Limbo by Melania G. Mazzucco Page A

cannot be proven scientifically. She only believes in facts. And she has already condemned this Lapo without appeal: a daddy’s boy, conceited and full of himself, completely soulless.
    â€œI’m afraid I have to disappoint you,” Lapo parries. “I’m only a fledgling journalist with a lousy temporary contract. The regular’s on maternity leave, God bless her.” “There’s a good chance she won’t come back,” Manuela comments bitterly. “Seventy-five percent of Italian women leave their jobs when they have children.” “Well, clearly I’m not Italian,” Vanessa laughs. She started working only after Alessia was born. She’d never even considered it before. And if it were up to her, she still wouldn’t. Work really gets to her. She’s never lasted more than a year in any job. “I don’t feel very Italian either,” Lapo says, misunderstanding. “Actually, I’m ashamed to be Italian now. If I could, I’d emigrate or defect. Italy has become a country of zombies, thieves, and pimps. Being twenty-five here is like having some incurable degenerative disease.” Manuela realizes he hasn’t understood Vanessa’s allusion.
    The owner helps the Paris sisters mount lazy horses, and then escorts the improbable group of riders to the head of a trail that cuts through woods and along steep tufa cliffs. “It’ll take you half an hour to get to the Lions’ Tombs,” he explains. “They’re well worth seeing if you haven’t already.”
    Stefano the obstetrician spurs his horse and takes the lead. He doesn’t look back at the others, who straggle behind. He acts as if he only came to do his friend a favor. The other three move slowly, cautiously, the Paris sisters clutching the reins, Lapo constantly reining Adam in. He doesn’t want to give Manuela the impression he considers her superfluous. He wants to make conversation, but he doesn’t know what to talk about with someone who has survived a war. He worries that if he doesn’t ask her about it, she’ll think he’s superficial, but if he does, she’ll think he’s invasive. Based on what he’s gleaned from the movies, veterans complain that no one is interested in their exploits, but at the same time, they don’t want to talk about them with civilians. “When I studied sociology in college,” he tosses out, “I read that there are three kinds of female soldiers: the paleomodern, the modern, and the postmodern. The paleomodern’s reasons for enlisting are classic, to serve her country, family tradition, things like that; the modern enlists in order to find a job; the postmodern to test herself. What kind of soldier are you?”
    In a bad mood because she let herself be dragged along on a risky adventure that could compromise her rehab, Manuela responds dismissively that she doesn’t believe in such distinctions. There are good soldiers and bad soldiers, just like in any profession. “And I’m a good soldier.”
    â€œI’ll quote you on that,” Lapo says, refusing to be discouraged. He’s not the kind of guy who gets offended when he’s told he’s made a mistake, or feels pleased when he’s told he’s right. Besides, he doesn’t accept easy labels himself. He always gives the wrong answers in a survey or opinion poll, trying to sabotage the system from within. He’s starting to relax, savoring the pleasurable realization that Vanessa didn’t agree to go out with him because he works in TV. She didn’t seem disappointed to discover he isn’t famous, that he’d only been on air for thirty seconds thanks to his interview with her and the mayor, that he’s still very junior. The truth is, he doesn’t know why she agreed to go out with him, and he starts to worry it was in hopes of finding a boyfriend for her traumatized sister.