But Ginia could not despair utterly. She knew she had been foolish. All the morning she contemplated suicide, or thought that at least she had caught pneumonia. It would be their fault; they would be sorry later. But it was not worth committing suicide. She had wanted to behave like a fully grown woman and it had not come off. It would be like doing away with yourself for having dared to set foot in a luxury establishment. When one is a fool, one goes home. ‘I am just a poor girl in disgrace’, she said to herself, walking close to the wall.
She felt cheered up that afternoon when Signora Bice called out as soon as she set eyes on her, ‘But what a life you young girls lead. You’ve got the look on your face like somebody who’s going to have a baby’. She told her that she had felt feverish that morning, glad at any rate that her suffering had been noticed. Returning home, however, she powdered herself up a bit on the stairs; she would feel ashamed in front of Severino.
That evening she sat waiting for Rosa, for Amelia, and finally for Rodrigues; she had decided to bang the door in the face of whoever called. No one came. In order to tease her, Severino threw a pair of socks full of holes on to the table, asking her if she wanted him to go about barefoot. ‘Whoever marries you will be in a fine mess’, he said to her. ‘If mamma was here you would see’. Ginia, smiling, her eyes still red with tears, replied that she would sooner die than get married. That evening she did not wash up. She stood at the door, waiting instead. Then she passed through into the kitchen, avoiding the windows so as not to see the roofs white with snow. She came across some cigarettes in one of Severino’s pockets and began to smoke one. She saw she could now cope with it; then she flung herself down on the couch, breathing hard almost as if she was ill, and decided she would smoke again tomorrow.
The relief Ginia felt at present because she no longer had to run round doing things infuriated her because she had learnt to do everything at high speed and she now had so much leisure on her hands in which to think. Smoking was not much help; her chief concern had been to be seen in the act and now not even Rosa came to look her out.
The worst time was the evening when Severino went out and Ginia waited on and on, always hoping one of the crowd would turn up and yet unable to bring herself to go out. On one occasion a shudder ran through her like a caress as she undressed to go to bed; she stood before the mirror and looked at herself confidently, raised her arms above her head and slowly pivoted round, her heart beating fast. ‘Supposing Guido should come in now, what would he say?’ she wondered, knowing very well that Guido no longer gave her a thought. ‘We did not even say goodbye to each other’, she murmured and dashed into bed so as not to burst out crying in her naked state.
Sometimes Ginia would stop in the streets as she suddenly became aware of the smells of summer, its sounds and colours and the shadows of the plane-trees. She thought of them while she was still surrounded by mud and snow; she would stop at the street-corners, desire catching at her throat. ‘It must come, the seasons never change’, but it somehow seemed improbable now that she was all alone. ‘I’m an old woman, that’s what it is. All the good days are over’.
One evening when she was hurrying home, she met Amelia by her porch. It was a hasty meeting; they did not bother to greet each other properly, but Ginia stood still. Amelia with her veil was walking up and down expectantly.
‘What are you doing?’ ‘I am waiting for Rosa’, said Amelia in a husky voice, and they looked at each other. Then Ginia frowned and dashed upstairs.
‘What’s the matter with you tonight?’ asked Severino between mouthfuls. ‘Have they given you the go-by?’
When she was alone, Ginia began to fall into real despair. She was past tears. She paced round the room like one possessed. Then she flung herself on the sofa.
However, Amelia turned up later that evening. At first, as she opened the door, she could hardly believe it. But Amelia entered as if nothing was different and asked if Severino was in; then she sat down on the couch.
Ginia forgot all about smoking. They discussed what they were doing, really for something to say. Amelia threw her hat down and was sitting with her legs crossed; Ginia was leaning against the table by the lamp, which was turned low, and could not see her face. They talked about the terrible cold, and Amelia said, ‘I’ve had my share of it this morning’.
‘Are you still undergoing treatment?’ asked Ginia.
‘Why, do I look different?’
‘I don’t really know’, said Ginia.
Amelia asked if she could have a cigarette; there was a packet on the table. ‘I smoke now, too’, said Ginia.
While they were lighting up, Amelia said, ‘Is it all over then?’
Then Ginia blushed and did not reply. Amelia looked at her. ‘I thought as much’, she remarked.
‘Have you just been there?’ stammered Ginia.
‘What does it matter?’ said Amelia, uncrossing her legs and jerking on to her feet. ‘What about going to the pictures?’
As they were finishing their cigarettes, Amelia laughed and said, ‘I have had a bit of luck with Rodrigues. He wanted to know if I loved him. Now Guido is jealous’. And while Ginia forced a smile, she went on, ‘I am very bucked – I am going to be cured by spring. Your doctor friend said he took me in hand in time. Listen, Ginia, there’s nothing particularly good on at the cinema’.
‘We can go where you like’, said Ginia, ‘you lead the way’.
THE BEGINNING
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Translated from the Italian La bella estate © 1949, 1961, 1971, 1998, 2013, 2015
Giulio Einaudi editore s.p.a., Torino
First published in Great Britain by Peter Owen 1955
Published with a new introduction in Penguin Books 2018
English language translation by W.J. Strachan copyright © Peter Owen, 1955
Introduction copyright © Elizabeth Strout, 2018
The moral right of the copyright holders has been asserted
Cover image © Thurston Hopkins / Picture Post / Hilton Archive / Getty
ISBN: 978-0-241-98340-9
The Beautiful Summer Page 10