scientific research, but scientific subjects are all Greek to me. And so we talk very little. Sometimes, very rarely, we talk about my brother.
Yours affectionately
Giuseppe
AI BERICO TO GIUSEPPE
Rome, 23rd June
Respected father,
As perhaps youâve heard, Iâve given my name to a child. I thought I ought to tell you as my name is also yours. The babyâs mother is Nadia, that girl you saw with me in Florence. She is a very stupid girl, but I like her well enough. I live with her. I like the baby, sheâs very pretty. I want to be her father, not just in name, but in fact as well. I want to give her what I never had, a fatherâs protection. You were never very present in my life. You werenât fnuch of a father. Not that it matters, itâs water under the bridge now. If you come to Rome Iâll introduce you to my baby girl.
Alberico
GIUSEPPE TO ALBERICO
Princeton, 30th June
Respected son,
I had heard about the baby. I think what youâve done is a good thing. The notion of having a baby daughter, whether or not sheâs actually yours, will give you a desire for stability. However, you then have to find ways of turning this desire into a reality. Last month you were twenty-six. You could do with a permanent job, but you havenât got one. You jump from one job to another. Itâs true that you have money, but that will come to an end one day. As you know already, Iâve no money to leave you; you are, as you know, richer than I am. You will have to support the baby.
Perhaps you thought that saying I wasnât much of a father would hurt me. But you havenât hurt me. I know well enough that as a father Iâve given you very little. I hope that you will be a better father than I was.
And so in a sense Iâve become a grandfather. Strange. I feel very young still, but clearly Iâm not. But itâs not entirely true that I feel young. Sometimes I feel that Iâm an old man with an immense past behind me.
If you come to Princeton you can meet Anne Marie. I get on well with her. The memory of my brother, who loved her, is a bond between us. We donât talk much. We donât spend much time together. She has started her work at the Institute - which she had given up temporarily - again. I stay in my room and write. However, we go for walks together sometimes, or we sit in the drawing-room, she knits and I sit and watch her and every now and then say something to her. I think sheâs very intelligent, but I canât appreciate anything of her intelligence because we have nothing in common and the things that interest her donât interest me at all. It doesnât matter, we keep each other company anyway.
Anne Marie has a daughter who lives in Philadelphia and who is called Chantal. Two months ago Chantal had a baby girl. We went to see her a few weeks ago. Chantal isnât happy with her husband. I think their marriage is on the point of breaking up. The baby is very pretty. And so there are these baby girls in our lives now.
With love from
your father
EGISTO TO GIUSEPPE
Rome, 1st July
Dear Giuseppe,
I have never written to you and I feel very guilty about this. Your brother died and I neither wrote to you nor phoned. I could have phoned you from the newspaper without spending a single lira, but I didnât do it. Sad things that happen to other people make me feel diffident.
Iâll tell you about your son, whom I see virtually every day. We usually meet on the stairs with the rubbish bags. Sometimes he is carrying the baby. He is a loving father to that child. He often takes her to the park in her pram. Itâs a very splendid pram. They have borrowed it. They keep it at the bottom of the stairs. Sometimes your sonâs friend Salvatore goes to the park with the pram. He wears a red sweatshirt and has a big black moustache. They both seem very sweet with the baby, and I like this side of them. The babyâs mother, Nadia,
Yours affectionately
Giuseppe
AI BERICO TO GIUSEPPE
Rome, 23rd June
Respected father,
As perhaps youâve heard, Iâve given my name to a child. I thought I ought to tell you as my name is also yours. The babyâs mother is Nadia, that girl you saw with me in Florence. She is a very stupid girl, but I like her well enough. I live with her. I like the baby, sheâs very pretty. I want to be her father, not just in name, but in fact as well. I want to give her what I never had, a fatherâs protection. You were never very present in my life. You werenât fnuch of a father. Not that it matters, itâs water under the bridge now. If you come to Rome Iâll introduce you to my baby girl.
Alberico
GIUSEPPE TO ALBERICO
Princeton, 30th June
Respected son,
I had heard about the baby. I think what youâve done is a good thing. The notion of having a baby daughter, whether or not sheâs actually yours, will give you a desire for stability. However, you then have to find ways of turning this desire into a reality. Last month you were twenty-six. You could do with a permanent job, but you havenât got one. You jump from one job to another. Itâs true that you have money, but that will come to an end one day. As you know already, Iâve no money to leave you; you are, as you know, richer than I am. You will have to support the baby.
Perhaps you thought that saying I wasnât much of a father would hurt me. But you havenât hurt me. I know well enough that as a father Iâve given you very little. I hope that you will be a better father than I was.
And so in a sense Iâve become a grandfather. Strange. I feel very young still, but clearly Iâm not. But itâs not entirely true that I feel young. Sometimes I feel that Iâm an old man with an immense past behind me.
If you come to Princeton you can meet Anne Marie. I get on well with her. The memory of my brother, who loved her, is a bond between us. We donât talk much. We donât spend much time together. She has started her work at the Institute - which she had given up temporarily - again. I stay in my room and write. However, we go for walks together sometimes, or we sit in the drawing-room, she knits and I sit and watch her and every now and then say something to her. I think sheâs very intelligent, but I canât appreciate anything of her intelligence because we have nothing in common and the things that interest her donât interest me at all. It doesnât matter, we keep each other company anyway.
Anne Marie has a daughter who lives in Philadelphia and who is called Chantal. Two months ago Chantal had a baby girl. We went to see her a few weeks ago. Chantal isnât happy with her husband. I think their marriage is on the point of breaking up. The baby is very pretty. And so there are these baby girls in our lives now.
With love from
your father
EGISTO TO GIUSEPPE
Rome, 1st July
Dear Giuseppe,
I have never written to you and I feel very guilty about this. Your brother died and I neither wrote to you nor phoned. I could have phoned you from the newspaper without spending a single lira, but I didnât do it. Sad things that happen to other people make me feel diffident.
Iâll tell you about your son, whom I see virtually every day. We usually meet on the stairs with the rubbish bags. Sometimes he is carrying the baby. He is a loving father to that child. He often takes her to the park in her pram. Itâs a very splendid pram. They have borrowed it. They keep it at the bottom of the stairs. Sometimes your sonâs friend Salvatore goes to the park with the pram. He wears a red sweatshirt and has a big black moustache. They both seem very sweet with the baby, and I like this side of them. The babyâs mother, Nadia,
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