The Story of the Lost Child by Elena Ferrante Page A

about her son’s relationship. She said: You left him, what did you expect. The next day we all went together to the hospital. Dede and Elsa were immediately charmed by Doriana, by her necklaces and bracelets. They paid little attention to either their father or me, they went out to the courtyard to play with her and their grandmother. A new phase has begun, I said to myself, and I cautiously tested the ground with Pietro. Even before the beating his visits to his daughters had decreased, and now I understood why. I asked him about the girl. He talked about her as he knew how to do, with devotion. I asked: Will she come to live with you? He said that it was too soon, he didn’t know, but yes, maybe so. We have to discuss the children, I said. He agreed.
    As soon as possible, I took up this new situation with Adele. She must have thought that I wanted to complain but I explained that I wasn’t unhappy about it, my problem was the children.
    “What do you mean?” she asked, alarmed.
    “Until now I’ve left them with you out of necessity and because I thought that Pietro needed to resettle himself, but now that he has a life of his own things have changed. I, too, have the right to some stability.”
    “And so?”
    “I’ll take a house in Naples and move there with my daughters.”
    We had a violent quarrel. She was very attached to the girls and didn’t trust leaving them to me. She accused me of being too self-absorbed to take care of them properly. She insinuated that setting up house with a stranger—she meant Nino—when you have two female children was a very serious imprudence. Finally she swore that she would never allow her grandchildren to grow up in a disorderly city like Naples.
    We shouted insults. She brought up my mother—her son must have told her about the terrible scene in Florence.
    “When you have to go away who will you leave them with, her?”
    “I’ll leave them with whoever I like.”
    “I don’t want Dede and Elsa to have any contact with people who are out of control.”
    I answered:
    “In all these years I believed that you were the mother figure I’d always felt the need for. I was wrong, my mother is better than you.”

22.
    I subsequently brought up the subject again with Pietro, and it became evident that, despite his protests, he would agree to whatever arrangement allowed him to be with Doriana as much as possible. At that point I went to Naples to talk to Nino; I didn’t want to reduce such a delicate moment to a phone call. I stayed in the apartment on Via Duomo, as I had often done now. I knew that he was still living there, it was his home, and although I always had a sense of temporariness and the dirty sheets annoyed me, I was glad to see him and I went there willingly. When I told him that I was ready to move, with my daughters, he had a real explosion of joy. We celebrated, he promised to find us an apartment as soon as possible, he wanted to take on all the inevitable annoyances.
    I was relieved. After so much running around and traveling and pain and pleasure, it was time to settle down. Now I had some money, I would get some from Pietro for the children’s maintenance, and I was about to sign a favorable contract for a new book. I felt that I was finally an adult, with a growing reputation, in a state in which returning to Naples could be an exciting risk and fruitful for my work. But mainly I wished to live with Nino. How lovely it was to walk with him, meet his friends, talk, come home late. I wanted to find a light-filled house, with a view of the sea. My daughters mustn’t feel the lack of the comforts of Genoa.
    I avoided calling Lila and telling her my decision. I assumed that she would inevitably get mixed up in my affairs and I didn’t want her to. Instead I called Carmen, with whom in the past year I had established a good relationship. To please her I had met Nadia’s brother, Armando, who—I had discovered—was now, besides a doctor, a prominent