History (78 page)

After the doctor's advice to keep him in the open air, on fi days now Ida always took him for a walk, either towards Monte Testaccio or towards the A
�
entine or else, not wanting to overtire him, to some little park near

the house. And again, wherever he was, Useppe kept far away from the other kids and their games. If one of them said to him : "You want to play too?" he would run off with no explanation, taking refuge by his mother, like a Sdvage inside his hut.

And yet, from certain glances of his, you wouldn't say he was a misan thrope. And while he avoided companionship, from time to time he fl in the others' direction an instinctive little smile, which involun tarily off and sought friendship. Below his short pants, his knees stuck out, thicker than they should have been, compared to the thinness of his legs; but with those little legs he made great athletic leaps, by himself, which showed how good he was. There was something humorous in his person which caused people to smile, making him quite popular with that little audience of the parks. The women and girls complimented him on the contrast between his blue eyes and his dark skin and black hair, which in Rome is considered a beauty of the first rank; attributing to him, how ever, a maximum age of three or four; when hearing he was over fi they commented in chorus on his small size, until Ida, tormented and scared, came to shelter him from their indiscreet remarks.

But to these, actually, as to their praise, Useppe remained completely alien and indifferent, like
a
caged puppy at a fair. Perhaps, for that matter, he didn't even hear them; and, in fact, even if he was quiet, his two protruding ears, sticking from beneath the sides of his cap, were always

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alert to the world's various sounds, which at some moments overwhelmed him in a sole, feverish anthem. Every slightest event distracted his gaze; or else he remained calm, with pensive eyes, as if his mind were straying. But not infrequently a special rejoicing made all his muscles quiver, kindling in his eyes a precipitous merriment, mingled with nostalgia . . . It was when he saw a dog : of whatever class, purebred or stray, and even if it was ugly, deformed, or mangy.

Though, to tell the truth, she was ill-disposed to the idea of increasing the family, Ida couldn't resist this sight; and one fi day, returning from a walk, she fi asked him if he didn't want a little dog all his own. But Useppe turned to her, his face torn with bitterness, shaking his head no, no, with furious insistence. His refusal seemed irrevocable, but painful; as if it involved that mysterious, crucial knot which for weeks now had tor mented him inexplicably. In the end, in a kind of breathless cry, resem bling a sob, the words came out :

"Bella too . . . like
Biz!"

And this allowed Ida to understand how her little boy was denying himself even a promised treasure, for terror of losing it! She was deeply shocked at this, with the strange sensation, felt today for the fi time, of a physical presence : as if an Ogre had installed himself in their room, to threaten Useppe with many mouths and many hands. But it was still odder for her to hear again from Useppe, after years of silence, the name of that Blitz whom she believed erased from his memory, as happens with the various heroes of infantile prehistory, who remain outside of time. It truly seemed that in this autumn of
'46
all the memories of his tiny life were pursuing the forgetful Useppe, scenting the concealed point of his illness. "What do you mean, Bella like Blitz?!" Ida teased him. And without hesitating this time to break the taboo, she assured him Bella was safe and sound, in the company of Ninnuzzu, and they would soon show up again at home, as they always did! At this news, guaranteed by Iduzza, Useppe laughed, reassured. And the two, laughing together like lovers, for the moment drove the Ogre from the room.

But it wasn't enough. To compensate Useppe for the rejected dog, the next morning ( Sunday) Ida took him to the new Porta Portese market, where she bought him a duffl coat, known in Rome as a
mongomeri:
that is to say a special coat ( for those who don't know) then made fashionable by General Montgomery, who wore it in battle. Useppe's was an Italian imitation, Roman in fact; and though of the smallest size, it was a bit big for him in the shoulders and the sleeves were long. However, he was immediately eager to put it on, and he promptly assumed a bold stride, as if inside that mongomeri he felt like a tough guy, not to say a General.

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His nights, meanwhile, were troubled and restless. After the last visit to the doctor, he obediently took all the prescribed medicines; indeed, when he received them from his mother, he thrust his mouth up like a little bird, as if greedy to be cured. But their

eff for him, remained slight. Almost every evening, despite the sedatives, that usual ambush was punctually awaiting him, to threaten his fi sleep with who knows what gigantic shapes. In the second week of November, for two nights in a row, he jumped straight up in bed, sound asleep, breathing fast, his eyes wide but unawake, not even reacting when the central bulb was turned on. Settling him back and covering him again, Ida could feel his limbs stiffened (as if still tensed for an unequal combat) and all sweating; and taking his hand, she perceived the furious beating of his pulse, which then slowly subsided to its natural rhythm, as his eyelids closed once more. The episode had lasted less than a minute, and as always, escaped his consciousness. But, on the contrary, the night between November fi and sixteenth was marked by a lucid episode. Half awake, in the heart of the night, Ida had turned on the lamp at the head of the bed, hearing in the room a soft shuffl movement, no louder than the little paws of a wandering animal. And, in fact, Useppe was there, standing, awake, leaning against the wall at this moment. Over his cotton fl l pajamas he had put on his mongomeri, because it was cold in the room; he had left his feet bare, however, perhaps out of concern not to make any noise while his mother was asleep. The same restlessness which had always disturbed his sleep lately must tonight have dragged him from the bed, shadowing him in his little wakeful excursion inside the room walled by darkness. He looked fi at Ida and said to her: "Sleep, rn

It was an order; however, this peremptory tone of his actually serv him as a weapon aimed against the vague suspicion that peopled his body with anxieties, never formulated into a thought. Suddenly, he came out with a faint, tortured weeping :

"Ma, where's Nino gone?!"

And then, as if abruptly yielding to a horrible siren, who had been luring him who knows how long with her fears, he went on :

"He hasn't gone to America, has he? Without me?! . . .
"

It wasn't hard for Ida to connect this question with the promise that, in her presence too, Ninnuzzu had actually repeated more than once to Useppe : to take him to America . (Indeed, the last time, he had added : "And we'll take Davide along, too. Maybe, over there, he'll fi himself a beautiful Jew girl . . .
"
) Nor was it hard for her to find, on this score, indisputable arguments to reassure Useppe. Consoled, a little later, he fell asleep again beside her.

After his brief greeting in September, Ninnuzzu, in his usual fashion,

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had sent no news home. Instead, two postcards had arrived, addressed to him, from which it was clear that, as his own address, he gave his acquain tances that of Via Bodoni. One, on glossy cardboard, of a bunch of pansies and red roses, was from Antonio, Bella's former owner, and it bore the rubber stamp of the Poggioreale censor. On it was written :
Sincere best wishes and warmest greetings.
And the other, sent from Rome, with the Victor Emmanuel monument in black and white, said, in a big, second grade hand, but without errors :
Where are you off to? Can't you at least let me know that? -P.
Both had lain in the house since October.

Towards the end of that same month of October, one morning in the street Ida had encountered Annita Marrocco, who at present, to help the family, was in serv with some well-to-do people on the Via Ostiense. In fact, Filomena's dressmaking brought in less and less (her customers, mostly old women, were either going into the hospital or dying on her), and Giovannino's little room was left unrented, always in the hope of its owner's return. Still there was no news of him, good or bad : even a chaplain had taken an interest in the case, and a medical offi er, and now the family was awaiting a reply from another veteran in Northern Italy, an Alpine soldier from the Julia Division, whom they had wri to ask if by any chance he, or some acquaintance of his, on the fi of Russia, had encountered or had heard mentioned a Marrocco.

Among the other bits of news, Annita reported that her mother-in-law one of those days had met Davide Segre, who, questioned by the old woman, had answered that he had seen our Nino here in Rome even recently, and more than once, but always in transit. Nino's health was fi and that was all Annita knew. Of the suburban house he had rented (or been lent) near Rome, which he himself had mentioned to Ida, neither Annita nor her mother-in-law could say anything. Perhaps, Ida thought,

this house was a fi of Nino's, or perhaps by now he had
a
lready changed

address. For that ma tter, Annita said, Davide as usual had answered Filo mena's questions roughly, in a few words, anxious to get away. Whether he himself was now living in Rome, and where, naturally he hadn't said. Old Filomena, whom Ida then ran into at the Piazza Testaccio market, con fi her daughter-in-law's news, but had nothing to add. Every time they met her, the Morroccos invited Ida to visit them with the kid at Via Mastro Giorgio. But Ida, after a couple of visits at the beginning, whether out of neglect or timidity, never went there again.

In reality, except for her pupils and Useppe, Ida saw no one in the world. At times, she thought of going to Remo, to ask for further news of Ninnuzzu, but the idea of returning to the San Lorenzo quarter aroused such a strong repugnance that she gave it up.

For that matter, not even two months had gone by since Nino's last

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appearance. He had accustomed her to far longer absences and total silences, in all these years. The fact that Useppe, this time, suffered more than usual in the waiting for his brother was, in Ida's eyes, another mani fest sign of his abnormal state of health, like his
naughtiness,
loneliness, and unreasonable rages, in which our real Useppe was hardly recognizable any more.

And yet, Ida never even thought of hunting for Ninnarieddu to ask him to make more frequent visits for his little brother's sake. To expect such an exertion from Ninnuzzu Mancuso would be like insisting the wind blow a bit more in this direction, or a bit more in that, to please a fl Slow as she was, even Ida, with her slight experience, was able to understand this.

On the morning of November sixteenth, Useppe had the fi serious attack of the disease that was undermining him. After his brief reassuring dialogue with his mother (it was about one-thirty), the child fell back to sleep and slept calmly the rest of the night. And he was still sleeping early in the morning when Ida got up and went into the kitchen to make coff

It was there, as she was lighting the stove, that she unexpectedly saw him appear before her, in his little fl pajamas, barefoot, with a dazed expression; he gave her a brief interrogative glance (or so it seemed to her) then he immediately ran off again. And she was about to call him back when, from the bedroom, she heard a scream of horror and unheard-of devastation, which resembled no human voice: it paralyzed her for a few instants, as she wondered where that voice came from.

In medical manuals, these typical attacks, known by the name of

grand mal,
are described, more or less, like this :

Violent convulsive fzt with total loss of consciousness. At the begin ning of the fz phase ( tonic-clonic ) the arrest of respiration causes a loud cry, while the body falls to the ground without any attempt at protecting itself, and the skin talws on a cyanotic color. There is a strong increase in arterial pressure and an acceleration of the cardiac rhythm to the point of paroxysm. The tongue may be bitten in consequence of the stiff of the muscles of the faw.

In the clonic, or tumultuous phase, there are violent jerking spasms followed by coma, which can last from one to three minutes, with inter ruption of cortical activity and total motor inertia. During this phase con trol of the rectum and bladder may be lost, resulting in faecal and urinary incontinence. During the attack, the resumption of respiratory activity is labored and stertorous, accompanied by intense salivation.

A sy known from the most ancient times. The causes, and the physiopathology, are still unlmown.

When Ida came running into the room, Useppe was lying supine on the fl his eyes closed and his arms wide, like a swallow struck down

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by lightning in fl The initial phase of his attack, which had lasted only a few seconds, was already past, however, and when Ida knelt beside him, the ugly color of death was already fading from his face, as he resumed breathing. Grateful that the screaming, passing stranger, heard a moment before, hadn't stolen him from the house and made him vanish, she called him in a low voice. And Useppe, as if calmed by the murmuring of his own name, heaved a great sigh and his whole body relaxed. His features, too, reposed in his unharmed little face; and they formed, while his eyes were still shut, an enchanted smile of healing; then, serenely, like a miracle, the eyes opened, more beautiful than yesterday, as if dipped in a sky-blue bath. "Useppe!" ". . . rn . . ."