Nunzia at that point intervened. She reproached her daughter, said she could not allow herself to say that terrible thing to Stefano. But right afterward, with a surprising energy, she nearly shouted at her son-in-law to stop it, Lila had already answered, it was envy that made Gigliola say those things, the daughter of the pastry maker was treacherous, she was afraid of losing her place in Piazza dei Martiri, she wanted to get rid of Pinuccia, too, and be the sole mistress of the shop, she who knew nothing about shoes, who didn’t even know how to make pastries, while everything—everything, everything—was due to Lila, including the success of the new grocery store, and so her daughter didn’t deserve to be treated like that, no, she didn’t deserve it.
She was truly enraged: her face was alight, wide-eyed, at a one point she seemed to be suffocating, as she added point to point without taking a breath. But Stefano didn’t listen to a word. His mother-in-law was still speaking when he yanked Lila toward the bedroom, yelling: “You will now answer me, immediately,” and when she insulted him grossly and grabbed the door of a cupboard to resist, he pulled her with such force that the door opened, the cupboard tottered dangerously, with a sound of plates and glasses rattling, and Lila almost flew through the kitchen and hit the wall of the hall that led to their room. A moment later her husband had grabbed her again and, holding her by the arm, but as if he were steadying a cup by the handle, pushed her into the bedroom and closed the door.
I heard the key turn in the lock, that sound terrified me. I had seen with my own eyes, in those long moments, that Stefano really was inhabited by the ghost of his father, that the shadow of Don Achille could swell the veins of his neck and the blue network under the skin of his forehead. But, although I was frightened, I felt that I couldn’t stay still, sitting at the table, like Nunzia. I grabbed the doorknob and began to shake it, to pound the wooden door with my fist, begging, “Stefano, please, it’s not true, leave her alone. Stefano, don’t hurt her.” But by now he was sealed within his rage, I could hear him yelling that he wanted the truth, and since Lila didn’t respond—in fact, it was as if she were no longer in the room—he seemed to be talking to himself and meanwhile hitting himself, striking himself, breaking things.
“I’m going to call the landlady,” I said to Nunzia, and I ran down the stairs. I wanted to ask the woman if she had another key or if her grandson was there, a large man who could have broken down the door. But I knocked in vain, the woman wasn’t there, or if she was she didn’t open the door. Meanwhile Stefano’s shouts shattered the walls, spread through the street, through the reeds, toward the sea, and yet they seemed to find no ears but mine, no one looked out of the neighboring houses, no one came running. All that came was Nunzia’s pleas, in a low tone, alternating with the threat that if Stefano continued to hurt her daughter she would tell Fernando and Rino everything, and they, as God was her witness, would kill him.
I ran back, I didn’t know what to do. I hurled myself with all the weight of my body against the door, I cried that I had called the police, they were coming. Then, since Lila still showed no signs of life, I shrieked: “Lila, are you all right? Please, Lila, tell me you’re all right.” Only then did we hear her voice. She spoke not to us but to her husband, coldly:
“You want the truth? Yes, the son of Sarratore and I go swimming and we hold hands. Yes, we go into the deep sea and kiss each other and touch each other. Yes, I’ve been fucked by him a hundred times and so I discovered that you’re a shit, that you’re worthless, that you only demand disgusting things that make me throw up. Is that what you want? Are you happy?”
Silence. After those words Stefano didn’t take a breath, I stopped pounding on the door, Nunzia stopped crying. Outside noises returned, the cars passing, some distant voices, the hens beating their wings.
Some minutes passed and it was Stefano who began speaking again, but so softly that we couldn’t hear what he was saying. I realized, though, that he was looking for a way to calm down: short, disconnected phrases, show me that you’re done, be good, stop it. Lila’s confession must have seemed so unbearable that he had ended by taking it as a lie. He had seen in it something she resorted to in order to hurt him, an exaggeration equivalent to a solid punch to bring his feet back to the ground, words that in short meant: if you still don’t realize what groundless things you’re accusing me of, now I’m going to make it clear to you, you just listen.
