‘Old stuff’, he said at intervals.
‘But they are lovely’, said Ginia, with her heart in her mouth, because from one minute to the next she was expecting to feel a hand on her back. ‘They’re lovely’, she repeated, stepping to one side. Guido looked at the pictures but did not move.
While Guido was lighting his cigarette, Ginia, leaning against the table, began to ask him who were the subjects of the portraits and whether he had ever painted Amelia. ‘She’s an artists’ model’, she added. But Guido suddenly came to earth and said it was news to him. ‘I’ve seen her sit’, she went on. ‘I certainly did not know. Who’s the artist?’ ‘I don’t know his name but she posed all right’. ‘In the nude?’ asked Guido. ‘Yes’.
Then Guido began to laugh. ‘She’s found her métier, then. She’s always been fond of showing her legs. Are you a model too?’ ‘No, I go to work’, said Ginia sharply, ‘at a dressmaker’s’.
But she was slightly offended all the same that Guido had not suggested doing her portrait. If Barbetta had liked her profile, why shouldn’t Guido?
‘Amelia can tell lots of stories’, she said, ‘she’s up to all sorts of capers. I can’t make out what her game is’.
‘It would be fun to get together, all of us, sometime’, said Guido, ‘this studio has seen some goings-on in its time’.
‘It still does’, said Ginia. ‘Amelia and Rodrigues did not waste much time’.
Guido gave her a half-serious, half-mocking look. It was already getting dark and it was not easy to see his expression. Ginia waited for a reply that did not come. After a long silence Guido said, ‘I like you Ginetta. I like you because you don’t smoke. All the girls who smoke seem to suffer from some complication or other …’
‘There’s none of that smell of varnish here that you get in other painters’ studios’, said Ginia.
Guido got up and began to slip on his jacket. ‘It’s turps. A good smell’. Ginia did not know how, but suddenly she saw him in front of her and felt a hand on the nape of her neck, and all she could do, like a fool, was open her eyes wide and bang her hip against the table. Red as a live coal, she heard Guido close to her, saying, ‘The scent you have under your arms is nicer than turpentine’.
Ginia thrust him from her, found the door and bolted. She did not stop until she reached the tram. After supper she went to the cinema so as to take her mind off that afternoon, but the more she thought about it, the more she knew that she would go back. That was why she felt so much in despair. She knew she had been foolish in a way that a woman of her age should not be. She could only hope that Guido was offended and would not attempt to hug her again. She could have kicked herself, for when Guido had called out something to her from the top of the stairs, she had not listened to hear whether he was asking her to come back. The whole evening in the darkness of the cinema, she thought with a heavy heart that, whatever she might decide now, she would end by going back there. She knew that this longing to see him again and to ask his forgiveness and tell him she had been a fool would drive her mad.
Ginia did not go along next day but washed under her arms and scented herself all over. She was convinced that it was her fault if she had excited him, but sometimes she felt glad she had had the nerve because now she knew what made men amorous. ‘That’s the sort of thing Amelia knows all about’, she reflected, ‘but she must have gone pretty far in the process’.
She found Amelia and Rodrigues at the café together. As soon as she had gone in, she was afraid they knew all about it, for Amelia gave her a look, but Ginia soon calmed down and affected to be tired and in a bad mood. She was thinking of Guido’s voice all the time she was listening to Rodrigues trot out all the usual nonsense. Many things had now become clear to her; why, for example, Rodrigues bent over Amelia when he was talking to her, why Amelia closed her eyes like a cat, why Amelia seemed to be so thick with him. ‘He has all man’s appetites’, she thought, ‘he is worse than Guido, Amelia’. And she could not help laughing as one laughs when one is alone.
Next day she went back to the studio. That morning at the dressmaker’s, Signora Bice had drily remarked that they could stay at home that afternoon because of the festa. At home she had found Severino changing his shirt ready for the rally. It was a patriotic festival; banners were hung out and Ginia had asked him, ‘I wonder if the soldiers will have some leave of absence?’ ‘I’d rather they let me have some sleep’, remarked Severino. But Ginia, happy, had not waited either for Amelia or Rosa to pick her up and had gone off alone. Then when she was at the studio doorway she regretted she had not gone with Amelia.
‘I’ll go along for a minute and see if I can find Amelia’, she said to herself and stole upstairs quietly. She did not really think that Amelia would be there because at that hour she knew she would be under the porticoes. But when she got to the door and paused to get her breath, she heard Rodrigues’ voice.
EIGHT
The door was open and it was possible to see through to the skylight. Rodrigues’ voice was loud and insistent. Ginia leaned forward and saw Guido propped up against the table, listening. ‘May I come in?’ she whispered but they did not hear her. Guido in a grey-green shirt looked like a workman. His eyes were fixed on her but they did not seem to be seeing her. ‘I was looking for Amelia’, said Ginia in a thin voice.
Rodrigues had stopped talking by this time and Ginia saw him on the sofa with one knee clasped between his hands, staring. ‘Isn’t Amelia here?’
‘This isn’t the café!’ said Rodrigues.
Ginia looked at Guido and hesitated. She saw him supporting himself against the table, his hands behind his back. His eyes narrowed. ‘We used not to have all these girls visiting us’, he said, ‘is it you who attract them?’
Then Ginia lowered her head, but she could tell by his tone of voice that he was not angry. ‘Come in’, they said, ‘don’t be silly!’
That afternoon was the best Ginia had ever spent. Her sole fear was that Amelia should turn up and speak her mind. But the time went on, and Guido and Rodrigues kept arguing and every now and then Guido smiled and told her she ought to tell Rodrigues he was an idiot, too. The argument was about pictures, and Guido spoke excitedly and said that colours were colours, after all. Rodrigues, still clasping his knee, faltered and lapsed into silence sometimes, at others he cackled wickedly like a young cockerel. She could not follow Guido’s theme but it was a pleasure to listen to him whatever he had to say. He spoke with vehemence and as she gazed at him, she held her breath.
On the roofs, outside, the last rays of the sun were gilding the roof-tops and Ginia from her seat by the window, turned her eyes from the sky to the two men and saw behind in the background the red curtain, and thought how pleasant it would be to be snugly ensconced there, spying on someone who thought he was alone in the room. Just then Guido said, ‘It’s cold. Is there any tea left?’
‘There’s tea and a kitchen stove. All that’s missing is the cakes’.
‘Ginetta will prepare it today’, said Guido, turning towards her. ‘The stove is behind the curtain’.
‘It would be a better idea if she went and bought the cakes’, said Rodrigues.
‘Nothing doing’, replied Ginia, ‘It’s your place to go, you’re a man’.
While the conversation continued, Ginia hunted for the spirit-stove, tea-cups and caddy behind the curtain. She put the water on to boil, rinsed out the cups in the sink there in the dark, curtained off space which the tiny flame did little to brighten. She could hear both their voices at her back; in that corner it was like being in an empty house surrounded by a great peace in which to collect her thoughts. She could only just make out the ruffled bed in that narrow passage between the wall and the curtain. Ginia pictured Amelia lying there.
When she came out, she noticed they were looking at her inquisitively. Ginia had removed her hat by this time, and having glanced behind her, picked up a large plate by the window, all daubed with colours like a palette. But Gu
ido quickly noticed, looked among the packing-cases and handed her a clean one. Ginia stood the cups, which were still damp, on it, returned to the stove and prepared the tea.
As they were drinking it, Guido told her that these cups were a present from a girl like her who had come to him to have her portrait painted. ‘And where is the portrait?’ asked Ginia. ‘It was not a model’, said Guido laughing. ‘Shall you be a soldier much longer?’ Ginia said, as she calmly sipped her tea.
‘To Rodrigues’ regret I shall be free in a month’s time’, Guido replied. He then added, ‘You’re not offended any more then?’
Ginia could hardly form her lips into a smile and shake her head quickly enough.
‘Cut out the formalities in that case!’ said Guido.
After supper, particularly, it was wonderful. Amelia, who called to take her home, was very happy too. ‘When there’s a festa and people are idle’, she said, ‘I’m always happy. Let’s take a stroll and have a good laugh together like a couple of fools. Where have you been today?’ she asked Ginia as they walked along. ‘Nowhere special’, Ginia replied. ‘Shall we go to the hills and dance?’ ‘No; summer’s over now; it’s too muddy up there’. They seemed to find themselves on the way to the studio as if by magic. ‘I’m not going there’, said Ginia, ‘I’ve had enough of your painters’. ‘And who suggested we were going up there? We won’t tie ourselves up this evening’. They arrived at the bridge and stopped to admire the pattern of reflections in the water. ‘I’ve seen Barbetta; he asked me about you’, remarked Amelia.
‘Isn’t he tired of drawing you?’
‘I saw him at the café’.
‘Isn’t he giving me the sketch-portraits?’
But while Amelia looked at her, Ginia was thinking about something altogether different.
‘What were you doing last year when you used to go to Guido’s?’
‘What do you think? Having a good laugh and smashing up glasses’.
‘So you quarrelled then’.
‘Need you ask? One summer he went off into the country and no one had as much as a glimpse of him’.
‘How did you first get to know him?’
‘Why should I remember? Am I an artist’s model or not!’
But that evening it was impossible to quarrel and it was too cold to stand still by the water. Amelia had lit her cigarette and was smoking, leaning against the stone parapet.
‘Do you smoke in the street as well?’ asked Ginia.
‘Is it any different from in the café?’ retorted Amelia.
But they did not go and sit in a café because Amelia was already fed up with standing all day. They retraced their steps homewards instead, and stopped in front of the cinema. It was too late to go in. While they were examining the display of photographs outside, Severino emerged, looking sullen and annoyed. He raised his chin, acknowledging Amelia, then turned back and began to chat with them. Ginia had never known him so gallant. He at last gave his opinion of Amelia’s veil and was amusing about the film. Amelia laughed but in a different way from when she laughed in the café if the waiters made some remark; this time it was with her lips parted, showing her teeth, as she used to when in company with her girl friends, but had not done now for some time past. Her voice was certainly hoarse; ‘it must be smoking that does it’, thought Ginia. Severino accompanied them to the counter and paid for their coffees and told Amelia that they would have to plan a Sunday together. ‘Dancing?’ ‘Rather!’ ‘Ginia can come along too then’, said Amelia. Ginia could not help laughing.
They went with Amelia as far as the door and when it was shut, they went back home. ‘Guido is about the same age as Severino’, thought Ginia, ‘he could be my brother’. ‘Life’s a rum business’, she reflected, ‘Guido, who doesn’t know him, would take my arm and we would stop at the street-corners and he would tell me that I am a lady, and we would gaze at each other. To him I am Ginetta. We don’t need to know each other to be friendly’. And as she pondered, she trotted along by Severino, feeling as if she were still a child. Suddenly she asked him if he was fond of Amelia and realized she had taken him by surprise.
‘What does she do in the daytime?’ Severino replied.
‘She is a model’.
Severino had not understood because he began to tell her that she wore her clothes well, and then Ginia changed the subject and asked him if it was midnight yet.
‘You be careful’, Severino warned her, ‘Amelia is pretty smart; you’re just the stooge’.
Ginia told him that they did not often meet and Severino said no more; then he lit a cigarette as he walked along, and they arrived at their door as if they were nothing to do with each other.
Ginia slept little that night; the bed-clothes seemed a dead weight on her. But her mind ran on many things that became more and more fantastic as the time passed by. She imagined herself alone in the unmade bed in that corner of the studio, listening to Guido moving about on the other side of the curtain, living with him, kissing him and cooking for him. She had no idea where Guido had his meals when he was not in the army. Then she began to think that she had never thought of taking up with a soldier but that Guido would make a very handsome civilian, strong and with that blond hair of his; she tried to remember his voice which she had forgotten though she could recall Rodrigues’ quite clearly. She must see him again if only to hear him speak. Then as she reflected, she found it difficult to understand why Amelia had fallen for Rodrigues and not for him. She was glad she did not know what Amelia and Guido had done together in the days when they smashed glasses. Just then the alarm went off; she was awake already, thinking of so many things in the warm cosiness of her bed. As dawn broke she regretted that it was now winter and you could not see the lovely colours that accompanied the sun. She wondered if Guido, who said that all colours were really one, was thinking the same thought. ‘How lovely’, said Ginia to herself and got up.
NINE
Next day, at noon, Amelia called on her, but as Severino was having a meal with her, they only chatted generalities. When they were out in the street, Amelia told her that she had been to a woman-painter that morning who had given her some work. Why didn’t she come too. This fool of an artist wanted to do a painting of two women embracing, so they could pose together. ‘Why couldn’t she copy herself in the mirror?’ replied Ginia. ‘Do you expect her to take her clothes off to paint?’ retorted Amelia, laughing.
Ginia said she could not leave the shop any time she chose. ‘But this woman will pay us, you realize that?’ said Amelia. ‘It’s a picture that will take some time to do. If you don’t come, she won’t take me either’.
‘Won’t you do alone?’
‘There have got to be two women having a scrap, get it? There must be two. It is a large picture. We should only have to pose as if we were dancing together’.
‘But I don’t want to pose’, said Ginia.
‘What are you frightened of? She is a woman too, you know’.
‘I don’t want to’.
They argued as far as the tram and Amelia asked her what she thought she had under her clothes to preserve like a holy of holies. She was in a temper and did not look at her. Ginia did not reply, but when Amelia told her that she would have agreed to take off her clothes for Barbetta, she laughed in her face. They parted on such bad terms that she was doubtful whether Amelia would ever forgive her. But Ginia who at first dismissed the matter with a shrug of her shoulders, suddenly panicked at the thought that Amelia might make her look a fool in front of Guido and Rodrigues, and she was not too confident that Guido would be ingenuous enough not to laugh at her as well. ‘I would not mind posing for him’, she thought. But she knew very well that Amelia was a better figure than she was and that a painter would prefer her. Amelia was a fully developed woman.
At a late hour she called at the studio for a moment to forestall Amelia. It was the time when Guido said he always went along. She found the door locked. It occurred to her that Guido would be at th
e café with the other two. She passed by the café and looked in the window for a moment but she could only see Amelia sitting there, smoking, with her chin resting on her fist. ‘Poor blighter’, she thought as she went back home.
After supper she saw from the street that there was a light in the studio and ran upstairs, overjoyed. But Guido was not in. Rodrigues opened the door and let her in and asked her to excuse him because he was terribly hungry and in the middle of a meal. He was standing up by the table, eating salami out of the wrapping; the light was as dim as on the previous occasion. He ate rapaciously, like a boy, digging his teeth into the bread, and if she had not been put off by his swarthy complexion and his shifty eyes, Ginia would have laughed at him. He asked her if she wanted any, but Ginia merely enquired about Guido.
‘When he doesn’t turn up, it means he’s not allowed out’, replied Rodrigues. ‘He’ll be on duty at the barracks’.
‘Then I will be off’, thought Ginia but dare not say so aloud because he was staring at her and would have realized that Guido was the sole reason for her visit. Undecided, she glanced round the room, which looked almost squalid in that depressing light, with old paper wrappings and cigarette-ends littering the floor, and she asked Rodrigues whether he was expecting anyone.
‘Yes’, said Rodrigues and stopped chewing.
Not even then could Ginia bring herself to go. She asked him if he had seen Amelia.
‘You people do nothing but chase each other round’, said Rodrigues, looking at her, ‘why, if you are both women?’
‘Why?’ repeated Ginia.
Rodrigues sighed. ‘Why? You should know. By intuition. Isn’t that how women go on?’
Then Ginia writhed for a second, turning it off with, ‘Has Amelia been looking for me?’ ‘More than that’, said Rodrigues, ‘she wants you’.
The curtain divided at the back of the studio and Amelia came rushing forward eagerly and Rodrigues, snatching a bite, scuttled round the table as if they were having a game of ‘he’. Amelia had not got her hat on and though she seemed put out, stopped in the middle of the room and gave a laugh; but it was an unconvincing one. ‘We didn’t know you were here’, she said.
The Beautiful Summer Page 5