The Neapolitan Novels

42.

Pasquale’s worried tone exasperated her. As he was driving home he asked her:

“What did Armando say, how are you?”

“Fine, I should eat more.”

“You see, you don’t take care of yourself.”

Lila burst out: “Pasquà, you’re not my father, you’re not my brother, you’re no one. Leave me alone, get it?”

“I can’t be worried about you?”

“No, and be careful what you do and say, especially with Enzo. If you tell him I was ill—and it’s not true, I was only dizzy—you risk ruining our friendship.”

“Take two sick days and don’t go to Soccavo: Capone advised you against it and the committee advised against it, it’s a matter of political expediency.”

“I don’t give a damn about political expediency: you’re the one who got me in trouble and now I’ll do as I like.”

She didn’t invite him to come in and he went away angry. Once at home, Lila cuddled Gennaro, made dinner, waited for Enzo. Now it seemed to her that she was constantly short of breath. Since Enzo was late, she fed Gennaro; she was afraid it was one of those evenings when he was seeing women and would return in the middle of the night. When the child spilled a glass of water, the caresses stopped, and she yelled at him as if he were an adult, in dialect: Will you hold still a moment, I’ll hit you, why do you want to ruin my life?

Just then Enzo returned, and she tried to be nice. They ate, but Lila had the impression that the food was struggling to get to her stomach, that it was scratching her chest. As soon as Gennaro fell asleep, they turned to the installments of the Zurich course, but Enzo soon got tired, and tried, politely, to go to bed. His attempts were vain, Lila kept going until it was late, she was afraid of shutting herself in her room, she feared that as soon as she was alone in the dark the symptoms she hadn’t admitted to Armando would appear, all together, and kill her. He asked her softly:

“Will you tell me what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“You come and go with Pasquale, why, what secrets do you have?”

“It’s things to do with the union, he made me join and now I have to take care of them.”

Enzo looked disheartened, and she asked:

“What’s wrong?”

“Pasquale told me what you’re doing in the factory. You told him and you told the people on the committee. Why am I the only one who doesn’t deserve to know?”

Lila became agitated, she got up, she went to the bathroom. Pasquale hadn’t held out. What had he told? Only about the union seed that she wanted to plant at Soccavo or also about Gino, about her not feeling well at Via dei Tribunali? He hadn’t been able to stay silent—friendship between men had its unwritten but inviolable pacts, not like that between women. She flushed the toilet, returned to Enzo and said:

“Pasquale is a spy.”

“Pasquale is a friend. Whereas you, what are you?”

His tone hurt, she gave in unexpectedly, suddenly. Her eyes filled with tears and she tried in vain to push them back, humiliated by her own weakness.

“I don’t want to make more trouble for you than I already have,” she sobbed, “I’m afraid you’ll send me away.” Then she blew her nose and added in a whisper: “Can I sleep with you?”

Enzo stared at her, in disbelief.

“Sleep how?”

“However you want.”

“And do you want it?”

Lila gazed at the water pitcher in the middle of the table, with its comical rooster’s head: Gennaro liked it. She whispered:

“The crucial thing is for you to hold me close.”

Enzo shook his head unhappily.

“You don’t want me.”

“I want you, but I don’t feel anything.”

“You don’t feel anything for me?”

“What do you mean, I love you, and every night I wish you would call me and hold me close. But beyond that I don’t want anything.”

Enzo turned pale, his handsome face was contorted as if by an intolerable grief, and he observed:

“I disgust you.”

“No, no, no, let’s do what you want, right away, I’m ready.”

He had a desolate smile, and was silent for a while. Then he couldn’t bear her anxiety, he muttered: “Let’s go to bed.”

“Each in our own room?”

“No, in my bed.”

Lila, relieved, went to get undressed. She put on her nightgown, went to him trembling with cold. He was already in bed.

“I’ll go here?”

“All right.”

She slid under the covers, rested her head on his shoulder, put an arm around his chest. Enzo remained motionless; she felt immediately that he gave off a violent heat.

“My feet are cold,” she whispered, “can I put them near yours?”

“Yes.”

“Can I caress you a little?”

“Leave me alone.”

Slowly the cold disappeared. The pain in her chest dissolved, she forgot the grip on her throat, she gave in to the respite of his warmth.

“Can I sleep?” she asked, dazed by weariness.

“Sleep.”