History (84 page)

They ( the dogs ) were, you might say, Useppe's only companions. He

4 1 9

had no friends or playmates of his own species any more. With the fi return of the fi season, Bella and Useppe were out much of the day; and in the beginning, during her free hours, Ida had forced herself to accom pany them. She had soon realized, however, the impossibility, with her thin and weakened little legs, of keeping up with that pair. After the fi minute in the street, she had already lost sight of them, fi herself at least a quarter of a mile behind. As soon as they came from the building into the open air, they could promptly be seen rushing off veering, skip ping, tumbling towards the unknown; and at her loud calls, Bella would reply from the distance with considerate barking: "All's well. Don't wear yourself out. Go on home. I'll take care of Useppe! I can manage fl of a hundred, two hundred, three hundred quadrupeds! Don't you think I'm able to deal with one li ttle man?"

Perforce, Ida fi entrusted Useppe entirely to Bella. She felt sure her trust was not misplaced; and for that matter, what else could she have done? T11e excursions with Bella were the little boy's only recreation. Even the gramophone, after the famous destruction of the swing record, had been put aside forever, to decay in the dust. Now, in the confi t of the little rooms, Useppe, like Bella, became as uneasy and restless as a tormented soul, so Ida no longer dared incarcerate him even in the morn ing, as she had during the winter. Usually, after the mother's daily phone call, the two immediately went out; Bella had therefore soon learned to recognize the phone's ring as an advance signal of freedom; and on hearing it, she would start making immense leaps, accompanied by loud hurrahs and little sneezes of contentment.

But (as if she had a precision watch inside her big bearlike head ) she would bring Useppe home punctually again at mealtimes.

At fi the two didn't stray very far from Via Bodoni. Their pillars of Hercules were the Tiber on one side, the slopes of the Aventine on an other, and farther on, Porta San Paolo (it must be stated here that, in any case, Bella directed Useppe's steps away from the sinister building of the Municipal Slaugh terhouse, located in our vicinity . . . ) . Perhaps, even today some inhabitant of Testaccio remembers having seen that couple go by: a big dog and a tiny boy, always alone and inseparable. At certain points of special importance, for example at Piazza dell'Emporio where a merry-go-round was encamped, the two would stop, in a double and irre sistible palpitation which made the boy sway on his little legs and the dog furiously wag her tail. But, on the other hand, it suffi for someone to show he had noticed them, and the child would retreat in haste, meekly followed by the dog. Spring was already pouri out a throng of noises, movements. From the streets and the windows names were called : "Et toreee! Marisa! Umbe'! . . ." and sometimes also : "Nino! . . ." At this

420 HISTORY . . . . . . 19 47

name, Useppe would rush forward, transfi his eyes trembling, mov ing a few paces ahead of Bella in an unspecifi direction. And Bella, in turn, would prick up her ears slightly, as if to share at least for a moment that fabulous summons, though she knew, really, its absurdity. In fact, she renounced following the child, waiting in her place and accompanying him with a gaze of forgiveness and of superior experience. Then, when Useppe almost immediately came back, ashamed, she would welcome him with that same gaze. There was no shortage of Ninos and Ninettos living in that neighborhood; and even Useppe, to tell the truth, was not unaware of this fact.

The fi spring weather, very early that year, was spoiled for three days by the sirocco, which brought clumps of clouds and dusty showers, in a hot and dirty air that smacked of the desert. On one of those days, Useppe had a second fall. The family had just fi their meal, and he, who had eaten little and reluctantly, had remained in the kitchen with Bella, while Ida went to stretch out on the bed. A little later Bella began to show signs of agitation and incoherence, as happens with certain animals who feel a forewarning of an earthquake or some other terrestrial upheaval. She ran constantly between the kitchen and the bedroom until Ida crossly drove her away, yelling. It was three o'clock in the afternoon . From the courtyard a few noises rose (a radio and some voices from the bicycle park ), then a thunderclap was heard without rain from the swollen, dirty sky, and from the street the whistle of a passing siren. But as soon as these sounds had died, Ida heard a subdued little dialogue in the kitchen, where Useppe seemed to chant some broken phrases, in a frightened and stammering little voice, and Bella uttered tender whimpers of solicitude and panic. It often happened that the two chatted together; but hearing them today, Ida was shaken by an undefi alarm which made her rush into the kitchen. Useppe, still on his feet, was walking with unsteady steps, as if he were wandering half-blind around in a penumbra, and Bella was at his side, like a poor ignorant wet-nurse seeking some remedy. On Ida's entrance, the dog came to her, as if pleading with her. And this time Ida witnessed with her own eyes the whole course of the attack, from the moment when the grand
mal
released its cry, falling like a murdering predator on little Useppe.

The succession of the various phases, still, came so rapidly that Ida hardly had time to be aware of her own movements, fi herself, as at the fi attack, kneeling beside Useppe, who already seemed to be coming round, as she called him. And though, at that precise moment, from an extreme depth of her own viscera, a defi signal told her that her son was doomed, she didn't perceive it. For her, only one thing was certain,

4 2 1

enough for her at the moment: the ugly invader of her house, back for the second time to steal her child, obeying his own dark laws, would not be long in releasing him again.

This time, when, after a great sigh, Useppe reopened his eyes in his enchanted smile, there were two of them to receive him : his mother on this side, and Bella Crummy on the other. The la tter gave him a little lick on the hand and another on the nose, but very delicately, not wanting to disturb him. And for all the duration of his subsequent deep sleep, she remained stretched out at the foot of his bed.

Also at his fi reawakening, late that evening, Useppe found the two of them with him : Bella and his mother, one on either side. "Useppe!" Ida greeted him, and Bella greeted him with a bark so discreet and tremulous it could have been mistaken for a bleat. He raised his head slightly and said : "The moon!" In fact, the sirocco had gone away, leaving in its place a spring wind that had already cleansed almost the whole sky, where the moon could be seen passing up above, cool and naked, as if after a bath. It was the same moon seen from the San Lorenzo house in the days when Useppe still called it
ttar
or
wallow,
as he called
ttars
or
wallows
(according to the circumstances ) the lighted bulbs, the colored balloons, or tin cans or gobs of spit on the ground, if the light made them shine even a little. ( At that time he was still crawling and he could confuse the cart:< with the sky.)

Ida couldn't allow herself any further absences from school; the next morning, however, on going out, she took care to double-lock the door, as she had done the past winter. Performing such an act weighed on her hand, since it seemed a mark of disablement for Useppe. She had left him still asleep, huddled around his pillow, with Bella dozing at the foot of the
sommier.
Hearing her go out, the dog had raised her head slightly, with a reassuring little flicker of her tail ("Go on, go ahead; I'll take care of Useppe" ). Before eleven, as usual, she telephoned him.

Two or three rings, then the familiar little voice of every day: "Hello. Who's that? This is Useppe. \:V is it?"

"It's mamma. Are you all right?"

"Yes." (In the background, Bella's habitual barking.) "Did you drink your milk?"

"Yes . . .
"

The dialogue is the same as ever, but today Ida thinks she hears a trembling in his voice. She must immediately apologize, reassuringly :

"I locked the door," she hastens to explain, "because you had a little temperature yesterday. But as soon as you're well, you can go out with Bella again !"

"Yes . . . yes . . ."

4 2 2 H I S T O R Y
. . . . .
.
1 9 4 7

"Then you're all right? Be a good boy, eh? . . . I'll be home before one! . . .
"

"Yes . . . Goodbye. Goodbye."

Everything seemed normal, as if that thing hadn't happened, yester day or ever. Only Ida was left with the suspicion of having heard that certain tremulousness in his voice . . . On her way home, for their dinner she even bought a dessert: two cream pastries, one for him and one for Bella. And she saw him brighten with a pleased expression because Bella had not been forgotten.

No apparent sign remained of his
temperature
of the day before, except for his still pale and weakened look, with a residue of listlessness and sleep, which was enough, luckily, to distract him also from Ida's be trayal in locking the door. In the course of the morning, apparently he had amused himself by drawing: all his colored pencils were scattered on the

kitchen table, and a sheet of paper completely fi to the margins with drawings . . . An accident had happened
in
Ida's absence, however, and he bravely announced it to her, with a comical hesitant little smile:

". . . hey,
rn
Bella shat on the dishcloth."

That morning, as a matter of fact, Ida had dropped the dishcloth on the fl and Bella, reasonably, had made use of it, perhaps assuming it had been placed there for her convenience . . . A considerable smell still rose from the sink, where Useppe had taken care to soak the rag, after having dutifully emptied the contents into the toilet. And Bella, during this scene, remained a bit to one side, with a sinner's saddened look, though she didn't understand what her sin was . . . But Ida didn't even dare utter her usual reproach to Useppe, namely that you say
go to the bathroom,
because
shit
is a bad word ! (He had inherited it, with others, from his brother Nino.) Rather, she thought she recognized, in his words, an accusation for having locked him up, a prisoner along with Bella. "It doesn't matter!" she hastened to say, "the cloth was already dirty." And Useppe. afraid Bella would be scolded, was immediately consoled.

The drawing left on the table was all an arabesque of rings, splashes, and red, green, blue, and yellow spirals; and he himself proudly explained to Ida : "It's swallows!", pointing beyond the window to his models, racing through the air. Ida praised the drawing, which in fact seemed very beauti ful to her, though she personally found it incomprehensible. But after telling her the subject, he crumpled the paper in his fi and threw it in the garbage. This was the end to which he condemned all his drawings. And if Ida protested, he would shrug and grow cross, with a contemptuous sad look (if possible, she sometimes secretly rescued those pages from the garbage and put them away in a private drawer of hers).

Everything proceeded normally. But, at a certain hour just after lunch,

4 2 3

while Bella was having a siesta, Ida found Useppe huddled on the floor nearby, against the wall of the corridor. At first, glancing at him, she thought he was only brooding; but when she approached him, she realized he was crying, his little face clenched like a fi contracted, all wrinkles. Looking up towards her, he immediately burst into dry sobs. And with a little animal's bewilderment, he said in a desperate voice :

"Ma
. .
.
wy?"

In reality, this question of his didn't seem addressed to Ida, present there, but rather to some absent, monstrous, and inexplicable Will. Ida, instead, again imagined he was accusing her for having shut him up in the house treacherously; but soon, in the following days, she became convinced this explanation was insuffi That question : wy? had become, with Useppe, a kind of refrain, which returned to his lips from beyond time and place, perhaps involuntarily (otherwise, he would have taken care to pro nounce it properly, with the h) . He could be heard at times repeating it to himself in a monotonous sequence : "Wy? wy wy wy wy??" But though it seemed automatic, this little question had a stubborn and heart-rending sound, more bestial than human. It recalled, in fact, the voices of aban doned kittens, of donkeys blindfolded at the mill, of lambs loaded on a wagon for the Easter festivities. It was never known if all these anonymous and unanswered wys reached some destination, perhaps an invulnerable ear beyond all earthly places.

2

After Useppe's second attack, Ida had gone anxiously back to the doctor, who arranged for a special examination two days later by the Professor-neurologist she had already suggested. On this occa sion, not without impatience, she assured Ida that the feared EEG

( electroencephalogram) was nothing but a registration, harmless and pain less, of cerebral electric tensions, traced by a machine on a roll of paper. Ida, for her part, led Useppe to believe that a law had decreed some obligatory examinations for all little boys, to protect them from fevers. He made no remark, beyond an impatient huff so faint it resembled a sigh.