightened, but because there was something very sad about him. He was too tall, pale and thin. He always wore black, and the hems of his trousers blew in the slightest breeze. He carried a large stick in his hand and I often had the impression that his walking stick was more alive than he was. The man left me with a sense of anguish, and meanwhile my yearning for Virginia just grew more intense.
The sea glowed blue toward evening, its dark pools extending in every direction. The boats’ sails seemed made out of gold, and there was a hint of pink in the sky at the edge of the horizon.
I remember it all well, because Virginia passed before me at that very moment. I hadn’t even noticed her until she was only a few feet from me, and then I only had time to glance up at her face. I looked around, to make sure her husband wasn’t there, then took the risk of following her. I was thinking quite seriously about talking to her this time—once evening had fallen. She went down to the pier and sat. I did the same, but I didn’t sit. I stood, watching the water between the railing of the pier, hands clasped behind my back. And I listened carefully without looking at her. The wind almost made me cry. The more intense my feelings were, the more impossible it seemed to talk to her. The idea of falling into the water attracted me. The crashing of the waves seemed like chiming bells—at least to my ears.
Meanwhile the fishing boats moved out to the open water. They limped across the horizon, disappearing completely within the half hour despite their snail’s pace.
&nbs
p; I took note of the fishermen sailing up close to the pier where I stood. They were looking behind me—that’s how I knew Virginia was still seated there—and I blushed, so embarrassed it made my head hurt.
It was as if a bell were clanging in the midst of the frothy waves, rippling and raising the surface of the water, never stopping. Every so often the planks creaked, like a voice about to speak, and then fell silent again suddenly. I was outside of myself. What was Virginia doing? Was she thinking of me? Had she even noticed I was there? Finally, I heard her turn back and I wanted to do the same; but, after standing still for so long, I didn’t seem to know how to walk anymore. I tripped on a loose board. The distance between the sea and my house seemed to have doubled. Sometimes solitude extends space into the infinite.
The next day, while I was walking around in front of my house and smoking a cigarette, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned and the lawyer Secci said to me, “You are in love with my wife.”
I felt bad about lying, but I answered, “That’s not true.”
“Why don’t you tell the truth? You’re different from other men, so it shouldn’t seem strange that I want to talk to you. Hear me out, and you won’t be laughing then—I’m sure of it. I’m in love with my wife, too. I love her more than all of her lovers. I’m convinced of that. Every year she betrays me with a new lover. No one who has seen her can help but fall in love with her. She’s beautiful. She is beauty itself. There is no other woman like her. When I want to caress her, she tells me I’m a hedonist and the only reason I love her is because I want to possess her. She taunts her lovers with those very same words. They all want her beauty—her beauty alone. We’ve been married five years, and in all this time she has only grown more beautiful.”
Something like a shiver took me, but Secci persisted, clinging to my hand, “Be a friend, try to share my friendship. Don’t be misled by me and don’t judge me as another man would. You must help me. Become her lover and take her away with you. Don’t ever leave her. I want to be certain I’ll never see her again. I can’t ever forget her, but I’ll suffer less this way. You take her.”
Radical Shadows Page 31