She remarked, feeling an idiot, ‘Did he do them?’ Amelia, baffled, replied, ‘I certainly didn’t!’
When Barbetta had finished the next batch, Ginia would have liked to have waited a little while with her eyes closed as they were dazzled by the light outside. But Amelia shouted to her to come and Ginia was astonished when she looked at the large sheet of paper in front of her. There were lots of drawings of her head, dashed down all over the sheet, some distorted, some showing an expression which she had certainly never worn, but the hair, cheeks, nostrils were true to life and definitely recognisable as hers. She turned to Barbetta, who was laughing; she could not believe they were the same grey eyes of a little time back.
Then he had been letting fly at Amelia who began abusing him and insisting that an hour was an hour and that Ginia worked for a living. She repeated that she had just come along with her casually, without any intention of stealing her job. Barbetta laughed between his teeth and said he must leave them. ‘Come along, I’ll buy you an ice. But then I’m off’.
FOUR
They returned there together next morning. This time it was Amelia’s turn to pose. ‘Look out for yourself’, said Amelia, ‘if you take my place again. That scoundrel knows you are partial to ices and is ready to exploit that virgin business’. Ginia did not feel as pleased as she had on the previous occasion and as soon as she was awake, she had thought about the sketches of herself all amongst the nudes of Amelia and how worked up she had been. She nursed the hope of getting him to give her the drawings, not so much from a wish to possess them as because she did not like the idea of them lying there among all the others for anyone to gape at. She could not convince herself that Barbetta, that plump, pompous old artist, had drawn, rubbed out, squared up Amelia’s legs, back, belly and breasts. He daren’t look her in the face. Those grey eyes and that lead pencil had fixed, measured and scrutinized her more shamelessly than a mirror and put an end to her gaiety and chatter.
‘I hope I am not disturbing you this morning’, she said as they passed through the doorway. ‘Look here’, said Amelia, ‘do you, or do you not want to see me pose? Another time I’ll be careful to keep clear of respectable girls’.
All the studio windows were open and the curtains drawn back and while they were waiting for Barbetta, the old servant emerged from the stairway to come and keep an eye on them. Ginia wondered whether Amelia was getting ready to sit but she could hear her arguing with the old servant and getting her to close the windows because the morning air was chilling the room. The old woman mumbled rather than spoke, her face was so scruffy and hairy that Amelia was laughing at it, quite openly.
At length Barbetta arrived, putting on his overall and rushing around. The easel was moved to the back of the studio and his palette was brought in. There was a divan-bed at the far end and they drew all the curtains except the last one so that all the light fell on to that corner. Ginia felt de trop in all the turmoil and she got the impression that the old woman was looking at her disapprovingly.
When the latter left the room, Amelia began undressing near the divan and Ginia began to watch Barbetta’s large hand. He held a thin piece of charcoal between his fingers and he was putting in a dark background on a sheet of whitish paper pinned on the easel. Without so much as a look in her direction, Barbetta told her to sit down, and she could hear Amelia saying something. Ginia gazed through the skylight on to the roofs as if she were posing again and thought how stupid she was. She made an effort and turned round.
Her first reaction was that Amelia must be feeling cold, that Barbetta hardly seemed to be looking at her and that it was she herself who was the nuisance, coming along like that out of curiosity. Amelia, a brunette, somehow looked dirty and she found difficulty in keeping her eyes on her. She was sitting on the divan with her arms against the back of a chair, her face turned away and displaying the whole of her leg and thigh and right up to her armpit. Ginia got bored after a while. She watched Barbetta rubbing out and redrawing, saw his brow wrinkled with concentration, exchanged a smile with Amelia – but she still felt bored. But her heart began to beat again when Amelia got up for the first time to stretch herself and picked up her bathing slip which had fallen off the divan. It was the sort of foolish excitement she would have felt if they had been alone, the excitement at the discovery that they were both made in the same mould and whoever had seen Amelia naked was really seeing her. She began to feel terribly ill at ease.
From her head that was resting on her arm came Amelia’s voice, ‘Hello, Ginia’. It was enough to please and calm her. A moment before she had noticed a red mottling on Amelia’s leg and wondered whether if she stripped, she would have markings like that. ‘But my skin is younger’, she said. Then she asked aloud, ‘Has he ever painted you in colour?’ It was Barbetta who replied, ‘Colours are not accurate. They come in the window with the sunlight. Colours do not exist indoors’. ‘Naturally’, interpolated Amelia, ‘you’re too mean. Colours cost money!’ ‘Excuse me!’ shouted the old man, ‘the reason is that I have a proper respect for colour and you know nothing at all about it beyond the colour you smear on your lips. This blonde here knows more about it than you’. Amelia shrugged her shoulders but without shifting her head.
The sound of a siren came from somewhere beyond the roof-tops and Ginia began to stroll round. She discovered the portrait sketches of her on the window-sill but had not the courage to ask for them. As she looked through them she saw those of Amelia again and eyed them rapidly, wondering if Amelia had really assumed the poses shown, some of which almost suggested acrobatic feats. Was it possible that an old man like Barbetta could still get a kick out of sketching girls and studying their anatomy? He was badly bitten, too, she thought.
They left after twelve o’clock and were pleased to find themselves among people again and walk along properly dressed and see the lovely colours in the street which came from the sun – it was undeniable, though they did not know how – since they disappeared at night. Even Amelia’s edginess had vanished and she paid for the apéritif and they dropped the subject of painters.
Ginia’s thoughts turned back to them, alone on her sofa, that afternoon and others as well. Once more she saw Amelia’s swarthy belly in that semi-darkness, that very ordinary face and those drooping breasts. Surely a woman offered a better subject dressed? If painters wanted to do them in the nude, they must have ulterior motives. Why did they not draw from male models? Even Amelia when disgracing herself in that way became a different person; Ginia was almost in tears.
But she mentioned nothing about it to Amelia and was merely glad that the latter was at present earning again, that she was with her once more and was quite keen to accompany her to the cinema. Amelia could now buy herself some stockings and began to take more trouble over her hair. Ginia found it a real pleasure to be going out with her again because Amelia was such a striking figure and many people turned round to have another look at her. Thus the summer drew to a close and one evening Amelia said, ‘Your Barbetta man is going into the country to find his colours and do some harvesting. I was beginning to find him irritating’.
That evening Amelia had produced a new handbag and Ginia remarked, ‘Is that his parting gift?’ ‘Him!’ said Amelia, ‘don’t make me laugh! It’s you he would like to have back so he wouldn’t need to pay’.
Then they quarrelled because Amelia had kept all this back so far and now both of them were so outspoken that they parted on bad terms. ‘So, she’s found a lover’, thought Ginia as she went home alone, ‘she’s found a lover who is giving her presents’. She decided she would only make up their quarrel if Amelia came and begged her to.
Reluctantly and in defence against her boredom, Ginia tried to pick up with her former friends again. After all, by the following summer she would be seventeen and she felt she knew her way around as much as Amelia, the more so now she was out of touch with her. During the evenings, already becoming cold, she tried to put on an Amelia-act with Rosa. She oft
en laughed openly at her and took her for long, chatty walks. She talked to her about Pino, but she had not the nerve to take her to the dance-saloon in the hills.
Amelia had certainly someone in tow; no one ever saw her. ‘As long as a woman has plenty of clothes’, thought Ginia, ‘she can cut a dash. The main thing is not to let herself be seen in the nude’. But she could not discuss that sort of thing either with Rosa or Clara or with their brothers, who would immediately have drawn the worst conclusion and tried to paw her about, and Ginia did not want that; she had realized now that there were better people in the world than Ferruccio or Pino. In the evenings when she was with them, they would dance and joke and chat as well, but Ginia knew that it was no different from the larking round on Sundays when they went in the boat; a light-hearted bit of fun among the lads – the effect of the sun and their singing – when it only needed one of their number to drape a towel round his waist and pretend to be a woman to set them off into fits of laughter. At present, however, the Sunday evenings were a source of irritation because Ginia on her own was unable to make up her mind and let herself be taken along with the others. She found occasional amusement in the shop when the boss required her to do the pinning on a customer’s dress; some of the stories told by the more eccentric customers were so funny. It was still more amusing when her boss affected to believe them quite seriously while all the time the mirrors reflected back the malicious mockery in her face. On one occasion a young blonde arrived who gave the impression of having a car waiting for her, but if she really had, thought Ginia, she would certainly have gone to a better-class dressmaker’s. She was a tall young woman but looked evasive. Ginia considered her handsome, yes, even just in her knickers and brassière she was slim and handsome. She would certainly have made a lovely picture if she had sat for an artist; perhaps she was a model, for she paraded in front of the mirrors with the same deportment as Amelia. The next day Ginia saw the invoice but as it only had her surname on it, she was no wiser. As far as she was concerned the blonde lady continued to be a model. One evening Ginia was invited in by a friend of Severino who came to the house to bring her a lamp. The next day she went to his shop. He was a young chap like Severino and she was not in awe of him because he always wore his overalls and some years before he used to take hold of her wrists and ask her if she’d like to be whirled round. Now he looked at her with his tongue between his teeth. Ginia went there because Amelia’s door could be seen from his shop, but Massimo certainly had no idea why she stopped for a chat and a joke and then returned next day as well.
They were looking at the red and blue lamps and she was playing the fool. They could see people passing by through the shop-window and Ginia asked him if it was true that Amelia went about in a white dress. ‘How should I know?’ asked Massimo. ‘There’s such a gang of you girls. Severino will know’. ‘Why Severino?’ ‘Severino is fond of fillies. Is it the girl who goes about without stockings?’ ‘Did he tell you?’ asked Ginia. ‘What, you his sister and don’t know?’ replied Massimo with a laugh. ‘Get Amelia to tell you. Doesn’t she still come to your place?’
This was all news to Ginia. The idea that Severino was sweet on Amelia, that they had talked about it and had been seeing each other ruined her day. If it was true, all Amelia’s ‘crush’ on her had been put on. ‘I’m just a kid’, thought Ginia, and to contain her anger, she remembered how disgusted she had been seeing her in the nude. ‘But is it true?’ she wondered; she found it impossible to imagine Severino in love with anyone, and she was certain that if he had seen her posing that time, poor Amelia would have lost her appeal for him. ‘But would she in fact? But why have we to be nude?’ she thought despairingly.
Towards evening she began to feel calmer and persuaded herself that Massimo had said it merely for something to say. When she was at table with Severino, she looked at his hands and broken nails, knowing that Amelia was used to something very different. Then she remained alone when the lights were out and her mind went back to the wonderful August evenings when Amelia used to come and call for her. Just then she heard her voice at the door.
FIVE
‘I’ve come to look you out’, said Amelia.
At first Ginia did not reply.
‘Are you still angry with me?’ asked Amelia. ‘Let bygones be bygones. Isn’t your brother here?’
‘He is out at the moment.’
Amelia was wearing her old dress but her hair was well styled and had coral combs in it. She went and sat down on the sofa and suddenly asked her if she was going out. She spoke in the same tone of voice as of old but it was huskier, as if she had a cold.
‘Is it me you want or Severino?’ asked Ginia.
‘Oh, those people. Take no notice what they say. I only want to be distracted, are you coming along?’
Then Ginia changed her stockings and they hurried down and Amelia got her to tell her all the month’s news.
‘What have you been up to?’ asked Ginia. ‘What do you think?’ replied Amelia, beginning to laugh, ‘nothing at all. This evening I said, “Let’s go and see if Ginia is still thinking about Barbetta” ’. She could not pump any more out of her, but Ginia was satisfied. ‘What about going to have some refreshments?’ she suggested.
While they were having a drink, Amelia asked her why she had never come and dug her out. ‘I didn’t know where to find you’. ‘Where do you expect? At the café all day long’. ‘You’d never told me’.
Next day Ginia went to find her at the café. It was a new café under the porticoes and Ginia searched round to find her. It was Amelia finally who hailed her in a loud voice as if she were in her own house, and Ginia saw that she was wearing a smart grey coat and a hat with a veil which made her almost unrecognisable. She was sitting with her legs crossed, resting her chin on one fist as if she were posing. ‘Did you really want to come?’ she smiled.
‘Are you expecting somebody?’ enquired Ginia.
‘I always am’, said Amelia, making room for her next to her.
‘It’s my job. You’ve got to queue up for the privilege of stripping in front of an artist’.
Amelia had a newspaper on the table and a packet of cigarettes. She was evidently earning. ‘I like your hat but it makes you look old’, said Ginia, looking her in the eyes. ‘I am old’, said Amelia, ‘any objections?’
Amelia was leaning back against the mirror as if she was on a sofa. She was looking in front of her at the mirror opposite in which Ginia could also see herself, lower down. They might have been mother and daughter. ‘Are you always here?’ she asked. ‘Do artists come?’
‘They come when they feel inclined. There hasn’t been one today’.
The chandelier was illuminated and lots of people were passing by the window. Although there was plenty of cigarette smoke round about them, it was so quiet that the buzz of conversation and other sounds seemed to reach them from a long way off. Ginia noticed two girls in a corner holding court and talking to the waiter. ‘Are they models?’ she said.
‘I don’t know’, replied Amelia. ‘Will you take coffee or an apéritif?’
Ginia had always thought one should go into cafés with a male escort and she was surprised that Amelia should spend her afternoons there alone, but she found it so pleasant to get away from the shop, stroll round the arcades and have somewhere to go, that she betook herself there again the next day. If she could have been sure that Amelia liked seeing her, she would have really enjoyed it. This time Amelia caught sight of her through the café window and made a sign that she was coming outside. They took a tram together.
Amelia did not say much that evening. ‘They’re a lot of louts’, was about all she said. ‘Were you waiting for someone?’ asked Ginia.
In the course of their parting remarks, they planned for the following day and Ginia felt convinced that Amelia liked seeing her and that if something had gone wrong, it had been for other reasons, possibly something to do with the ‘uncouth louts’.
‘How does
it work? Does an artist come along and ask you if you are willing to sit?’ she asked, laughing.
‘There are some, too, who don’t say anything’, explained Amelia. ‘They don’t need models’.
‘What do they paint then?’
‘Do you know what! There’s one artist who says that he applies paint as we apply lipstick! “What do you paint when you’re putting on lipstick? Well, I paint the same way”, he says’.
‘But you paint your lips with lipstick’.
‘And he paints his canvas. Bye-bye, Ginia’.
When Amelia talked in this mocking way with a straight face Ginia was afraid something was afoot and felt uneasy and lonely as she went home. Luckily for her, once there, she had to hurry and knock up a supper of pasta for Severino. When supper was over, it was different because night was approaching and the time for going out by herself or with Rosa. Sometimes she thought, ‘What sort of life am I leading? I’m always on the hop’. But it was the sort of life she liked because this was the only way she could enjoy that moment’s peace in the afternoon or in the evening at Amelia’s café and relax. If she had not had Amelia, she would have been less tied but how could she do what she wanted now the days were no use to her and she found no more pleasure walking down the street? And it was sure to be through Amelia and not through any of the silly fools like Rosa or Clara if anything exciting did happen that winter.
She began to pick up acquaintances at the café. There was one gentleman who resembled Barbetta and when they left, he waved his hand to Amelia. He addressed them respectfully, and Amelia told Ginia that he was not a painter. A tall young man, who drew his car up in front of the arcades and was accompanied by a very smart woman, sometimes came to the bar. Amelia did not know him but said he was not a painter.
The Beautiful Summer Page 3