“Lenù, don’t put wrong ideas in her head, you can’t throw money out the window. What does Amalfi have to do with anything? We’ve paid to stay here until September.”
I got mad, I said, “You are both mistaken: it’s I who do what Lina wants, not the opposite.”
“Then go and tell her to be reasonable,” Stefano muttered. “I’ll be back next week, we’ll be together for the mid-August holiday and you’ll see, I’ll show you a good time. But now I don’t want to hear any nonsense. Shit. You think I’ll take you to Amalfi? And if you don’t like Amalfi, where do I take you, to Capri? And then? Cut it out, Lenù.”
His tone intimidated me.
“Where is she?” I asked.
Nunzia indicated the bedroom. I went to Lila sure that I would find the suitcases packed and her determined to leave, even at the risk of a beating. Instead she was in her slip, and was sleeping on the unmade bed. All around was the usual disorder, but the suitcases were piled in a corner, empty. I shook her.
“Lila.”
She started, asked me right away with a look veiled by sleep: “Where have you been, did you see Nino?”
“Yes. This is for you.”
I gave her the envelope reluctantly. She opened it, took out a sheet of paper. She read it and in a flash became radiant, as if an injection of stimulants had swept away drowsiness and despair.
“What does it say?” I asked cautiously.
“To me nothing.”
“So?”
“It’s for Nadia, he’s leaving her.”
She put the letter back in the envelope and gave it to me, urging me to keep it carefully hidden.
I stood, confused, with the envelope in my hands. Nino was leaving Nadia? And why? Because Lila had asked him to? So she would win? I was disappointed. He was sacrificing the daughter of Professor Galiani to the game that he and the wife of the grocer were playing. I said nothing, I stared at Lila while she got dressed, put on her makeup. Finally I said, “Why did you ask Stefano that absurd thing, to go to Amalfi? I don’t understand you.”
She smiled.
“I don’t, either.”
We left the room. Lila kissed Stefano affectionately, rubbing against him happily, and we decided to go with him to the Port, Nunzia and I in the minicab, he and Lila on the Lambretta. We had some ice cream while we waited for the boat. Lila was nice to her husband, gave him a thousand bits of advice, promised to telephone every night. Before he started up the gangplank he put an arm around my shoulders and whispered in my ear:
“I’m sorry, I was really angry. Without you I don’t know how it would have ended, this time.”
It was a polite statement, and yet I felt in it a sort of ultimatum that meant: Tell your friend, please, that if she goes too far again, it’s all over.
64
At the head of the letter was Nadia’s address in Capri. As soon as the boat left the shore carrying Stefano away, Lila propelled us cheerfully to the tobacconist, bought a stamp, and, while I kept Nunzia busy, recopied the address onto the envelope and mailed it.
We wandered through Forio, but I was too nervous, and kept talking to Nunzia. When we returned to the house I drew Lila into my room and spoke plainly to her. She listened to me in silence, but with a distracted air, as if on the one hand she felt the gravity of the things I was saying and on the other had abandoned herself to thoughts that made every word meaningless. I said to her, “Lila, I don’t know what you have in mind, but in my view you’re playing with fire. Now Stefano has left happy and if you telephone him every night he’ll be even happier. But be carefuclass="underline" he’ll be back in a week and will stay until August 20th. Do you think you can go on like this? Do you think you can play with people’s lives? Do you know that Nino doesn’t want to study anymore, he wants to find a job? What have you put in his head? And why did you make him leave his girlfriend? Do you want to ruin him? Do you want to ruin both of you?”
At that last question she roused herself and burst out laughing, but somewhat artificially. She sounded amused, but who knows. She said I ought to be proud of her, she had made me look good. Why? Because she had been considered in every way finer than the very fine daughter of my professor. Because the smartest boy in my school and maybe in Naples and maybe in Italy and maybe in the world — according to what I said, naturally — had just left that very respectable young lady, no less, to please her, the daughter of a shoemaker, elementary-school diploma, wife of Carracci. She spoke with increasing sarcasm and as if she were finally revealing a cruel plan of revenge. I must have looked angry, she realized it, but for several minutes she continued in that tone, as if she couldn’t stop herself. Was she serious? Was that her true state of mind at that moment? I exclaimed:
“Who are you putting on this show for? For me? Do you want to make me believe that Nino is ready to do anything, however crazy, to please you?”
The laughter disappeared from her eyes, she darkened, abruptly changed her tone.
“No, I’m lying, it’s completely the opposite. I’m the one who’s prepared to do anything, and it’s never happened to me with anyone, and I’m glad that it’s happening now.”
Then, overcome by embarrassment, she went to bed without even saying goodnight.
I fell into a nervous half sleep, during which I convinced myself that the last little trickle of words was truer than the torrent that had preceded it.
During the week that followed I had the proof. First of all, as early as Monday I realized that Bruno, after Pinuccia’s departure, really had begun to focus on me, and he now considered that the moment had arrived to behave toward me as Nino behaved with Lila. While we were swimming he clumsily pulled me toward him to kiss me, so that I swallowed a mouthful of water and had to return to the shore coughing. I was annoyed, he saw it. When he came to lie down in the sun next to me, with the air of a beaten dog, I made a kind but firm little speech, whose sense was: Bruno, you’re very nice, but between you and me there can’t be anything but a fraternal feeling. He was sad but he didn’t give up. The same night, after the phone call to Stefano, we all went to walk on the beach and then we sat on the cold sand and stretched out to look at the stars, Lila resting on her elbows, Nino with his head on her stomach, I with my head on Nino’s stomach, Bruno with his head on my stomach. We gazed at the constellations, praising the portentous architecture of the sky with trite formulas. Not all of us, Lila didn’t. She was silent, but when we had exhausted the catalogue of worshipful wonder, she said that the spectacle of night frightened her, she saw no structure but only random shards of glass in a blue pitch. This silenced us all, and I was vexed: she had that habit of speaking last, which gave her time to reflect and allowed her to disrupt with a single remark everything that we had more or less thoughtlessly said.
“How can you be afraid,” I exclaimed. “It’s beautiful.”
Bruno immediately agreed. Nino instead encouraged her: with a slight movement he signaled me to free his stomach, he sat up and began to talk to her as if they were alone. The sky, the temple, order, disorder. Finally they got up and, still talking, disappeared into the darkness.
I was lying down but leaning on my elbows. I no longer had Nino’s warm body as a pillow, and the weight of Bruno’s head on my stomach was irritating. I said excuse me, touching his hair. He sat up, grabbed me by the waist, pressed his face against my chest. I muttered no, but he pushed me down on the sand and searched for my mouth, pressing one hand hard against my breast. Then I shoved him away, forcefully, crying, Stop it, and this time I was unpleasant, I hissed, “I don’t like you, how do I have to tell you?” He stopped, embarrassed, sat up. He said in a low voice: “Is it possible that you don’t like me even a little?” I tried to explain that it wasn’t a thing that could be measured, saying, “It’s not a matter of more beauty or less, more liking or less; it’s that some people attract me and others don’t, it’s nothing to do with how they are really.”