I sat listening and slowly rediscovered—but as if I were dragging it up from a deep well—the old solidarity of the time when we sat at the same desk. Yet only then did I understand that even if I had never been aware that he was different, I was fond of him precisely because he wasn’t like the other boys, precisely because of that peculiar alienation from the male behaviors of the neighborhood. And now, as he spoke, I discovered that that bond endured. Michele, on the other hand, annoyed me more than ever. He muttered some vulgarities about Marisa, he was impatient with Alfonso’s conversation, at a certain point he interrupted in the middle of a sentence almost angrily (Will you let me have a word with Lenuccia?) and asked about my mother, he knew she was ill. Alfonso became suddenly silent, blushing. I started talking about my mother, purposely emphasizing how worried she was about my brothers. I said:
“She’s not happy that Peppe and Gianni work for your brother.”
“What’s the problem with Marcello?”
“I don’t know, you tell me. I heard that you don’t get along anymore.”
He looked at me almost in embarrassment.
“You heard wrong. And anyway, if your mother doesn’t like Marcello’s money, she can send them to work under someone else.”
I was on the point of reproaching him for that
“Ah, what a crowd,” she said, and turned to Michele: “You need to talk to me?”
“Yes.”
“Will it take long?”
“Yes.”
“Then first I’ll talk to Lenuccia.”
He nodded timidly. I got up, and, looking at Michele but touching Alfonso on the arm as if to push him toward Michele, said:
“One of these nights you two must invite me to Posillipo, I’m always alone. I can do the cooking.”
Michele opened his mouth but no sound came out, Alfonso intervened anxiously:
“There’s no need, I’m a good cook. If Michele invites us, I’ll do everything.”
Lila led me away.
She stayed in her room with me for a long time, we talked about this and that. She, too, was near the end of her term, but the pregnancy no longer seemed to weigh on her. She said, smiling, as she placed her hand in a cup shape under her stomach: Finally I’ve gotten used to it, I feel good, I’d almost keep the child inside forever. With a vanity that she had rarely displayed, she turned sideways to be admired. She was tall, and her slender figure had beautiful curves: the small bosom, the stomach, the back and the ankles. Enzo, she said, laughing, with a trace of vulgarity, likes me pregnant even more, how annoying that it’ll end. I thought: the earthquake seemed so terrible to her that each moment now is uncertain, and she would like everything to stand still, even her pregnancy. Every so often I looked at the clock, but she wasn’t worried that Michele was waiting; rather, she seemed to be wasting time with me on purpose.
“He’s not here for work,” she said when I reminded her that he was waiting, “he’s pretending, he’s looking for excuses.”
“For what?”
“Excuses. But you stay out of it: either mind your own business, or these are matters you have to take seriously. Even that remark about dinner at Posillipo, maybe it would have been better if you hadn’t said it.”
I was embarrassed. I murmured that it was a time of constant tensions, I told her about the fight with Elisa and Peppe, I told her I intended to confront Marcello. She shook her head, she repeated:
“Those, too, are things you can’t interfere in and then go back up to Via Tasso.”
“I don’t want my mother to die worrying about her sons.”
“Comfort her.”
“How.”
She smiled.
“With lies. Lies are better than tranquilizers.”
58.
But in those low-spirited days I couldn’t lie even for a good cause. Only because Elisa reported to our mother that I had insulted her and as a result she wanted nothing more to do with me; only because Peppe and Gianni shouted at her that she must never dare send me to make speeches like a cop, I finally decided to tell her a lie. I told her that I had talked to Lila and Lila had promised to take care of Peppe and Gianni. But she perceived that I wasn’t really convinced and she said grimly: Yes, well done, go home, go, you have children. I was angry at myself, and on the following days she was even more agitated, she grumbled that she wanted to die soon. But once when I took her to the hospital she seemed more confident.
“She telephoned me,” she said in her hoarse, sorrowful voice.
“Who?”
“Lina.”
I was speechless with surprise.
“What did she tell you?”
“That I can stop worrying, she’ll take care of Peppe and Gianni.”
“In what sense?”
“I don’t know, but if she promised it means she’ll find a solution.”
“That’s certainly true.”
“I trust her, she knows what’s right.”
“Yes.”
“Have you seen how pretty she looks?”
“Yes.”
