Zeno's Conscience Part 13

Meanwhile the same desire to intensify my life, which had brought me to Carla, would have led me at once back to Augusta, who was the only one with whom I could have talked about my love for her. The wine taken as antidote was already too much, or else more wine was needed. But that day my rapport with Carla was to become sweeter, finally to be crowned by that fondness which-as I learned later the poor young girl deserved. She had volunteered several times to sing me a song, eager to have my opinion. But I wanted nothing to do with her singing, which no longer interested me, not even in its naivete. I told her that since she refused to study, it wasn't worth her singing anymore.

My offense was serious, and it made her suffer. Seated beside me, to keep me from seeing her tears, she looked motionless at her hands, folded in her lap. She repeated her reproach.

"How rough you must be with someone you don't love, if you are like this with me!"

Good devil that I am, I let myself be touched by those tears, and I begged Carla to split my ears with her big voice in the little room. Now she turned reluctant, and I had to threaten to leave if she didn't oblige me. I have to admit that for an instant I thought Ihad found a pretext to regain my freedom, at least temporarily, but at that threat, my humble servant, her eyes lowered, went and sat at the piano. She then devoted a very brief moment to collecting her thoughts and ran her hand over her face as if to dispel every cloud. She succeeded with a prompt.i.tude that surprised me, and her face, when that hand revealed it, bore no sign of her earlier sorrow.

I immediately had a great surprise. Carla told her song, narrated it; she didn't shout it. The shouting-as she then told me-had been forced on her by her teacher; now she had dismissed it, along with him. The Triestine song she sang, Fazzo l'amor xe vero Cossa ghe xe de mal Voie che a sedes'ani Stio la come un cocal...

is a kind of story or confession. Carla's eyes shone slyly and confessed even more than the words. There was no fear of shattered eardrums, and I went over to her, surprised and enchanted. I sat beside her and she then retold the song directly to me, half-closing her eyes to say, in the lightest and purest tone, that the sixteen-year-old wanted freedom and love.

For the first time I saw Carla's little face exactly: the purest oval marked by the deep, curved hollow of the eyes and the delicate cheekbones, made even purer by a snowy whiteness, now that she kept her face turned toward me and to the light, therefore not obscured by any shadow. And those soft lines in that flesh, which seemed transparent yet concealed the blood so well and the veins, perhaps too weak to appear, demanded devotion and protection.

Now I was ready to give her much devotion and protection, unconditionally, even at the moment when I would be so prepared to go back to Augusta, because Carla at that moment asked nothing but a paternal fondness that I could grant without betrayal. What satisfaction! I remained there with Carla, I gave her what her little oval face asked for, and yet I wasn't moving away from Augusta! My fondness for Carla became more delicate. After that, if I felt the need of honesty and purity, I no longer had to abandon her; I could stay with her and change the subject.

Was this new sweetness due to her little oval face, which I had then discovered, or to her musical talent? Undeniably, to the talent! The strange little Triestine song ends with a strophe in which the same young girl a.s.serts that she is old and decrepit and that by now she needs no freedom except to die. Carla continued slyly to infuse gaiety into the poor verses. It was still youth feigning age, the better to proclaim its rights from that new point of view.

When she finished and found me filled with admiration, she, too, for the first time, while loving me, was also sincerely fond of me. She knew the little song would please me more than what her maestro taught her.

"Too bad," she added sadly, "that unless you want to sing in cafes chantants, there's no way you can earn a living from it."

I easily convinced her this wasn't how things stood. In this world there were many great artists who spoke their music and didn't sing.

She made me give her some names. She was overjoyed to learn how important her art might become.

"I know," she added naively, "that this kind of singing is much harder than the other kind, where you just have to yell at the top of your lungs."

I smiled and didn't argue. Her art was also difficult, surely, and she knew it because that was the only art she knew. That little song had cost her long hours of study. She had said it over and over, correcting the intonation of every word, every note. Now she was studying another, but she wouldn't have it mastered for a few more weeks. Until then she wouldn't let me hear it.

Delicious moments followed in that room where, previously, only scenes of brutality had taken place. Now a career was opening before Carla. The career that would free me from her. Very similar to the one Copier had dreamed of for her! I suggested I find her a maestro. At first the word frightened her, but then she let herself be convinced easily when I told her she could give it a try, remaining free to dismiss him when he seemed tiresome to her, or of little use.

With Augusta, too, I felt that day went very well. My spirit was calm, as if I had returned from a stroll and not from Carla's house, or as Copier's spirit must have been when he left that house on days when the women had given him no cause to become angry. I relished it as if I had come upon an oasis. For me and for my health, it would have been very grave if all my long affair with Carla had proceeded in eternal agitation. From that day on, as a result of this esthetic beauty, things progressed more calmly, with the slight interruptions necessary to rekindle my love for Carla and my love for Augusta. True, my every visit to Carla meant an infidelity to Augusta, but all was soon forgotten in a bath of health and of good intentions. And the good intention was not brutal and exciting as it had been when in my throat I had the desire to tell Carla I would never see her again. I was sweet and paternal: here, too, I was thinking of her career. Abandoning a woman every day only to come running after her the next day was an exertion that my poor heart would have been unable to withstand. So, on the contrary, Carla remained always in my power, and I turned her first in one direction, then in another.

For a long time the good intentions were not strong enough to make me rush around the city seeking the teacher who would be right for Carla. I toyed with the good intention, while remaining seated. Then one fine day Augusta confided in me that she felt she was to be a mother, and then my intention for a moment grew gigantic and Carla had her maestro.

I had hesitated so long because it was obvious that even without a teacher, Carla had been able to set to work seriously in her new art. Every week she learned a different song to sing for me, its words and its tone both carefully a.n.a.lyzed. Certain notes needed a bit more polish, but perhaps in the end they would be smoothed out. For me, a decisive proof that Carla was a true artist was the 'way she constantly perfected her songs, never renouncing the best features, which she had grasped at the very start. I often persuaded her to repeat her first song, and every time I found some new and effective accent had been added. Given her ignorance, it was marvelous that in her great effort to develop a strong expressiveness, she had never thought to cram false or exaggerated sounds into the song. Like a true artist, she added every day a pebble to her little edifice, and all the rest remained intact. The song was not stereotyped, but rather the sentiment that dictated it. Before singing, Carla always ran her hand over her face, and behind that hand there was a moment of thought, enough to immerse her in the little playlet she had to construct. A play that was not always puerile. The ironic mentor of Rosina te xe nata in un casoto threatened, but not too seriously. The singer seemed to suggest she knew this was an everyday story. Carla thought differently, but in the end she achieved the same result.

"I'm on Rosina's side, because otherwise the song wouldn't be worth singing," she said.

Sometimes Carla might unconsciously rekindle my love for Augusta, and my remorse. In fact, this occurred every time she ventured an offensive movement against the position so firmly occupied by my wife. Carla still harbored the desire to have me all to herself for a whole night; she confessed to me that since we had never slept side by side, it seemed to her we were not close. Wis.h.i.+ng to acquire the habit of being sweeter to her, I didn't squarely refuse to content her, but almost always I thought it wouldn't be possible to do such a thing unless I was resigned to finding Augusta in the morning at a window, where she had waited for me the whole night. And anyway, wouldn't this be an added betrayal of my wife? At times, namely when I was rus.h.i.+ng to Carla, filled with desire, I felt inclined to grant her wish, but immediately afterwards I saw how impossible and unsuitable it was. But in this way for a long time neither the prospect of the thing nor its achievement could be eliminated. Apparently we agreed: sooner or later we would spend a whole night together. Meanwhile it had become possible because I had induced the Gerco women to evict those tenants who separated their house into two parts, and Carla finally had her own bedroom.

Now it happened that shortly after Guido's wedding, my father-in-law was seized by the attack that was to kill him, and I unwisely told Carla that my wife had to spend a night at her father's bedside to allow my mother-in-law some rest. Carla insisted I spend with her that same night, so painful for my wife. I lacked the courage to rebel against this whim, and I resigned myself to it with a heavy heart.

I prepared for that sacrifice. I didn't go to Carla in the morning, and so I hurried to her in the evening with total desire, telling myself also that it was childish to believe I was betraying Augusta more gravely because I was doing it at a moment when she was suffering for other reasons. Therefore I managed even to become impatient when poor Augusta detained me, showing me how I should arrange the things I might need for supper, for the night, and also for my coffee the next morning.

Carla received me in the studio. A little later her mother, who was also her servant, served us a delicious little supper, to which I added the pastries I had brought with me. The old woman then returned to clear away and, to tell the truth, I would have liked to go to bed at once, but it was really still too early, and Carla persuaded me to wait and to hear her sing. She went through her entire repertoire, and that was surely the best part of those hours, because the eagerness with which I awaited my mistress served to increase the pleasure Carla's little songs had always given me.

"An audience would smother you with flowers and applause," I told her at a certain moment, forgetting that it would be impossible to put an entire audience in the state I was in.

Finally we lay down in the same bed in a little room, completely bare. It looked like a pa.s.sage cut off by a part.i.tion. I still wasn't sleepy, and I was desperate at the thought that if I had been, I wouldn't have been able to sleep with so little air at my disposal.

Carla was called by her mother's shy voice. To answer, she went to the door and opened it a crack. I heard her angrily ask the old woman what she wanted. Shyly, the mother spoke some words whose meaning I couldn't grasp, and then Carla yelled before slamming the door in her mother's face: "Leave me alone! I told you before: tonight I'm sleeping in here!"

Thus I learned that Carla, tormented at night by fear, continued to sleep in her old bedroom with her mother, where she had a separate bed, while the one in which we were to sleep together remained empty. It was certainly out of fear that she had led me to behave so shamefully to Augusta. With a sly gaiety, which I didn't share, she confessed she felt safer with me than with her mother. I began to think a bit about this bed in such proximity to the solitary studio. I had never seen it before. I was jealous! A little later I was scornful also of the att.i.tude Carla had a.s.sumed toward that poor mother of hers. She was made a bit differently from Augusta, who had renounced my company in order to help her parents. I am especially sensitive to lack of respect toward parents, I who bore my poor father's caprices with such resignation.

Carla couldn't be aware of my jealousy or of my scorn. I repressed the manifestations of jealousy, remembering how I had no right to be jealous, as I spent a good part of my days wis.h.i.+ng that someone would relieve me of my mistress. Nor was there any purpose in displaying my scorn to the poor girl when I was already entertaining once more the wish to abandon her for good, though my scorn was now increased for the same reasons that a bit earlier would have provoked my jealousy. What I needed was to get away as soon as possible from that little room, containing no more than a cubic meter of air, which was also very hot.

I don't even remember clearly the excuse I invented to get away immediately. Breathless, I started getting dressed. I mentioned a key I had forgotten to give my wife, making it impossible for her to reenter our house, if she had to. I displayed the key, which was simply the one I always kept in my pocket, now offered as tangible evidence of the truth of my a.s.sertions. Carla didn't even try to stop me; she dressed and accompanied me downstairs, to light my way. In the darkness of the steps, she seemed to be studying me with an inquisitorial glance, which upset me. Was she beginning to understand me? It wasn't all that easy, seeing that I knew too well how to simulate. To thank her for allowing me to go, I continued applying my lips now and then to her cheeks, and I simulated being pervaded still by the same enthusiasm that had brought me to her. I then had no cause to doubt the success of my simulation. Shortly before, inspired by love, Carla had told me that the ugly name of Zeno, foisted on me by my parents, was certainly not what my appearance would lead anyone to imagine. She wanted me to be called Dario, and there, in the darkness, she said good-bye to me, calling me by that name. Then she noticed that the weather was threatening, and she offered to go and fetch me an umbrella. But I absolutely couldn't bear any more of her, and I ran off, still grasping that key, in whose authenticity I myself was beginning to believe.

The profound darkness of the night was broken every so often by dazzling flashes. The muttering thunder seemed very distant. The air was still calm and stifling as it had been in Carla's little room. Even the rare drops that fell were tepid. The sky, obviously, held a threat and I began running. In Corsia Stadion I was lucky to come upon a doorway still open and lighted, where I found refuge just in time! A moment later the cloudburst hit the street. The downpour was marked by a furious wind that seemed to bring with it also the thunder that, all of a sudden, was very very close. I started! It would have been truly compromising if I were killed by lightning, at this hour, in Corsia Stadion! Thank heaven my wife also knew that a man of eccentric tastes could run this far at night, and so there is always an excuse for everything.

I had to remain in that doorway for over an hour. It seemed constantly that the weather wanted to let up, but it would then promptly resume its fury in another form. Now it was hailing.

To keep me company, the building's concierge had come out, and I had to give him a few coins so he would postpone closing the great door. Then into the doorway came a gentleman dressed in white and dripping water. He was old, thin, bony. I never saw him again, but I cannot forget him thanks to the light in his black eyes and the energy that emanated from his whole person. He was cursing at having suffered such a soaking.

I have always enjoyed talking with people I don't know. With them I feel healthy and secure. It's actually restful. I have to be careful not to limp, and I'm safe.

When the weather finally let up, I went at once not to my house, but to my father-in-law's. At that moment I felt I had to report in at once and boast of being present.

My father-in-law had fallen asleep, and Augusta, a.s.sisted by a nun, could join me. She said I had done the right thing in coming, and she threw herself, weeping, into my arms. She had witnessed her father's horrible suffering.

She noticed how wet I was. She settled me in an easy chair and covered me with some blankets. Then she could stay with me for a while. I was very tired, and even in the short time she could spend at my side, I had to fight off sleep. I felt very innocent because, to begin with, I hadn't betrayed her by staying away from our conjugal domicile for a whole night. This innocence was so beautiful that I was tempted to enhance it. I began by uttering some words resembling a confession. I told her I felt weak and guilty, and, as she then looked at me, asking an explanation, I immediately drew my head back into my sh.e.l.l and, plunging into philosophy, I told her that I felt a sense of guilt at my every thought, my every breath.

"That's how monks and nuns think, too," Augusta said. "Who knows? Maybe we're punished like that for sins we're ignorant of!"

She spoke other words suited to accompany her tears, which continued to flow. It seemed to me she hadn't clearly understood the difference that lay between my thinking and that of those religious, but I didn't want to argue, and at the monotonous sound of the wind, which had risen again, and with the serenity given me also by my impulse toward confession, I sank into a long, restorative sleep.

When it came to the singing teacher, all was resolved in a few hours. I had long since chosen one, and to tell the truth, I had settled on his name first of all because he was the cheapest maestro in Trieste. In order not to compromise me, it was Carla herself who went to talk with him. I never saw him, but I must say that I now know a great deal about him and he is one of the people I most respect in this world. He must be a healthy simpleton, a rare thing for an artist who lived by his art, as did this Vittorio Lali. An enviable man, in other words, because he was talented and also healthy.

Meanwhile I sensed at once that Carla's voice had softened, becoming more flexible and secure. We had been afraid the maestro would impose some strain on her, as the man chosen by Copier had done. Perhaps this one adapted himself to Carla's wishes, but the fact is that he stuck to the genre she preferred. Only many months later did she realize that she had progressed from it slightly, becoming more refined. She no longer sang the little Triestine songs and then not even the Neapolitan one, but had moved on to old Italian songs and to Mozart and Schubert. I remember in particular a lullaby attributed to Mozart, and on days when I feel best the sadness of life and regret the unripe girl who was mine and whom I didn't love, the lullaby echoes in my ear like a reproach. Then I see Carla again, costumed as a mother who produces from her bosom the sweetest sounds to coax her baby to sleep. And yet she, who had been an unforgettable lover, couldn't be a good mother, any more than she had been a good daughter. But obviously the ability to sing like a mother is a talent that surpa.s.ses all others.

From Carla I learned her teacher's history. He had studied for a few years at the Conservatory in Vienna and had then come to Trieste, where he had the good fortune to work for our leading composer, who had gone blind. He wrote down the man's compositions at his dictation, but he also enjoyed the composer's trust, which the blind must grant totally. Thus he knew the man's intentions, his most mature convictions as well as his dreams, which remained always youthful. Soon the youth had absorbed into his spirit all music, including the music Carla needed. His appearance was also described to me: young, blond, fairly st.u.r.dy, carelessly dressed, a soft s.h.i.+rt not always freshly laundered, a cravat that must have been black, loose, and full, a slouch hat with exaggerated brim. A man of few words-according to what Carla told me, and I must believe her because a few months later he became talkative with her-as she informed me immediately-and completely intent on the task he had undertaken.

Soon my day suffered some complications. In the morning I brought to Carla's not only love but also a bitter jealousy, which became much less bitter in the course of the day. It seemed impossible to me that this youth did not take advantage of this fine, easy prey. Carla seemed amazed that I could think such a thing, but I was just as amazed to see her amazement. Had she forgotten how things had gone between me and her?

One day I came to her in a jealous rage and, frightened, she declared herself ready to discharge the maestro immediately. I don't believe her fright was produced only by the fear of seeing herself deprived of my support, because at that time I received from her demonstrations of affection beyond any possible doubt, which at times made me blissful, whereas, when I found myself in a different mood, they annoyed me, seeming acts hostile toward Augusta, in which, no matter how much it cost me, I was constrained to concur. Her offer embarra.s.sed me. Whether I was in the moment of love or the moment of repentance, I was unwilling to accept a sacrifice from her. There had to be some communication between my two humors, and I didn't want to reduce my already scant freedom to pa.s.s from one to the other. Therefore I couldn't accept such a proposal, which instead made me all the more cautious, so that even when I was exasperated by jealousy, I could conceal it. My love became more wrathful, and in the end, when I desired her and even when I didn't desire her in the least, Carla seemed to me an inferior being. So she was unfaithful to me? I cared nothing about her. When I didn't hate her, I forgot her existence. I belonged to the atmosphere of health and honesty, the realm of Augusta, to whom I returned immediately in body and soul the moment Carla left me free.

Given Carla's absolute sincerity, I know exactly the extent of the long period in which she was completely mine, and my recurrent jealousy then cannot be considered anything but a manifestation of a recondite sense of justice. I should certainly be punished as I deserved. First the maestro fell in love. I believe the first symptom of his love consisted of certain words Carla repeated to me with a triumphant air, believing they marked her first great artistic success for which she merited a word of praise from me. He apparently told her that, if she was unable to pay him, he would continue her lessons for nothing. I would have given her a slap, but then the moment came when I could claim to be able to rejoice in that real triumph of hers. She forgot the cramp that at first had seized my whole face, like someone who sinks his teeth into a lemon, and she accepted serenely my belated praise. He had told her everything about himself, which didn't amount to much: music, poverty, and family. His sister had caused him many troubles, and he had managed to transmit to Carla a great dislike for that woman she didn't know. That dislike seemed very compromising to me. They now sang together some of his songs, which seemed poor stuff to me, both when I loved Carla and when I felt her like a chain. It is quite possible they were good, even though I never heard any mention of them afterwards. Later he conducted some orchestras in the United States, and perhaps over there those songs are sung, too.

But one fine day she told me he had asked her to become his wife and she had refused. Then I spent two really bad quarter-hours: the first when I felt so overwhelmed with wrath that I would have liked to wait for the maestro and throw him out with a sound kicking, and the second when I couldn't find the way of reconciling the possibility of continuing my liaison with that marriage, which was, after all, a good and moral thing and a much more reliable simplification of my position than the career Carla imagined launching under my patronage.

Why had this wretched maestro got so overheated, and in such a short time? Now, after a year's a.s.sociation, everything between me and Carla was smoother, even my frown when I left her. My remorse by now was quite bearable, and though Carla was still right to call me rough in love, it seemed she had become used to it. That must have been fairly easy for her, because I was never again as brutal as I had been in the first days of our affair, and, having tolerated that first excess, she must have found what followed quite mild in comparison.

Therefore, even when Carla no longer mattered so much to me, it was always easy for me to foresee that I would be displeased if I went to call on my mistress the next day and did not find her. Of course, it would then have been beautiful to be able to return to Augusta without the usual intermezzo at Carla's, and for the moment I felt entirely capable of that; but first I would have liked to try it out. My intention at that moment must have been more or less the following: "Tomorrow I will ask her to accept the maestro's proposal, but today I will prevent her." And with great effort I continued behaving like a lover. Now, as I speak of it, having recorded all the phases of my adventure, it might seem I was trying to make someone else marry my mistress and yet keep her on as mine, which would have been the policy of a man more shrewd than I and more balanced, though just as corrupt. But it's not true: she was to marry the maestro, but she was to reach that decision only the following day. And so it was not until then that this state of mine ended, which I stubbornly insist on calling innocence. It was no longer possible to adore Carla for a brief period of the day and then hate her for twenty-four consecutive hours, to rise every morning as ignorant as a newborn babe and to live through the day, so similar to the preceding ones, to be surprised by the adventures it brought, which I should have known by heart. This was no longer possible. Before me lay the prospect of losing my mistress forever if I weren't able to master my desire to rid myself of her. I mastered it at once!

And consequently, on that day, when she no longer mattered to me, I made Carla a jealous lover's scene that, in its falsity and its fury, resembled the one that, overwhelmed by wine, I had made to Augusta that night in the carriage. Only now the wine was lacking, and in the end I was truly moved by the sound of my own words. I declared to her that I loved her, that I couldn't go on without her, that I seemed to be demanding of her the sacrifice of her life, since I could offer her nothing that could equal what she was being offered by Lali.

This was actually a new note in our relations.h.i.+p, which had had nevertheless many hours of great love. She listened to my words, basking in them; much later she set about convincing me I shouldn't be so upset just because Lali was in love. She wasn't giving it a thought!

I thanked her, with the same fervor that now, however, no longer succeeded in moving me. I felt a certain heaviness in my stomach: obviously I was more compromised than ever. My show of fervor, instead of diminis.h.i.+ng, increased, only to allow me to say a few words of admiration for poor Lali. I didn't want to lose him at all, I wanted to save him, but for the next day.

When it came to deciding whether to keep or dismiss the maestro, we were immediately in agreement. I wouldn't want to deprive her not only of a teacher but also of a career. She also confessed that the teacher was important for her, at every lesson she had the proof of the necessity of his help. She a.s.sured me I could go on living calmly and confidently: she loved me and no one else.

Obviously my betrayal had broadened and deepened. I had attached myself to my mistress by a new tenderness that bound with new bonds and invaded a territory until then reserved exclusively for my legitimate affection. But when I returned to my house, that tenderness no longer existed and, increased, was lavished on Augusta. Toward Carla I felt nothing but a deep distrust. Who knows how much truth there was in that marriage proposal? I wouldn't have been surprised if one fine day, without marrying that other man, Carla were to present me with a child endowed with great musical talent. And the ironclad resolutions began again, accompanying me on the way to Carla's, only to abandon me when I was with her, resuming then even before I had left her. All without consequences of any kind.

And there were no other consequences from these new developments. Summer went by and carried off my father-in-law. I then had a great deal to do in Guido's new firm, where I worked more than I had anywhere else, including the various university departments. I will tell more about this activity later. Winter also went by, and then in my little garden the first green leaves opened and they never saw me as dejected as those of the year before had. My daughter Antonia was born. Carla's teacher was always at our disposal, but Carla wouldn't give him any consideration and neither would I, yet.

Still there were serious consequences in my relations with Carla through events that really might not have been thought important. They occurred almost unnoticed, and were distinguished only by the consequences they left behind.

Specifically, at the beginning of that spring, I had to agree to go strolling with Carla in the Public Garden. It seemed to me gravely compromising, but Carla had such a desire to stroll in the sun on my arm that in the end I contented her. We were never to be allowed to live even for brief moments as husband and wife, and this attempt also came to a bad end.

The better to enjoy the new warmth that suddenly arrived from the heavens, where it seemed the sun had only recently regained its dominion, we sat down on a bench. The garden, on weekday mornings, was deserted, and I thought that by remaining in one place, the risk of being observed was further lessened. On the contrary, his armpit leaning heavily on a crutch, with slow but enormous steps, Tullio was approaching us, the man with the five hundred and four muscles; and without looking at us, he sat down right at our side. Then he raised his head, his gaze met mine, and he greeted me.

"After all this time! How are you? Are you less busy finally?"

He had sat just next to me, and in my first surprise I moved so as to block his view of Carla. But, after shaking my hand, he asked me: "And is this your lady wife?"

He was expecting to be introduced.

I submitted. "Signorina Carla Gerco, a friend of my wife's."

Then I continued lying, and I know, from Tullio himself, that the second lie was enough to reveal everything to him. With a forced smile, I said: "The Signorina also sat down beside me on this bench without seeing me."

The liar should always bear in mind that, if he would be believed, he must tell only essential lies. With his working-cla.s.s common sense, the next time we met, Tullio said to me: "You explained too much, and I guessed you were lying and the beautiful young lady was your mistress."

By then I had already lost Carla, and with great pleasure I confirmed that he was right on the mark, but I told him sadly that by now she had abandoned me. He didn't believe me, and I was grateful to him for that. His incredulity seemed a good sign.

Carla was seized by an ill humor such as I had never remarked in her before. I know now that her rebellion began at this point. I wasn't aware of it immediately because, in order to hear Tullio, who had begun telling me about his sickness and the treatments he was trying, I turned my back on her. Later I learned that a woman, even one who allows herself to be treated with less courtesy, will never accept being denied in public, except at certain moments. She directed her outrage more toward the poor cripple than toward me, and wouldn't reply when he addressed her. Nor was I listening to Tullio; for the moment I couldn't take an interest in his cures. I was looking into his little eyes to divine what he was thinking of this encounter. I knew that by now he was pensioned off and, having the entire day free, he could easily spread his gossip through all the social world of our little Trieste of that time.

Then, after long meditation, Carla rose to leave us. "Goodbye," she murmured, and she went off.

I knew she was cross with me and, still taking Tullio's presence into account, I tried to gain the time necessary to pacify her. I asked permission to accompany her, since I had to go in her direction. Her sharp farewell implied definitive abandonment, and for the first time I seriously feared it. The stern threat robbed me of breath.

But Carla herself still didn't know where she was going with her firm steps. She was releasing the irritation of the moment, which in a little while would leave her.

She waited for me and then walked along beside me without a word. When we reached her home, she was overcome by a fit of weeping that didn't frighten me because it led her to take refuge in my arms. I explained to her who Tullio was and how much harm he could do me, thanks to his tongue. Seeing that she continued weeping, but remained in my arms, I ventured a firmer tone: Did she really want to compromise me? Hadn't we always said we would do everything to avoid causing grief for that poor woman who was, after all, my wife and the mother of my daughter?

It seemed that Carla was coming round, but she wanted to be left alone, to regain her calm. I hurried away, overjoyed.

It must have been this adventure that gave her the constant wish to appear in public as my wife. It seemed that, not wanting to marry the maestro, she meant to force me to occupy a larger part of the role she denied him. She nagged me for a long time to take two seats at a theater, which we would occupy, arriving from separate directions, to find ourselves neighbors as if by chance. With her I went only-but often-to the Public Garden, that milestone of my misdeeds, where I now arrived from the opposite direction. Beyond that, never! Therefore my mistress ended up resembling me too much. For no other reason, at any moment she would become angry with me, in sudden outbursts of wrath. Soon she would recover, but they were enough to make me ever so good and meek. Often I found her dissolved in tears, and I could never succeed in extracting an explanation of her sadness from her. Perhaps the fault was mine because I didn't insist enough. When I knew her better, that is when she abandoned me, I needed no further explanations. Pressed by hards.h.i.+p, she had plunged into that affair with me, not really the right man for her. In my arms she had become a woman and-I like to suppose-an honest woman. Naturally this should not be attributed to any merit of mine, especially since the ensuing harm was all mine.

A new whim seized her, which surprised me at first, then, immediately afterwards, touched me: she wanted to see my wife. She swore not to approach her and to take care not to not be seen herself. I promised her that when I learned my wife was going out somewhere at a specific time, I would let her know. She was to see my wife not near my house, a deserted area where an individual is too readily noticed, but on some crowded city street.

At about that time my mother-in-law was afflicted with an eye ailment, which required her eyes to be bandaged for several days. She was bored to death, and to persuade her to observe the treatment strictly, her daughters took turns watching over her: my wife in the morning, and Ada until precisely four o'clock in the afternoon. With prompt decision, I told Carla that my wife left my mother-in-law's house precisely at four. Even now I don't know why I misrepresented Ada to Carla as my wife. What's certain is that after the marriage proposal made to her by the teacher, I felt a need to bind my mistress to me further, and I may have thought that the more beautiful she found my wife, the more she would appreciate the man who sacrificed (so to speak) such a woman to her. Augusta, at this time, was no more than a fine, healthy wet nurse. Caution may also have played a part in my decision. I certainly had reason to fear the moods of my mistress, and it would be of no importance if she were to let herself be swept into some rash act with Ada, who had indicated to me that she would never try to denigrate me to my wife.

If Carla were to compromise me with Ada, I would tell Ada the whole truth and, I must say, with a certain satisfaction.

But my tactic produced a truly unpredictable result. Impelled by some anxiety, the next morning I went to Carla earlier than usual. I found her completely changed from the day before. A great seriousness dominated the fine oval of her little face. I wanted to kiss her, but she repelled me, then let her cheeks be brushed by my lips, only to induce me to listen to her obediently. I sat facing her on the other side of the table. Without excessive haste, she picked up a piece of paper she had been writing on when I arrived, and placed it among some music lying on the table. I paid no attention to that paper and only later did I learn it was a letter she was writing to Lali.

And yet I know now that even at that moment Carla's spirit was torn by doubts. Her serious eyes rested on me, inquiring; then she turned to the light at the window, the better to isolate herself and study her own mind. Who knows? If I had immediately sensed more clearly the struggle within her, I might have been able to retain my delightful mistress.

She told me of her encounter with Ada. She had waited outside my mother-in-law's house and, when she saw the woman arrive, she recognized her at once.

"There could be no mistake. You had described her most important features to me. Oh! You know her well!"

She was silent for a moment to overcome the emotion that was choking her. Then she went on: "I don't know what there has been between the two of you, but I never want to betray that woman again, so beautiful and so sad! And I am writing to the maestro today to tell him I am ready to marry him!"

"Sad!" I cried, surprised. "You're mistaken, or else she was suffering just then because her shoe was too tight."

Ada, sad! Why, she was always laughing and smiling, even that very morning when I had seen her for an instant at my house.

But Carla was better informed than I: "Tight shoe! She walked like a G.o.ddess, stepping among the clouds!"

More and more moved, she told me that she had managed to receive a word-oh! how sweet-spoken to her by Ada, who dropped her handkerchief, which Carla picked up and handed to her. Her brief word of thanks moved Carla to tears. Then there was more between the two women. Carla insisted that Ada had also noticed she was crying and had moved off with a heartbroken glance of solidarity. For Carla, all was clear: my wife knew I was unfaithful to her and was suffering! Hence the resolve never to see me again and to marry Lali.

I didn't know how to defend myself! It was easy for me to speak with complete dislike of Ada but not of my wife, the healthy wet nurse who hadn't the slightest idea of what was going on in my spirit, completely intent as she was on her own ministry. I asked Carla if she hadn't noticed the hardness in Ada's eyes, and if she hadn't noticed the low, rough voice, lacking any sweetness. To regain Carla's love at once, I would gladly have attributed to my wife many other flaws, but I couldn't because, for about a year, with my mistress I had done nothing but praise my wife to the skies.

I saved myself in a different way. I, too, was overcome by a great emotion that brought tears to my eyes. It seemed to me I could legitimately pity myself. Involuntarily, I had enmeshed myself in a tangle where I felt terribly unhappy. That confusion between Ada and Augusta was unbearable. The truth was that my wife was not so beautiful and that Ada (for whom Carla was seized by such compa.s.sion) had done me a great wrong. Therefore Carla was really unfair in judging me.

My tears made Carla more tender: "Dario, dearest! Your tears make me feel so much better! There must have been some misunderstanding between you two, and the important thing now is to clear it up. I don't want to judge you too harshly, but I will never betray that woman again, nor do I want to be the cause of her tears. I've made a vow!"

Despite the vow, she ended up betraying Augusta for a last time. She wanted to part from me forever with a last kiss, but I would grant that kiss only in one form, otherwise I would have gone off filled with bitterness. So she resigned herself. We murmured both together: "For the last time!"

It was a delightful moment. The resolution made by both of us had an efficacy that canceled all guilt. We were innocent and blissful! My benevolent fate had reserved for me an instant of perfect happiness.

I felt so happy that I continued the playacting until the moment of our separation. We would never see each other again. She refused the envelope I always carried in my pocket and would have no memento of me. We had to dismiss from our new life every trace of our past misdeeds. Then I gladly kissed her on the forehead, paternally, as she had wanted me to do before.

Afterwards, on the stairs, I hesitated, because matters were becoming a bit too serious, whereas if I could know that the next morning she would still be at my disposal, thoughts of the future would not have come to me so quickly. From her landing, she watched me descend, and with a little laugh, I shouted up at her: "Till tomorrow, then!"

She drew back, surprised and almost frightened, and went off, saying: "Never again!"

I still felt relieved at having dared say the word that could lead me toward another last embrace whenever I wished. Without desires and without commitments, I spent a whole beautiful day with my wife, then in Guido's office. I must say that the lack of engagements brought me closer to my wife and my daughter. For them I was something more than the usual: not only sweet, but a true father who calmly arranges and commands, his mind entirely on his home. Going to bed, I said to myself, in the form of a proposal: All days should be like this one.

Before falling asleep, Augusta felt the need to confide a great secret to me: she had learned it from her mother that same day. Some days before, Ada had caught Guido embracing a maidservant of theirs. Ada had reacted haughtily, but then the maid turned impudent, and Ada discharged her. Yesterday they had been anxious to learn how Guido had taken the matter. If he had complained, Ada would have demanded a separation. But Guido had laughed and protested that Ada hadn't seen clearly; however, even though that woman was innocent, he honestly disliked her, and had nothing against her being dismissed from the house. Apparently things were now smooth again.

It was important for me to know whether Ada had been imagining things when she surprised her husband in that situation. Could there still be any possible doubt? Because the fact remains that when two people are hugging each other, they are in a position quite different from when one is cleaning the other's shoes. I was in excellent humor. I even felt required to seem impartial and calm in judging Guido. Ada was certainly jealous by nature, and it could be that she had seen distances diminished and people's positions altered.

In a heartbroken voice, Augusta told me she was sure Ada had seen clearly and that now, out of excessive devotion, she was using bad judgment. She added: "She would have done much better to marry you!"

Feeling more and more innocent, I remarked generously: "It remains to be seen if I would have done better to marry her instead of you!"

Then, before falling asleep, I murmured: "What a cad! Besmirching his own house like that!"

I was fairly sincere in reproaching him specifically for that aspect of his behavior for which I didn't have to reproach myself.

The next morning I got up with the strong desire that at least this first day should exactly resemble the preceding day. It was probable that the delightful resolutions of the day before wouldn't bind Carla any more than they did me, and I felt entirely free of them. Certainly the eagerness to know what Carla thought about it made me hurry. My desire would have been to find her ready for another resolution. Life would have sped away, rich indeed in pleasures, but even more in efforts for self-betterment, and my every day would have been devoted in a great degree to good and in the slightest degree to resolutions. Carla had had only one: to show that she loved me. She had kept it, and I had some difficulty making myself believe it would now be easy for her to maintain the new resolution while revoking the old one.

Carla wasn't at home. It was a great disappointment, and [ gnawed my fingers in chagrin. The old woman showed me into the kitchen. She told me Carla would be back before evening. Carla had said she would eat out, and so on that stove there wasn't even the little fire that usually glowed there.