Voices In The Evening by Natalia Ginzburg

little,’ said Tommasino ‘You had some long pinafores, all with bows.’
    They were horrible, those pinafores,’ said.
    â€˜They were very pretty,’ said my mother. ‘l embroidered them myself I like embroidery. But I have never learnt
petit point
.’
    â€˜We played together two or three times. at the most,’ I said.
    â€˜And then you lost sight of one another,’ said my mother. ‘lt seems strange, one lives two steps away— it is a nutshell of a village—and yet we never see each other. We don’t see much of anyone any more. Just occasionally the Bottiglias. The brewers' yeast was for them. I don’t use it. I find ! get on better with Angel’s Foam.’
    â€˜What is Angel’s Foam? What a romantic name.’ said my father.
    â€˜Angel’s Foam,’ said Aunt Ottavia, ‘is nothing but brewers’ yeast.’
    She had come into the room and sat down in a corner, and had the books, bound in blue, on her knees.
    â€˜Brewers’ yeast Angel’s Foam? But you are crazy!' said my mother.
    â€˜Were the books we got all right?’ said Tommasino.
    â€˜Ah, then you went together to the "Selecta" as well,’ said my mother. ‘It is a good library, the "Selecta," everything is there, including foreign novels. My sister reads a great deal; I cannot, I haven’t the time; I am too much taken up with the house, and am never still a minute. Then I have-too much to think about, too many worries. I never stay still a minute, and cannot lose myself in a novel. My children are so far away. Do you remember my Giampiero, Tommasino.
    â€˜I remember him,’ said Tommasino. ‘How is he?’
    There he was sitting, with his hands over his knees with a polite subdued air, quite at home.
    â€˜He has got a splendid position,’ said my mother ‘at Caracas in Venezuela. He would have liked to work in the factory here, but he and Guascogna the engineer did not get on together, and so he has gone all that distance away.’
    Guascogna the engineer is Purillo.
    â€˜If your father was still here and poor Vincenzino, it would be different,’ said my mother. ‘Poor Vincenzino, what a sad end!’
    She said, ‘There are so many sad things in life. Why read novels? Is not life a novel?'
    She said, ‘You know that my Teresita has ended up in South Africa? You remember her? She is a mother now. Even down there such a lot happens, I am never at ease; I have worries and things to think about; my head always hurts me, just here on the back of the neck in the brain, I went yesterday to the doctor’s, with Elsa, he thought me quite worn out, and found I had high blood pressure. This new doctor is splendid; he is very careful, and exact, and writes everything down. Today, however, I have felt well all the time, only I have a rasping feeling in the throat, as though I had swallowed some nails—it must be my tonsils.’
    â€˜I have got some penicillin lozenges at home,’ said Tommasino, ‘for throat troubles. I will bring some tomorrow for you if you believe in it.’
    â€˜Ah, penicillin?, said my mother. ‘I am rather allergic to penicillin, to tell you the truth. Perhaps because I know that it is made of mould. They cure people now with mould—that is strange.’
    She said, ‘Why don’t you come to supper tomorrow? Bring those lozenges for me. I will try them; perhaps they will do me good.’
    She said, ‘And Guascogna the engineer, how is he? And Raflaella? And Pepè? He has had a sore throat too, hasn’t he? I mean Pepè? And so they have token him to the sea? I wonder if the sea would do me good, too? But how on I leave the house, to go to the sea? And then we have not got so much money to spend. For high blood pressure now, will the sea be any good?”

    I took the key from its nail and went with Tommasino to the garden gate.
    â€˜Did I behave