Scent of a Woman

‘We have plenty of time,’ – he waved his hand, annoyed – ‘it’s not a problem. And if you get back late, you can blame it on me. Right?’

We were in the now empty dining room of the restaurant, all the other tables cleared, the fierce afternoon sun scorching the street outside the windows.

He had retreated into a hopeless black mood, his occasional maniacal outbursts lacking conviction, that wicked cheerfulness I knew in him gone. The shadow of a beard darkened his cheeks.

At the table the girls had surrounded him with attention to no avail, his glass always full, a scoop of clams left at the bottom of the soup tureen just for him, the shade of an awning arranged just right. Sara and Candida’s mother, leaving the cashier’s desk, turned to him for an opinion, setting aside her absorbed widow’s look for a moment.

He put up with it, thanking her with forced smiles. Beside him Sara spoke very little, she too preoccupied by some concern.

‘Just one thing, sir. Will you stay in Naples or come back to Turin with me?’

‘Good Lord, Ciccio, so many questions. Can’t you be quiet for once?’ he objected disconsolately.

It was the idea of a party that perked him up a little.

It had been the lieutenant’s idea, and now everyone was making an effort to plan it, to make it perfect, just the event that was needed, from the prosciutto to the dessert, from the fish in aspic to the seafood and champagne.

‘Uncorked. In a carafe. That way it improves,’ the lieutenant explained.

‘Vincenzino, you’re a turkey as usual,’ was his assessment. ‘Since when do you put champagne in a carafe? Ignoramus.’

‘A venial sin. I won’t say another word.’ The other, confused, sought to defend himself.

The girls laughed.

‘Sara: cat got your tongue?’

‘Sara isn’t talking. Can’t you see she doesn’t want any part of it? She’s thinking, my God how she’s always thinking.’

‘Poor Sara, does nothing but think.’

She endured her friends’ laughter and irony with her eyes firmly lowered, her hands hidden under the tablecloth.

Then: ‘We’d all better go see to our own chores now,’ she said dully. ‘Go our separate ways. Otherwise we won’t have any desire to see each other and celebrate tonight.’

‘Don’t you feel all right, baby?’ he asked. The words fell into a sudden silence.

‘Fine. Why? Don’t worry about it.’ The girl blushed, surprised.

A pale yellow butterfly appeared and flitted along the table in uneven spurts, its tiny wings frantic. Ines, Michelina and Candida raised their hands in confusion, attempting to catch it.

‘Nitwits,’ Sara muttered, immediately shrugging her shoulders with indifference.

‘A butterfly,’ I whispered in his ear.

Sara’s eyes quickly studied me a moment.

It escaped Ines’s fingers and came to rest right in front of him, the two gossamer wings joined on the tablecloth. Without thinking about it, Sara reached out and caught it easily between her thumb and forefinger.

‘See?’ She laughed.

‘Under here, under here!’ Candida cried.

A small glass goblet was overturned and the imprisoned butterfly circled around, its wings stretched out low, its trembling antennae exploring.

‘Poor thing.’

‘What a gorgeous yellow. Look at those black spots. They look just like velvet.’

‘Is it true they only live a few days?’

Listless and hot, the girls watched it, resting on their elbows. Now the butterfly stopped; a slight shudder ran through its wings.

‘Girls, girls, where do you think you are? Kindergarten? Is that any way to act? A fine consolation!’ the restaurant owner’s voice complained from the back.

‘Signora, let them have fun,’ the lieutenant echoed.

‘I like the black ones,’ Sara said.

‘Black? The ones with a skull on their wings? How cheery,’ Ines protested.

‘Such a long face you have today.’

‘Sara, did somebody give you the evil eye?’

‘What difference should it make to you people if I like the black ones,’ she retorted.

His right hand moved slowly, feeling along the table until the goblet was within reach.

‘Black did you say? Are you sure?’ he asked her softly, attempting a smile.

‘Yes. Why?’

The gloved left hand crashed down on the glass, shattering it amid frightened shrieks.

‘There. Now it’s black,’ he said then, not pulling away from the shards.

‘What’s going on. What fell?’ The lieutenant roused himself. ‘Weren’t we planning a party?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Ten bottles. It won’t be too much. Krug.’

‘Krug. Yes, sir.’

‘Take your time. We’re not going out today.’

‘That Sara …’ I began.

‘What about her?’ I heard his voice lying in wait.

‘Nothing. Coming to Naples I would have expected anything, but not these girls. And Sara. I didn’t know.’

‘And what was there to know?’ he snapped. Then, more wearily, ‘Worry about yourself, Ciccio. It’s useless to make a mystery out of others. Think about yourself, be a tourist.’

From the window of his room, as I was folding the wrapped-up suit, I saw them in the wicker chairs on the terrace, he undaunted despite the heat, a cigarette dangling from his lip, the lieutenant limp, as though asleep. The sunshade cast a skimpy grey circle, protecting them against the intensity of the sun; beyond the parapet the city’s muffled roar extended as far as the deep blue sea.

‘Should we talk about it again? Are you thinking about it?’

‘No, captain, why? Don’t you believe me?’ the lieutenant said weakly, his hands trembling at once. ‘Didn’t we say that discussing it further is worse?’

‘Worse, all right.’

‘So then, drop it. It’s all clear now. Please,’ the other breathed, ‘we’ve said everything over and over. Enough.’

‘Ten days ago, when I phoned you, and even before, you seemed more certain.’

I stopped fussing with the paper wrapping so they wouldn’t hear the rustling. His voice did not seem to have shaken off the sadness that had gripped him in these past few hours.

‘But I am certain. Just like you. More than you, maybe, if I may say so. Don’t be doubtful, Fausto. Now let’s stop it. With this heat …’ the lieutenant said.

‘I heard you. Last night.’

‘You shouldn’t have. You shouldn’t have!’ the other cried, but his fury only lasted a moment, the words quavered in his throat again. ‘It’s my business. Some people cry, some people laugh. What does it matter? What difference does it make? Do you have to teach me everything now?’

‘Right. But then, I don’t give a damn.’

‘If only there were something, just one thing, you gave a damn about,’ the lieutenant mourned.

‘The way I came into the world, I can go back: alone. Tomorrow. Tonight. To each his own destiny,’ he said brusquely.

‘No, no. By now it’s all decided. No more misgivings. If you still doubt me now, then you’ll offend me. For certain,’ the other objected with the faint voice remaining to him. ‘But look: it was you who brought it up again this time. You have to admit it.’

‘You’re right. Touché.’ He laughed bitterly.

‘And the party? Won’t it be a mistake? Those girls, poor things, may the Lord Almighty forever protect them, that Sara who just can’t resign herself. And yet she is so intelligent.’

‘The party is fine. A great idea. Nothing better. And let’s try to enjoy ourselves too.’

‘Of course. Such wonderful girls, aren’t they? Wasting their time, all that patience, on people like us. Remember Sara and Candida’s father? The things he wouldn’t do for you. The devotion he showed you. And he probably saw you no more than three times. But you, with Sara, couldn’t you …’

‘Don’t even mention her, by God, you big idiot!’ he burst out furiously.

‘I’m not studying so far in advance, I’m not that fanatical!’ She laughed, blushing. ‘Just a preliminary glance. The new textbooks. Medicine. How scary.’

‘Cheer up. University is the simplest thing. You’ll see,’ I replied, and told her about the suit.

‘How come? Where’s the other soldier? That Miccichè, the records clerk? That lazy shirker. He has a special gift for sniffing out the least bit of additional bother. Give it to me. I’ll send one of the kitchen boys. Sit down.’

She returned, ill at ease, her arms crossed, hands tucked under her armpits.

‘The other girls are preparing things. In the kitchen I’m not worth a thing. Such a disgrace. I just can’t learn; certain things women do just don’t appeal to me. I’m hopeless. They, on the other hand – you should see how hard they work and how much they enjoy it. And they’re still girls, all a year younger than me.’ She sat down, closed the large volume and avoided looking at me. ‘Can you stay? Just for a minute. Are you thirsty? Would you like something to drink?’

I waited for her to begin, but she kept her eyes on the spine of the book. Rolled up white napkins were set out in double rows. An air freshener had cleansed the air.

‘They didn’t go to sleep,’ I said finally.

‘He never rests, that one.’ She smiled quietly, a furrow between her brows.

‘Neither does the lieutenant.’

‘Oh, poor Vincenzo doesn’t count.’ She dismissed him with a grimace. ‘Haven’t you seen how he is, a nothing, a nobody? A good man, a saint, certainly, but what does it take for him to be one?’

‘They don’t even seem like friends.’

She laughed, a sharp burst, then said harshly, ‘Nobody can be his friend.’

‘I heard them talking, out on the terrace. I couldn’t understand. It sounded like some kind of pact.’

‘Fausto couldn’t make a pact about anything with anyone.’ She brightened a little. ‘By now you know how he is. He’s one of a kind. A genius. Don’t you think so? Either you love him or you don’t.’

‘He’s also a terror,’ I ventured.

She laughed happily.

‘He certainly is.’ She raised her voice a little. ‘A terror, a devil, a scourge from God, call him whatever you want. But the others? Who are they, where are they, where are they going, what do they want? Look around, don’t you see? The world? A failure.’

She had untucked a hand and was now flicking her thumb repeatedly against her clenched fingers, the nail flat and pink. ‘A failure, nothing more,’ she repeated slowly.

‘I’ve seen him say and do certain things,’ I burst out. ‘The arrogance he has! Then of course, a person gives in, justifies it, maybe finds it amusing and even says he’s right. I’m his friend for real, and he knows it.’

She shook her head no, that sad mysterious smile of hers back to contradict me.

‘Neither you nor anybody else. I’ve already told you. He’s incapable of having any friends. He can’t,’ she replied.

‘Still,’ was all I said.

‘What I mean is: you may be his friend, I don’t doubt it,’ she continued, treading carefully on every word, ‘but don’t you see that you too find yourself arguing with him, objecting, trying to reason with him? And with him there’s no reasoning, in his view two and two never equal four, maybe five, maybe three, but never four. You have to take him or leave him.’

‘You’re a woman and …’

‘I’m not a woman. If only I were. Or maybe not. What do I know?’ she said morosely. ‘What does being a woman or not mean? They say I’m in love with him. Everyone says that, even my mother, poor thing, and behind my back they laugh at me. Only behind my back though. But it’s not the foolish kind of love, the fainting and damaging kind that they imagine. I simply decided. I chose. Like a dog chooses to follow someone down the street, and only that someone. He waits. He waits and has no need to explain himself.’

I couldn’t meet her eyes, which had become bold as the confession grew.

I felt stupidly disarmed.

‘It’s not love,’ she said. ‘It’s faithfulness, it’s trust, it’s believing and waiting. Among other things. Call it, all of you, whatever you want.’

‘If you put it that way, there’s no use talking about it,’ I replied.

‘Oh? And why should I bother talking to you?’ She reacted violently, taking offence, her big eyes wide. ‘You show up, and I was just sitting here waiting to talk to you? At most you can tell me how the trip was, if he coughed a lot, whom he argued with and why. All that.’

‘Well. I have to go. The champagne.’

‘Please,’ she leaned over the table, suddenly limp, ‘one more minute. Just one. Don’t be angry with me. Tell me about the trip.’

‘Tiring. Non-stop. A mad dash. I feel like I’ve been everywhere and nowhere, I can’t explain it. My head is still going round and round.’

‘Yes, yes, of course.’ She laughed softly and nodded, ‘He’s possessed, possessed …’

‘Zoos, high masses, taxis. And you can imagine the insults he tosses around.’

‘He doesn’t insult, he condemns,’ she contradicted with assurance.

‘Bars. Drinking. I never saw anyone drink so much.’

‘When he drinks he’s a god. Don’t you think so? Once he said: “Raise those fine flags high …” ’

‘Et cetera, et cetera. I know. It’s typical of him when he’s dead drunk,’ I replied.

‘When he’s drunk he’s magnificent.’

‘Maybe because you remember him from your girlhood memories, but—’ I started.

‘I remember and I know,’ she said quickly, ‘I know everything. Whereas this world is made up of maggots. In school you study about Olympus, but what’s all around you later on? Maggots, which neither speak nor know nor understand.’

Now even her forehead was bent over the book; I saw the tidy, pale parting of her hair, a strand or two lighter at the nape of her neck.

‘I’m not an optimist either,’ I said. ‘Life today is chaos, disaster, we all know it. For us young people …’

‘I believe in other worlds,’ she breathed, her face hidden. ‘They say if there were other worlds, they would have tried to communicate with us. Oh, really? What do you think? You, if you were from another world, would you have this desire to communicate? Tell me.’

‘I’d have to be crazy!’ I laughed.

‘Don’t you think we’re all going to die?’ she murmured again. ‘Everybody one on top of the other? Is that still living? Life can’t go on like this and call itself living. Nobody understands it, but he knows. He knows that we’re stupid, trivial, unfit, rotten. He’s understood that.’

‘May I say something?’

‘Go ahead,’ she said, resigned.

I paused a moment to line up very carefully the words I needed and set them in the right tone.

‘You relate everything to him. You’ve formed an opinion and you won’t budge from it. Fine. But how can that help you? Okay, he’s special, very special, no one denies that, but so what? Just because he’s blind? There are millions of blind people.’

‘We said so before. Vincenzo is also blind. But he’s nothing, all air. He doesn’t even understand his fate. So he doesn’t deserve it.’ Stubbornly she shook her small head, which lay in the crook of her elbow.

‘What fate? Being blind? It’s not like he was born that way,’ I suddenly said hotly. ‘It’s not a Greek tragedy, it’s a misfortune. He took it a certain way, given his temperament. It’s your fault, your stubbornness, if you want to see it as something else.’

She laughed wearily inside her protective shell.

‘Hopeless. You want to probe, explain. You’ll never do it. All of you, if you saw an angel standing on a street corner, what would you do? I’ll tell you what: you’d count his feathers. To make sure, to verify. That’s the way you are.’

She laughed again, but it was almost a sob.

‘Try playing this game. Put a blindfold over your eyes, and remain blindfolded in your room or in the park throughout the afternoon. And move around there, explore things, search …’

‘Is that what you did?’

‘Me? What do I have to do with it!’ she denied sharply.

‘All right. I see. Let’s drop it.’ I gave in.

‘Yes. Drop it.’ She seemed to calm down.

‘Don’t take it so hard.’ I pulled myself together. ‘I’m not judging you. Nor would I ever make fun of you. Far from it. But maybe you don’t understand either. Maybe we’re both too young to understand.’

She kept shaking her head in the crook of her elbow, in denial.

‘I too know that he’s different.’ I backed off.

‘It’s not enough to say he’s different. Too easy.’ She raised her face, her eyes now a sharp beam aimed elsewhere. ‘What about the butterfly this morning? Remember that?’

‘Oh. A nice dramatic gesture.’

‘A definitive one. I say this to help you understand some–thing.’ She scoffed at me from behind that wall of hers. ‘Only he is capable of definitive gestures. He thinks of them, he does them. Whoever he catches, he catches.’

‘What amazes me is that everybody lets him get away with it. We let him have his way in everything, all the time. Never an objection.’

‘He knows,’ she continued, her eyes half closed, ‘the world is destruction. And he carries this destruction inside him. You see him there, motionless, handsome, but instead, inside, he’s filled with devastation. While still showing regard for everything, because he’s courteous as well, and when he’s angelic no one can equal him.’

‘We can go on talking like this for hours. You on one side, me on the other, without reaching any conclusion.’

She agreed with a nod, her gaze bleak, a vein in her neck throbbing rhythmically under the skin.

‘And women?’ she blurted out suddenly. ‘You have no reason to lie to me now. Tell me: did he look for other women during the trip? In Rome?’

‘No.’

She took a breath, consoled but sombre.

Then, in a fit of contempt: ‘Idiotic fools,’ she said. ‘They should be chasing after him by the thousands, if they had anything in those heads of theirs. If I were a real woman, the things I’d be able to come up with. For him, incredible things.’

‘He’s twenty years older than you.’

She laughed. ‘Twenty-one. But what am I saying? Ten thousand. A million. And that too is lovely, it’s just fine.’

‘So then: it’s right?’

‘Right!’ she cried, elated.

She quickly leafed through the book, then handed me a small photograph protected by a transparent sleeve.

She blushed happily. ‘Look.’

In her schoolgirl’s white knee socks, she barely came up to his waist. They were walking into the sun, his right hand on her delicate shoulder, the bamboo cane nearly obliterated by its own motion. The child was laughing, her teeth gleaming. He, dazzling in white, with the dark splotches of his glasses, his tie, his gloved left hand, cancelled out the few other elements in the picture: a bench, a drab bush.

‘From many years ago,’ she explained tenderly, her voice a whisper. ‘It was my father who took it. But don’t tell him. He knows nothing about it. He must never know.’

I suddenly felt discouraged and bewildered in that stifling dimness, with the sharp sting of the air freshener. The words slipped out only because of some obscure rage: ‘Tell me, have you ever seen him without his dark glasses?’

The smile that appeared on her face was recognizable as a challenge.

‘Of course. Did you think I hadn’t, maybe?’ she retorted disdainfully. ‘But you asked rudely. What were you hoping to do? Scare me? You could never.’

I kept silent, feeling rebuffed, without purpose. That obstinacy of hers had cleared my brain of any intention of being rational, leaving me even emptier.

We stood up. She walked me to the door; from the street came a wall of heat. Loud cries and noises held us there in the doorway.

‘A hundred yards, the first one on your right. A posh wine shop,’ she explained. ‘You can mention the restaurant’s name; I’ve already phoned. Surprised? Why? I have a good imagination, you know. When it comes to him, I can imagine just about anything. I’ll bet he wants at least eight bottles.’

‘Ten.’

‘You see? A gentleman besides.’ In the light of day she appeared very pale, the furrow between her brows delicate and deep-set like a dimple. ‘Maybe we might have a chance to talk a little more, the two of us.’

‘I’m leaving tomorrow night. Or at least I think so. I don’t know about him. He wouldn’t tell me anything, as usual.’

‘He’s always been that way.’

‘I know. I realized that too.’

She clamped her hands under her armpits again, facing the street and its noises with a stern expression. For a moment she seemed anything but young.

‘I didn’t ask you about Turin. Silly me. Is it really as beautiful as they say? I’d like to go to university there. I’ll have to spend a whole year persuading and reconciling my mother to it, I know that, but in the end … I have a peculiar way, if I dig in my heels and push myself, I manage to win. Always.’

‘You’re very smart.’

‘Don’t call me smart,’ she protested curtly. Her hand waved off my remark. ‘I hate the smart girl everyone compliments. I’m determined. That’s all. And not a word about Turin. Swear.’

‘I swear.’

‘Why didn’t he go out for a walk today?’

‘He didn’t want to.’

‘If he doesn’t walk, at least a little, he gets irritable. There’s still time before supper. When you come back, why don’t you suggest it to him? By now he may have changed his mind.’

‘If I say something, he’ll immediately say no. You can bet on it.’

‘True, true!’ She laughed, revelling in it, her torso swaying, her neck slightly tipped back. ‘That “no” of his. Magnificent! A rifle shot, aimed at everything.’

‘But I’ll suggest it to him anyway, okay?’

She nodded, her teeth nervously pulling at, worrying her upper lip.

‘Just one thing,’ I ventured, ‘you, for four years … Writing to him was out, so did you phone him?’

She immediately withdrew behind a glassy smile.

‘No,’ she replied, her voice strained, ‘not a word. That’s enough now: I’ve already said too much.’

‘But he …’

‘He’s at the house, he has to walk, has to eat. That’s all. Let’s leave things as they are.’

‘All right.’

‘Why, did he say anything to you maybe? About me?’ Her voice came out laboured, almost stifled.

‘No. Really …’

‘Not even a word, naturally.’ She made a face. ‘Now you should go. Take a nice walk, have a look at Naples: it’s still a noble city. And be happy.’

‘The tourist obeys.’ I tried to laugh.

‘Just one last thing,’ she ventured, overcoming her hesitation. ‘I have to trust you. I have no choice. So listen: tonight try not to stick to him constantly like a shadow. Please.’

I felt myself blush. ‘It was him. He wouldn’t let me move yesterday. I swear I …’

She nodded her head, her cheekbones reddened too.

‘I know, I know. You don’t have to explain. You’re not spiteful, I realize that. But tonight, as soon as you can, leave. Don’t say a word, just disappear on tiptoe. You too must have needs, every once in a while. Then, too, the house is big. Or you can cosy up to Ines. She’s a nice girl, she seems like a silly mischief-maker but she’s on the ball, modern. And she looks at you in a certain way. You must have noticed, right? Or doesn’t she interest you at all? Just one minute after all. All I need is one minute out of the entire evening. Okay? Tell me you’ll do it?’

‘I promise. But there’s no need for Ines. I mean, don’t drag her into it just for that. I can manage.’

She smiled, looking the other way, then hugged herself as if she were cold.

‘You feel you are his friend,’ she continued, worn-out though by the expenditure of so many words, ‘so don’t think that in that very minute, this very night, I plan to upset him with anything I say. I wouldn’t do that.’

‘All right. Then too it shouldn’t matter to me. Leave me out of it,’ I objected, confused.

‘We’re all out of it, excluded by him. Some more, some less,’ she responded gravely. ‘Me like all the others, maybe more so than the others, who knows. But I won’t say anything that might upset him. You don’t have to worry.’

‘Okay, okay. It has nothing to do with me.’

We stood looking at each other a moment longer, embarrassment growing between us.

‘Oh I apologize!’ She gave a shriek of laughter. ‘How rude of me! I didn’t even ask you your name. What’s your real name?’

I told her my name, albeit reluctantly, by now almost annoyed.

She quickly held out her hand and shook mine eagerly, but immediately pulled free.

‘And now I’m going in to face the angry protests of those three flour-coated goody-goodies in there.’ She laughed again. ‘Women in the kitchen, you have no idea. They all think they’re Joan of Arc. Either Joan or Madam Curie.’

She pushed the glass door closed as she stepped back. It shut gently, without a sound, and as it did the pane reflected the frenzied street scene in bizarre overlapping perspectives.

9