MAN AND WIFE
It is a winter day, humid but warm; as sometimes happens in Rome, when it is about to rain. The windowpanes are wet and foggy; the walls, inside and outside the house, weep water, the posters start to unstick.
Vittorino Landi doesn’t have to go to work, today, for it is Queen Elena's birthday. It isn’t yet midday, and he has already shaved, with hot water that steams and spreadsLiterally: can be seen steaming and spreading the smell of suds. Now, he doesn’t know what to do. Maybe, in the afternoon he will go to a theatre, or to a cinematograph. Not out of town, although he always feels he wants to.
His wife, Enrica, went shopping in Via del Lavatore; where she can find the closest market.
Suddenly, without any reason at all, he feels he’s going crazy: his head is spinning, he is stunned, he is afraid of falling. Hasn’t he been waiting for his wife for a month? Maybe some misfortune has befallen her: she has broken a leg, she has died. She can no longer come home. He tries to pull himself together, he rubs his face. But trepidation digs in his soul a sort of emptiness that goes deeper and deeper; vertiginously. He doesn’t even have a voice to call out. He starts weeping.
When, ten minutes later, Enrica is back and comes in the room, he doesn't recognise her: it is as if he is seeing her for
the first time. His wife talks to him, smiles; then she realises her husband is pale and speechless.
- My God! Vittorino! What’s the matter? Are you about to faint?
No: he regains his composure and his sickness passes; as if nothing had ever happened. But he's no longer able to love his wife as he believed he loved her half an hour before, when she went out.
His wife cries, because she can see everything in his eyes. Her hat is tilted on one side, and she doesn't even think of taking it off. Her hat-veil is all wet and crumpled: she too has no breath left to say a word. Just as he once had suddenly stuck to her, so now he has come unstuck; and it seems that only a few minutes have been enough to change long years of marriage; because they don't know that everything good or bad that, day after day, ever passed through their soul, had to have its effect one day. It's no one's fault; and since they are good and loyal people they will try to put up with each other, waiting until the time may come perhaps to love each other as before. All these things cross the minds of both, quickly, as in a dream.
But Enrica, the weakest and least prepared, sobs in her handkerchief. She does all she can to stop weeping; and when she succeeds, she asks:
- Do you want to eat out today? I will eat at home. Come back whenever you like.
Landi is surprised that she should say this; and replies, although he hadn't thought of going out at all:
- Yes: I will eat at the trattoria today.
He takes his gloves, his umbrella; and leaves, without saying goodbye.
Enrica throws herself on the couch, face down, and cries for two hours; until the maid speaks to her. She suffers greatly and her eyes are circled with red as if she had been beaten. Even just looking at her mouth, it is obvious thatLiterally: one can see that she has wept for a long time.
Her whole body is racked with sobs, more excruciating than her cries and tears.
Landi doesn't even know which way to go. He takes a few steps then stops. Sludge sticks to his shoes. Where does he want to go? He doesn't know. Why have his wife and him exchanged those words? He doesn't know. Wouldn't it be better if he went immediately back home, and took his wife in his arms? Wouldn't it be better to have her mouth tell him all the words of her sweet tenderness?
The fog is almost yellowish: the light appears dirty in the street. People's voices stick like the sludge. The carriage horses are all thin and exhausted; some walk with a limp. A woman, looking wrecked with her wrinkles in her rags, sells little cones of nuts for the kids. A little girl has wound herself into a red woollen shawl and sells newspapers: her hands are swollen with chilblains. Via della Pilotta is deserted, with its four arches stuck to the high garden of Villa Colonna; where the statues, under cypress trees, stained in black, show how many pieces they are made of. Under one of the arches, a beggar is sitting on the ground and eating. But he goes to via Nazionale. Two girls enter, arm-in-arm, into a café; where lightened bulbs can be seen. On the stairs of Teatro Nazionale, a few people are standing.
Then the road, having finished its climb to the Torre delle Milizie, goes onopens straight, to the red wall of the Baths. At the corner of Via Panisperna, under Villa Aldobrandini, two blind men are playing music.
Landi goes for lunch in a trattoria, where he thinks he won't spend much. He is not hungry, but eats nonetheless. When he goes out, it starts raining. He goes to Piazza del Quirinale, where there are only guards inside their sentry boxes, and two pairs of policemen standing close to the wall of the Consulta palace,to get as little wet as possible.
The vertical spurt of the fountain looks as immobile as the two horses; despite the splashing and sloshing when the water falls: only its whiteness distinguishes it among the rain that veils all the flat rows of houses; of which only the top floors can be seen; with churches scattered everywhere. And the dome of St Peter seems to be made of fog.
Landi goes quickly down the stairs and back home. His wife has crawled into bed without eating.
When in the evening they speak again, it looks like she hasn't suffered anything; and their life goes on the same.
But while he keeps on feeling a sorrowful regret, for that past he no longer lives but cannot forget, she becomes merry and light-hearted. That day she suffered so much that she is now another. Small and brunette with long lashes, too long for her and her skinny face, she always smiles.
And when the air clears in the spring, there is no sunbeam in Piazza della Pilotta that doesn't also enter her eyes. She no longer needs to love or to be loved. She lives and that's all.
Vittorino wishes he could love her, instead, and is jealous of her gaiety.
Once, in Piazza di Spagna, he buys a bunch of roses and brings it home. But, looking at them, he wonders why he bought them.
His wife takes them from his hands, puts them in a vase; on the table where they eat. She hasn't thanked him, neither has she given a hint that she appreciates them. He buys another bunch, and this time they really were for her. Now they are both calm.
On a Sunday they go to Porta San Giovanni. The basilica supports its rows of statues as if they were giant pale flowers.
In the dusty square three carousels spin around with their mirrors and electric bulbs, with people on horses and
in small boats, with their fantastical and mythological pictures. Even their music spins. And the air is warmed by the sun.
Via Appia stretches with its pavement gleaming, especially in the distance; where one can see a pine tree instead of houses and taverns. Several workers, in shirtsleeves, work with pickaxes around a railway. The countryside is flat and lonely, although there are many people and many carts with bells. But the grass is so thick that it looks like the countryside must be green underground, too. Air trembles over it like a colourless flame.
And an enormous cloud, broken in the middle and transfixed by sunbeams, can no longer move.
Enrica and Vittorino exchange few words, and seem distracted. But they don't leave each other. While passing, they watch the taverns. He, then, thinks it's no longer possible to keep living that way. He lays his hand on his wife's arm; and tells her:
- It's almost hot, today.
- True: and I am tired. This spring air unnerves me.
- Would you like to eat together at one of these taverns tonight? We have many things to talk about.
Enrica takes almost two steps away from him, and bows her head. And does not see the regretunhappiness / displeasure on her husband's face. But, after a stretch of road, she says:
- We don't have anything to talk about.
- I think you are mistaken. But if you don't want to talk, I won't insist.
She smiles: her eyes shimmer as she blinks; because the sun, setting, dazzles her.
The tops of the eucalyptus trees are bright, and the rays of light get caught in them as if they were larger crowns. The pavement also glitters. The Colli Albani are a dry and unvarying turquoise. She resumes:
- We must speak of our past life as if it belonged to two people we knew long ago.
- Enrica, you are wrong!
- For me, I'm not wrong. I'm telling you how I feel.The Italian phrase can also be interpreted as: I am talking to you according to how I feel
- Enrica! Enrica!
- It is much better to stop talking.
And she smiles again. He too, now, realises that his desire is anxious and not deep; and it's not enough for him. His desire only gives him a sort of nervous irritation. Even in his soul nothing is left, and it is useless to force his wife to believe what he wants. It would be necessary, perhaps, for many years to go by; but without their getting old. On the other hand he too has nothing more to ask. It's obvious! Then, he is almost ashamed of having tried to deceive her. He has lost everything!
Enrica tells him:
- After that time, I would never be able to believe again.
She feels everywhere, all around her, the glorious spring; and she would like to go and touchfeels like going and touching a flint, which must be a bit warm; a flint, which must be as sweet as the air. But her soul closes itself in, it refuses; it is cold.
Spring, too, skims her as something that will never be hers. And she feels her youth dimming, losing all consistency; like a dream that we forget precisely when we would rather remember it better and more thoroughly. Her heart feels a piercing pain, which she would rather not have. And since Vittorino, before, has called her twice by her name, she holds his hand tight. And he feels less alone.
The eucalyptus trees die out, the bells of San Giovanni sound; and the day fades like that sound. They are sad and lost; they feel like dying. But a mother breastfeeding her child leans out of a door; placid and sweet; and they feel horrifieddisgusted at themselves.