The attention of the Solara brothers shifted reluctantly to me; until then I had felt invisible, and hadn’t said a word.
“No.” I blushed.
“Why not, I’d marry you, even if you are four-eyed,” said Michele, catching another black look from Gigliola.
“Too late, she’s already engaged,” said Lila. And slowly she managed to lead the two brothers around to Antonio, evoking his family situation, including a vivid picture of how much worse it would be if he had to go into the Army. It wasn’t just her skill with words that struck me, that I knew. What struck me was a new tone, a shrewd dose of impudence and assurance. There she was, her mouth flaming with lipstick. She made Marcello believe that she had put a seal on the past, made Michele believe that his sly arrogance amused her. And, to my great amazement, toward both she behaved like a woman who knows what men are, who has nothing more to learn on the subject and in fact would have much to teach: and she wasn’t playing a part, the way we had as girls, imitating novels in which fallen ladies appeared; rather, it was clear that her knowledge was true, and this did not embarrass her. Then abruptly she became aloof, she sent out signals of refusal, I know you want me but I don’t want you. Thus she retreated, throwing them off balance, so that Marcello became self-conscious and Michele darkened, irresolute, with a hard gaze that meant: Watch it, because, Signora Carracci or not, I’m ready to slap you in the face, you whore. At that point she changed her tone again, again drew them toward her, appeared to be amused and amused them. The result? Michele didn’t commit himself, but Marcello said: “Antonio doesn’t deserve it, but Lenuccia’s a good girl, so to make her happy I can ask a friend and find out if something can be done.”
I felt satisfied, I thanked him.
Lila chose the pastries, was friendly toward Gigliola and also toward her father, the pastry maker, who poked his head out of the bakery to say: Hello to Stefano. When she tried to pay, Marcello made a clear gesture of refusal, and his brother, if less decisively, seconded him. We were about to leave when Michele said to her seriously, in the slow tone he assumed when he wanted something and ruled out any disagreement:
“You look great in that photograph.”
“Thank you.”
“The shoes are very conspicuous.”
“I don’t remember.”
“I remember and I want to ask you something.”
“You want a photo, too, you want to put it up here in the bar?”
Michele shook his head with a cold little laugh.
“No. But you know that we’re getting the shop ready in Piazza dei Martiri.”
“I don’t know anything about your affairs.”
“Well, you should find out, because our affairs are important and we all know that you’re not stupid. I think that if that photograph is useful to the dressmaker as an advertisement for a wedding dress, we can make much better use of it as an advertisement for Cerullo shoes.”
Lila burst out laughing, she said, “You want to put that photograph in the window in Piazza dei Martiri?”
“No, I want it enlarged, huge, in the shop.”
She thought about it for a moment, then made a gesture of indifference.
“Don’t ask me, ask Stefano, he’s the one who decides.”
I saw the brothers exchange a puzzled glance, and I understood that they had already discussed the idea and had assumed that Lila would never agree, so they couldn’t believe that she hadn’t been indignant, that she hadn’t immediately said no, but had surrendered without argument to the authority of her husband. They didn’t recognize her, and, right then, even I didn’t know who she was.
Marcello went to the door with us. Outside, he became solemn, and said, “This is the first time in a long while that we’ve spoken, Lina, and it’s disturbing. You and I didn’t go with each other—all right, that’s the way it is. But I don’t want anything between us to remain unclear. And especially I don’t want blame that I don’t deserve. I know that your husband goes around saying that as an insult I claimed those shoes. But I swear to you in front of Lenuccia: he and your brother gave me the shoes to demonstrate that there was no more bad feeling. I had nothing to do with it.”
Lila listened without interrupting, a sympathetic expression on her face. Then, as soon as he had finished, she became herself again. She said with contempt, “You’re like children, accusing each other.”
“You don’t believe me?”
“No, Marcè, I believe you. But what you say, what they say, I don’t give a damn about it anymore.”
16.
I dragged Lila into our old courtyard, I couldn’t wait to tell Antonio what I had done for him. I confided to her, trembling with excitement: as soon as he calms down a little, I’ll leave him, but she had no comment, she seemed distracted.
