Displaying the wide-eyed innocence of a Tiepolo
putto
, she would mix in a totally unmediated way what may be said, what is best left unsaid and what must absolutely not be said, and no-one seemed to find anything inappropriate in her unconventional talk.
“Pick’s Disease,” Maddalena says, reading from a note she has made on a scrap of paper after returning from our visit. “Is it dangerous?”
“Not to others,” my father says, addressing Maddalena’s fears more than her words. “She will get lost if she goes out, won’t be able to find her way, might even forget her own name. There are some who have been found miles and miles away from their homes.”
“The old Signora has something inside her that’s more frightening than what the young Signora had,” Maddalena says. Shelooks at my father, who is waiting to hear the rest. “The young Signora, who is surely sitting next to the Virgin as we speak, she knew everything, saw everything, never missed even one single word, I know that for sure. She was just sad, that’s all: sadness had wormed its way right through her soul without anyone realising, not even you, our poor Doctor. Like furniture that has only a few holes you can see from outside, but inside it’s been eaten through by woodworm and will crumble into pieces if you so much as touch it. That’s how it happened. Truth is, the soul of your young Signora just crumbled to pieces that night on the balcony, and she fell, she just fell. But old Signora De Lellis, her mind is withdrawn, like a snail in its shell. And no-one knows what might be inside.”
“And my Signora – what was in her mind?”
“Everything. She knew everything, and her head was full of fear. You can’t know everything and carry on living.”
“In any case it is not necessary for you to go and see Signora De Lellis again,” my father says conclusively.
Twenty
I went back the following day, as she had asked. The chandelier was trembling but there were no lights on. Someone opened the gate as soon as I rang the bell. I climbed the three steps to the front door. She was there, hardly any distance back from the threshold. I could see the whiteness of her dress from behind the opaque glass panes. Either she had been waiting, I thought, or she was far more agile than she showed herself to be. At the last moment, I hesitated, slightly afraid, and so she opened the door.
“Here is Rebecca – she who snares all men!” she says with a smile.
I do not understand her: the words she is articulating, very clearly, in a loud voice and with perfect rhythm, frighten me as if they had been conjured through some unknown sorcery. Neither am I clear about their meaning.
“Rebecca is a Hebrew name, it comes from the Bible: she was Isaac’s wife, a young and very beautiful woman. It means ‘a woman who is well-liked by men’. That’s what your name says.”
I am at a loss, and suddenly feel hurt at the thought that my name carries my mother’s sorrow.
“Did your mother choose it?” she says, as if she were looking through a window into my feelings.
“I don’t know.” It is true that I know nothing of my own name. Aunt Erminia told me no stories about it. But I think, perhaps Signora De Lellis does know something.
“Hush! All in good time. All in good time. Things are not always as they seem.”
As she spoke, she led the way up the staircase. She moved with ease despite her age, and not even the fact that she certainly was heavier than the pictures on the ground floor showed could stop her walking as if dancing, gliding just above the floor.
“I’m not as old as you think,” she says with amusement, turning to look at me. “You see me as old because you are so young, and also because Maddalena, like everyone in town, calls me ‘the old Signora’. And don’t ask me how I know – the world is full of people who want to know everything, absolutely everything. Wives want to know about their husbands’ cheating. Do they
putto
, she would mix in a totally unmediated way what may be said, what is best left unsaid and what must absolutely not be said, and no-one seemed to find anything inappropriate in her unconventional talk.
“Pick’s Disease,” Maddalena says, reading from a note she has made on a scrap of paper after returning from our visit. “Is it dangerous?”
“Not to others,” my father says, addressing Maddalena’s fears more than her words. “She will get lost if she goes out, won’t be able to find her way, might even forget her own name. There are some who have been found miles and miles away from their homes.”
“The old Signora has something inside her that’s more frightening than what the young Signora had,” Maddalena says. Shelooks at my father, who is waiting to hear the rest. “The young Signora, who is surely sitting next to the Virgin as we speak, she knew everything, saw everything, never missed even one single word, I know that for sure. She was just sad, that’s all: sadness had wormed its way right through her soul without anyone realising, not even you, our poor Doctor. Like furniture that has only a few holes you can see from outside, but inside it’s been eaten through by woodworm and will crumble into pieces if you so much as touch it. That’s how it happened. Truth is, the soul of your young Signora just crumbled to pieces that night on the balcony, and she fell, she just fell. But old Signora De Lellis, her mind is withdrawn, like a snail in its shell. And no-one knows what might be inside.”
“And my Signora – what was in her mind?”
“Everything. She knew everything, and her head was full of fear. You can’t know everything and carry on living.”
“In any case it is not necessary for you to go and see Signora De Lellis again,” my father says conclusively.
Twenty
I went back the following day, as she had asked. The chandelier was trembling but there were no lights on. Someone opened the gate as soon as I rang the bell. I climbed the three steps to the front door. She was there, hardly any distance back from the threshold. I could see the whiteness of her dress from behind the opaque glass panes. Either she had been waiting, I thought, or she was far more agile than she showed herself to be. At the last moment, I hesitated, slightly afraid, and so she opened the door.
“Here is Rebecca – she who snares all men!” she says with a smile.
I do not understand her: the words she is articulating, very clearly, in a loud voice and with perfect rhythm, frighten me as if they had been conjured through some unknown sorcery. Neither am I clear about their meaning.
“Rebecca is a Hebrew name, it comes from the Bible: she was Isaac’s wife, a young and very beautiful woman. It means ‘a woman who is well-liked by men’. That’s what your name says.”
I am at a loss, and suddenly feel hurt at the thought that my name carries my mother’s sorrow.
“Did your mother choose it?” she says, as if she were looking through a window into my feelings.
“I don’t know.” It is true that I know nothing of my own name. Aunt Erminia told me no stories about it. But I think, perhaps Signora De Lellis does know something.
“Hush! All in good time. All in good time. Things are not always as they seem.”
As she spoke, she led the way up the staircase. She moved with ease despite her age, and not even the fact that she certainly was heavier than the pictures on the ground floor showed could stop her walking as if dancing, gliding just above the floor.
“I’m not as old as you think,” she says with amusement, turning to look at me. “You see me as old because you are so young, and also because Maddalena, like everyone in town, calls me ‘the old Signora’. And don’t ask me how I know – the world is full of people who want to know everything, absolutely everything. Wives want to know about their husbands’ cheating. Do they
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