The Beautiful Summer

by Cesare Pavese

  ‘Oh no!’ exclaimed Amelia, ‘I’ve already given you a kiss’.

  Ginia felt herself growing hot all over – she gave a stupid smile and blushed a fiery red. Amelia looked at her without saying a word. ‘I see you’re a fool’, she said finally, ‘you’re being nice to me just now while you’re in love with Guido and I don’t matter to you any more’.

  Ginia was puzzled what to answer because she herself did not know what she should have done. But she did not mind Amelia’s criticism, because she now knew what nudes and poses were and understood her jargon. She allowed Amelia to go on talking excitedly but at the same time she was conscious of a nausea like that she had felt as a child when she was having a bath and was undressing on a chair close to the stove.

  But when Amelia said that the disease was carried in the bloodstream, Ginia was frightened.

  ‘What do they do?’ she asked.

  Amelia told her it was hopeless unless you took things quietly, and that they would take a specimen of blood from her arm with a syringe. She said they made them strip and kept them standing in the cold for more than half an hour. The doctor was always in a bad temper and threatened to pack her off to the hospital.

  ‘He can’t’, said Ginia.

  ‘What a kid you are!’ said Amelia. ‘They could send me to prison if they had a mind to. You don’t know what syphilis is’.

  ‘But where did you get it?’

  Amelia looked at her evasively. ‘You get it love-making’.

  ‘But one of the two must have it first’. ‘Quite’, replied Amelia.

  Then Ginia remembered about Guido and felt so faint she could not speak.

  Amelia had sat down and was supporting her breast under her blouse with her hand. She stared round vaguely; in her present state, without her veil and in utter dejection, there was no wonder she was no longer herself. At intervals she clenched her teeth, baring her gums. Not even the perfume she had on could soothe her.

  ‘You ought to have seen Rodrigues’, she said all at once in her hoarse voice, ‘it was he who said you go blind and die of ulcers. He turned white right down to his neck’. Amelia made a face as if she were spitting. ‘It always happens like that. He is all right’.

  Ginia asked her in such haste whether she was really certain that Amelia hesitated. ‘No, you’ve no need to worry; they’ve made a blood test on him. Are you afraid for Guido?’

  Ginia forced a smile and lowered her eyes. Amelia kept quiet for what seemed an eternity, then she suddenly snapped out, ‘Guido has never touched me, don’t worry!’

  Then Ginia cheered up; so much so that she put her hand on Amelia’s shoulder. Amelia frowned. ‘Aren’t you afraid of touching me?’ she said. ‘But we’re not love-making’, stammered Ginia.

  Her heart did not cease pounding all the time Amelia was speaking of Guido. She told her that she had not even kissed Guido because one can’t make love with everybody and, though she liked him, she could not understand why Ginia should find him attractive when they were both blonds. Ginia felt herself go hot all over again and was thoroughly happy.

  ‘But if Rodrigues hasn’t got it’, she said, ‘it means you haven’t either. They’ve made a mistake’.

  Amelia looked at her rather shiftily. ‘What’s your idea? Were you thinking he had given it to me?’

  ‘I don’t know’, said Ginia.

  ‘If he’s afraid that a child …’ began Amelia between her teeth. ‘But not he. The Lord chasteneth. The woman who gave me the present is worse than me. She doesn’t know it yet; it appears she may go blind’.

  ‘It’s a woman then!’ whispered Ginia.

  ‘Has been for more than two months. This mark is a present from her’, and she tapped her blouse. Ginia tried to console her all the evening but was careful not to come into close contact with her, and took comfort as she remembered they had never done more than go arm in arm, and that Amelia had said furthermore that you could not catch it unless you had an open wound because it was a blood-infection. Ginia was convinced, but she dare not express her thought, that these things followed in the wake of the kind of sins that Amelia committed. Then she tried not to think about it, for in that case they ought all of them to be sick people.

  However, as they went downstairs, she told her she ought not to feel vindictive towards the woman in question; if she did not know, she could not be to blame. But Amelia stopped on the stair and interrupted, ‘Shall I send her a bouquet then?’

  They made a rendezvous for the next day at the café and Ginia watched her walk off into the distance, deeply stirred.

  Ginia could hardly bear with herself next day. She left the house an hour before the lamps were lit and hurried to the studio. She did not dare go up straight away because Rodrigues was asleep, and paced about in the cold underneath until she thought she heard him turn over in bed. Then she ran up, trembling all over, and knocked at the door.

  She found Rodrigues in his pyjamas looking at her with sleepy eyes. After stalking round the room, he sat down on the edge of the bed. There was dirt everywhere, the light was as glaring as usual. Ginia began in a stammering voice and Rodrigues sat there scratching his legs until she asked him if he had been to the doctor’s. Then they both let go about Amelia, and Ginia noticed there was a tremor in her voice. She averted her gaze from his ugly feet.

  Rodrigues said, ‘I’m going back to bed; it’s damn cold’, and he went back, drawing the bed-cover round him.

  When Ginia, still trembling, told him she had been kissed by Amelia, he began to laugh, lying there propped up on his elbow in the semi-darkness. ‘We’re colleagues then’, he said. ‘Only a kiss?’

  ‘Yes’, said Ginia, ‘is there any danger?’

  ‘What sort of kiss?’

  Ginia did not understand. He explained what he meant and Ginia swore that it had been just a kiss between one girl and another.

  ‘Innocent fun’, remarked Rodrigues, ‘don’t you worry’.

  Ginia was standing up in front of the curtain and on the table was a dirty glass and some orange-peel. ‘When does Guido come back?’ she asked.

  ‘Monday’, said Rodrigues. ‘See that? It’s a still-life’. He pointed to the glass.

  Ginia smiled and moved to the side. ‘Sit down, Ginia, here on the bed’.

  ‘I must run’, she replied, ‘I’ve got to work’.

  But Rodrigues complained that she had woken him up and now she wouldn’t even stay to exchange the time of day, ‘To celebrate our escape from danger’, he added.

  Ginia sat on the edge of the bed by the drawn curtain. ‘I’m worried about Amelia’, she said. ‘Poor creature. She’s desperate. Do you really go blind?’

  ‘Of course not’, said Rodrigues, ‘you get cured. They bore lots of holes in her and will remove some bits of skin and before long the doctor friend will be taking her to bed, you’ll see’.

  Ginia tried not to smile and Rodrigues continued, ‘Did he take both of you up to the hills?’ As he spoke he stroked her hands as if they had been a cat’s back.

  ‘What frozen hands’, he said. ‘Why don’t you come and warm them?’

  Ginia allowed herself to be kissed on the neck, saying ‘Be good!’ Then she rose to her feet, blushing, and dashed out.

  FOURTEEN

  That evening Rodrigues came to the café too and sat down at the next table, over by Ginia.

  ‘How’s the voice?’ he asked half joking.

  Ginia was trying to comfort Amelia, explaining to her how one got better, and sat there quiet and contented. They hardly exchanged a glance with Rodrigues.

  Amelia sat there quietly, too. She was thinking of asking the time when Rodrigues said sarcastically, ‘Bravo! so we’re seducing minors now, are we?’

  Amelia did not grasp the illusion at once and Ginia quickly shut her eyes. By the time she had opened them, she heard Amelia saying fiercely, ‘What has this idiot been telling you?’

  But Rodrigues spared her. He just said, ‘She came to wake me up th
is morning to hear about you from me’.

  ‘He enjoys himself’, said Amelia.

  During the next days Ginia endeavoured to be on her best behaviour because Guido was really coming back, and she went to look up Rodrigues. Not at the studio any longer; it was rather a frightening memory, and, besides, Rodrigues was a long-sleeper, but at the little restaurant where he ate and where Guido doubtless went too. It was in the street on the tram-route and she passed a few moments exchanging pleasantries and to find out if there was anything new. She behaved rather like Amelia and pulled his leg. But Rodrigues now knew where he got off and no longer made passes at her. They arranged between them that she should go along to the studio on the Sunday and do a little cleaning-up ready for Guido’s homecoming. ‘We syphilitics’, said Rodrigues, ‘don’t give a damn for anything!’

  Amelia, however, had ceased going there. Ginia stayed with her on the Saturday afternoon and accompanied her to the doctor who was giving her the injections. They stopped at the door, and finally Amelia said, ‘Don’t go up; they might find something wrong with you too’, and ran up the stairs, with a final ‘Cheerio, Ginia’, so that Ginia, who had started out quite cheerfully, went home depressed. Not even the thought that Guido would be there within twenty-four hours could comfort her.

  Sunday, too, passed like a dream. Ginia remained in the studio all the afternoon, and swept round, polished and generally tidied the place. Rodrigues did not even attempt to get in her way. He even helped her to cart off mountains of waste-paper and fruit-peel. Then they banged the dust out of the books on the mantelpiece and put them on top of a bookcase. While they were in the middle of washing the paint-brushes, Ginia paused a moment, enraptured: the smell of the turps brought back the memory of Guido almost as if he was there. She smiled because Rodrigues could not understand.

  ‘He’s a lucky swine’, said Rodrigues when Ginia had finished and was emerging from behind the curtain with a duster, ‘if he only knew it’.

  They then had tea together by the stove and looked through the drawings of Guido’s they had found under the books; but Ginia was disappointed because they consisted only of landscapes and one portrait-head of an old man. ‘Wait a minute’, said Rodrigues, ‘I know what you’re after’.

  And after a while came drawings of women. They looked like fashion-plates. Ginia was amused, for they were dressed in the fashion of two years before. Next came some female nudes; then male nudes, and Ginia hurriedly turned them over because Rodrigues, who had been leaning back against the wall, was now bending forward. Last of all came a drawing of a young woman, fully clothed; she had a squarish face and had the head and shoulders of a peasant. ‘Who is it?’ asked Ginia.

  ‘It’ll be his sister’.

  ‘Luisa?’

  ‘I don’t know’.

  Ginia studied the large eyes and the subtle mouth. She saw no resemblance to anyone else. ‘She’s beautiful’, she said, ‘she’s none of that dreamy look that you painters usually give them’. ‘Speak for him’, replied Rodrigues, ‘leave me out of it!’

  Ginia was in such a happy frame of mind that, had Rodrigues known it, he might have kissed her, instead of which he lay back on the sofa looking depressed. If it had not been for a little daylight that still stole in through the window, Ginia could have imagined it to be Guido near her and would have caressed him. She shut her eyes to think of him.

  ‘How nice it is here’, she said aloud.

  Then she asked Rodrigues once again if he knew the exact time of tomorrow’s event and he said that Guido would certainly be cycling back. The conversation turned on the villages in Guido’s part of the country, and although he had never been to any of them, Rodrigues jokingly described them as being composed of pig-sties and hen-runs and with roads that were so rough at that season of the year that Guido might not be able to get away. Ginia pouted her lips and told him not to tease her.

  They went out together and Rodrigues promised not to spill his cigarette-ash about. ‘I’ll sleep on a bench tonight. How will that be?’ They passed through the door smiling, and Ginia boarded the tram, thinking of Amelia and the girls depicted in the drawings, comparing herself with them. It seemed but yesterday that they had gone to the hills and now Guido was coming back.

  She woke up next day in a great state of consternation. It was midday before she could turn round. She had agreed with Rodrigues that if Guido arrived, they would meet at the café. She went past it on tiptoe and caught sight of them at the bar through the window. Guido looked thin in his mackintosh; he was standing there with one foot supported on the metal bar. If he had been alone, Ginia would not have recognized him. His open mackintosh allowed her to see a grey tie; Guido in civilian clothes no longer seemed a young man.

  He and Rodrigues were engaged in conversation and laughing. Ginia thought, ‘If only Amelia were there, I could pretend I was on my way to her place’. Before she could bring herself to enter, she had to remind herself that she had tidied up the studio.

  She was still hovering in the doorway when Guido spotted her. She walked towards him as if she was there by chance. Never before had Guido made her feel so ill at ease. Guido extended his hand to her in the midst of all the customers who were coming and going, and continued to speak with his head turned towards Rodrigues.

  They hardly exchanged more than a word. Guido was nervous because of the others watching. He encouraged her with a smile, calling out, ‘Are you all right?’ and then, by the door, ‘Goodbye!’

  Ginia walked in the direction of the tram, smiling like an idiot. Suddenly she felt her arm taken and a voice, Guido’s, whispered in her ear, ‘Ginetta’.

  They stopped and Ginia had tears in her eyes. ‘Where are you going?’ he asked. ‘Home’. ‘Without welcoming me?’ and Guido squeezed her arm and fixed his eyes on her. ‘Oh Guido’, said Ginia, ‘I was just waiting for you’.

  They went back on the pavement without speaking; then Guido said: ‘I’m going home now and when you come and see me I recommend you not to weep!’

  ‘Tonight?’

  ‘Tonight!’

  That evening, before going out, Ginia did a special toilette in Guido’s honour. She felt her legs give way as she thought of him. She went up the stairs in a state of panic. She listened at his door; there was a light but no sound of conversation. Then she coughed as she had on a previous occasion but nothing stirred within. She decided to knock.

  FIFTEEN

  Guido, smiling, opened it, and a girl’s voice from the back of the room called out, ‘Who is it?’ Guido offered his hand and asked her to come in.

  In the half-light by the curtain a girl was slipping on her mackintosh. She had no hat, and she looked Ginia up and down as if she owned the place.

  ‘A colleague of mine’, said Guido. ‘It’s only Ginia’.

  The girl went to the window, biting her lips and inspecting herself in the dirty glass. She had the same kind of walk as Amelia. Ginia looked first at her and then at Guido.

  ‘Well, Ginia?’ said Guido.

  The girl finally left but not before looking her up and down for a last time from the door. She slammed it and they heard her footsteps gradually die away.

  ‘She’s a model’, said Guido.

  That night they stayed on the sofa with the lamp lit, and Ginia no longer made any attempt to hide away. They had moved the stove up to the sofa edge, but it was still cold, and after Guido had looked at her for a moment, Ginia went back under the blanket. What thrilled her most as she lay stretched out beside him was that this was real love. Guido got up, still undressed, to get a drink and hopped back quickly out of the cold. They placed their glasses on the stove to warm them. Guido smelt of wine but Ginia preferred the warm smell of his flesh. His chest was covered with curly hairs which brushed against her cheeks, and when they threw back the covers, Ginia compared her skin with his and was abashed and contented at the same time. She whispered in his ear that looking at him made her feel shy and Guido replied that she did not need
to look.

  Only when they were locked in an embrace did they finally say anything about Amelia, and Ginia told him that a woman was responsible for it all. ‘She’s brought it on herself’, said Guido. ‘You can’t fool around with these things’.

  ‘How you smell of wine’, said Ginia in a low voice. ‘It’s better than the smell of bed’, retorted Guido, but Ginia stopped his mouth with her hand.

  They then put the light out and lay quietly. Ginia stared up at the ceiling in a vague way and thought of so many things, while Guido lay breathing heavily at her side. Distant lights could be seen over by the windows. The smell of wine and warm breath conjured up Guido’s landscapes. Then she wondered if her frail body was to Guido’s liking and whether he would not prefer the slender, dark and handsome Amelia. Guido kissed her all over in silence.

  Then she became conscious that Guido was asleep and felt they could not go sleeping like this, locked in each other’s arms, and she disengaged herself gently and found a cool spot, then she felt uncomfortable, naked and alone. Again she was overcome with a kind of nausea, as when they bathed her as a child. She wondered why Guido made love to her and thought of the next day and all the days she had waited for, and her eyes filled with tears, and she wept quietly to herself so that no one could hear.

  They got dressed in the dark and Ginia suddenly asked who the model had been.

  ‘Just a poor devil who had learned of my return’.

  ‘She’s good-looking, isn’t she?’ said Ginia.

  ‘You saw her, didn’t you!’

  ‘But how can people pose in this cold?’

  ‘You girls don’t feel it’, said Guido, ‘you are made to be naked’.

  ‘I couldn’t do it’.

  ‘But you have tonight!’

  Guido looked at her; she could see him smiling. ‘Happy?’ he said. They sat side by side on the sofa and Ginia rested her head on his shoulder so as to avoid looking him in the eyes. ‘I am so afraid that you don’t love me’, she said.