The Neapolitan Novels

95.

The next day I got up very early and packed the suitcases, I wanted to return to Florence right away. But I couldn’t. Marcello said he had promised his brother to take us to Acerra and since Pietro, although I let him know in every possible way that I wanted to leave, was willing, we left the children with Elisa and agreed to let that big man drive us to a long, low yellow building, a large shoe warehouse. The whole way I was silent, while Pietro asked questions about the Solaras’ business in Germany and Marcello equivocated, with disjointed phrases like: Italy, Germany, the world, Professò, I’m more Communist than the Communists, more revolutionary than the revolutionaries, for me if you could flatten everything and build it all again from the beginning I’d be in the first row. Anyway, he added, looking at me in the rear-view mirror in search of agreement, love for me comes before everything.

When we got there, he led us into a low-ceilinged room, illuminated by neon lights. There was a strong odor of ink, of dust, of overheated insulators, mixed with that of uppers and shoe polish. Look, Marcello said, here’s the contraption Michele rented. I looked around, there was no one at the machine. The System 3 was completely unremarkable, an uninteresting piece of furniture backed up to a wall: metal panels, control knobs, a red switch, a wooden shelf, keyboards. I don’t understand anything about it, said Marcello, this is stuff that Lina knows, but she doesn’t have a schedule, she’s always in and out. Pietro carefully examined the panels, the control knobs, everything, but it was clear that modernity was disappointing him, all the more since Marcello answered every question with: This is my brother’s business, I have other problems on my mind.

Lila showed up when we were about to leave. She was with two young women who were carrying metal containers. She seemed irritated, and ordered them around. As soon as she noticed us she changed her tone, she became polite but in a forced way, as if a part of her brain had broken free and were reaching toward urgent things to do with the job. She ignored Marcello, and addressed Pietro but as if she were also speaking to me. What do you care about this stuff, she said, teasing, if you’re really interested in it let’s make a deal: You work here and I’ll take up your things, novels, paintings, antiquities. Again I had the impression that she had aged before me, not only in her appearance but in her movements, her voice, her choice of a dull, vaguely bored manner in which to explain to us not only how the System 3 and the various machines worked but also the magnetic cards, the tapes, the five-inch disks, and other innovations that were on the way, like desktop computers that one could have at home for one’s personal use. She was no longer the Lila who on the telephone talked about the new job in childish tones, and she seemed far removed from Enzo’s enthusiasm. She acted like a super-competent employee on whom the boss has dumped one of the many headaches, the tourist visit. She wasn’t friendly toward me, she never joked with Pietro. Finally she ordered the girls to show my husband how the punch-card machine worked, then she pushed me into the hall, and said:

“So? Did you congratulate Elisa? Does one sleep well in Marcello’s house? Are you glad the old witch is sixty?”

I replied nervously: “If my sister wants it, what can I do, beat her over the head?”

“You see? In the fairy tales one does as one wants, and in reality one does what one can.”

“That’s not true. Who forced you to be used by Michele?”

“I’m using him, not him me.”

“You’re deceiving yourself.”

“Wait and you’ll see.”

“What do you want me to see, Lila, forget it.”

“I repeat, I don’t like it when you act like that. You don’t know anything about us anymore, so it’s better if you say nothing.”

“You mean I can criticize you only if I live in Naples?”

“Naples, Florence: you aren’t doing anything anywhere, Lenù.”

“Who says so?”

“The facts.”

“I know my facts, not you.”

I was tense, she realized it. She gave me a conciliatory look.

“You make me mad and I say things I don’t think. You did well to leave Naples, you did very well. But you know who’s back?”

“Who?”

“Nino.”

The news burned my chest.

“How do you know?”

“Marisa told me. He got a professorship at the university.”

“He didn’t like Milan?”

Lila narrowed her eyes.

“He married someone from Via Tasso who is related to half the Banco di Napoli. They have a child a year old.”

I don’t know if I suffered, certainly I had trouble believing it.

“He’s really married?”

“Yes.”

I looked at her to see what she had in mind.

“Do you intend to see him?”

“No. But if I happen to run into him, I want to tell him that Gennaro isn’t his.”