‘It’s eleven thirty.’
‘Does Emilia have a clock inside her head tonight?’
The mother kept scanning her surroundings. Maybe he didn’t show up? she asked herself, frightened. Maybe it’s for the best, maybe it’s for the best… and she folded her black lace shawl again.
Every time the Commendatore’s eyes scanned the room, he would find those agate eyes: they were hiding behind the orchestra’s red festoons as though peering through a thick wood. Yet the unerring Commendatore would always find them again right away, like the fine hunter he was. He had fixed his gaze upon him as though he were his prey.
Emilia returned to her table. The colonel asked her if she was having a good time. After Emilia’s measured response, and drawn by the brilliant notes being played, he stood up. He would step in and ask the girl to dance. He was shorter than Emilia, whose head hovered just above his. Meaning that every time she turned, Emilia’s eyes could run along the length of the room and admire those agate eyes beyond the orchestra’s festoons.
‘We watched you grow up, little Emilia,’ the colonel said, affectionately.
Emilia clasped his hand.
‘A little melancholic tonight?’
‘Tell me,’ the colonel’s wife asked her, drawing Emilia close to her as soon as they got back to their table, ‘that little lieutenant from the other day… is it all over with him? Such a handsome boy. A little frail perhaps, but very stylish! You know what he reminds me of? A violin! And here he is!’
Lieutenant Roberti was standing a step away from Emilia. He bowed slightly towards the ladies, then greeted the Commendatore and the colonel. At which he asked Emilia to dance.
‘Lieutenant Roberti appears to be wildly infatuated,’ the colonel’s wife commented, raising her voice as soon as the couple had left the table. ‘My dear Commendatore, it seems Emilia has stolen his heart.’ The colonel’s wife could have talked about love all night long. But following a subtle nod from Emilia’s mother, she kept her mouth shut.
Commendatore Curzi disdained the silence cowards use to keep danger at bay: ‘If the world, such as it is today, were governed by peace and harmony, instead of by strength and willpower, that little lieutenant over there might get along just fine. But peace and harmony have no place outside of the dance floor.’
The colonel’s wife laughed, amused. ‘Just look at them – they’re so made for each other. Emilia looks so pretty tonight. Very pretty indeed.’
The mother kept her eyes fixed on the young couple. She might well have been saying goodbye to him at that exact moment. She might have been explaining why they couldn’t be together. She might have been employing noble phrases, along the lines of, ‘I’ll always respect you.’ In fact, given that the waltz’s heady notes can play tricks on one’s mind, she might have even gone so far as to say ‘I’ll never forget you.’ Nevertheless, if she had something to say, then she should have gotten on with it: after all, how long could a waltz possibly last?
Even the father’s eyes were fixed on Emilia. The couple entered his line of sight and then suddenly left it again, swaying back and forth as though being swept about by the waves. What was resoundingly clear, however, was that Emilia was not talking. Good girl, he thought, no point in sweet nothings, promises, or tears. He was proud of his daughter’s silence. And since a string of pearls had been mentioned, he would make a point of buying her one as a present. One with two strands, or three, maybe even four… He too was gripped by the waltz’s rhythm.
When Major Maiorana approached to invite the colonel’s wife to dance, the latter leapt up, as light on her feet as a little girl. Once out on the floor, her eyes met Emilia’s. ‘God how I love to dance!’ she exclaimed.
The Commendatore was still examining the lieutenant’s uniform. He still couldn’t fathom how that uniform could be kept so rumple-free, as though it wasn’t hanging off a human body, a warm body made of muscles – no, it was as if he were a glove or a soap bubble. He didn’t even seem to be breathing, his nostrils didn’t seem to flare, his chest didn’t seem to be rising and falling. If life was as harmonious as this waltz, he thought to himself, full of melancholy, then this little lieutenant would have been a perfect match for Emilia, they’re very similar and cut from the same cloth. But life isn’t like that: it would be like giving Emilia a pheasant for a husband, a nice little golden pheasant… Having grown irritated, he turned his head away and stopped looking at the dancers.
Maybe they’ll run off to the terrace. As soon as the dance is over, Emilia’s going to drag him out onto the terrace. And once they’re alone, she’ll tell him… But what will she say?! What could she say? Her mother was wringing her hands.
Like a troupe of incompetent actors, the orchestra musicians adapted to the atmosphere on the floor, playing at faster tempos, playing the last notes as loudly as the room allowed. Right on the final beat, just as the couples were slipping out of their embraces, Emilia addressed her first words to the lieutenant that night: ‘Keep dancing.’
One spin, two spins, three spins. The couples had all unclasped, some were still standing immobile in the middle of the dance floor, while others had already headed back to their respective tables. Right in the middle of it all, keeping its distance from the couples still standing and those leaving, one last couple kept spinning along.
The Commendatore’s eyes had turned into fangs. As for Emilia’s mother, she was barely able to restrain herself as she raised her hand to cross herself. Don’t let anything happen, God, don’t let anything happen, God.
At this point the dance floor had emptied entirely. Yet the lieutenant with agate eyes kept spinning about with his girl in his arms. ‘Pretty, really very pretty…’ the colonel’s wife murmured. The Commendatore stood up, but nobody paid him any attention. Everyone had stood up by then, neatly arranging themselves in a square around the dance floor. ‘Look!’ said the colonel’s wife, ‘the hall is ready for the cavalry lancers.’
Only the orchestra players were still moving. They were miming a bizarre comedy, which is to say that they didn’t know what to do, whether they should keep playing – but if they did, what would they play? Yet the young officer and his girl didn’t need them at all.
Then, right on the other side of the orchestra, a passageway swung open. Somebody was on their way. All eyes turned to that opening, and the General in Chief of the army corps emerged at the other end. It was as though the rows of guests had taken up formation so that the general could review his guard of honour.
One spin, two spins, three spins. Then the young lieutenant and the girl came to a stop. The girl bowed deeply before the general, while the young lieutenant stood to attention. The General in Chief of the army corps dismissed them, and his hand betrayed a trace of kindness.
CAPTAIN RENZI
Captain Renzi’s gaze was lifeless. Instead of establishing a dialogue with his interlocutor, he’d been tasked to ensure it wouldn’t happen. Even his way of talking put people off: he meticulously avoided any kind of intimacy, which made any dialogue with him as abstract as a carpet’s geometric patterns.
Major Anastasio claimed that Renzi was a mercenary – he never gave his opinion on any matter and limited himself to performing his duties to the letter. Even though he’d only just arrived, he knew the outskirts of the city better than any of the other officers, all of whom had been in Africa far longer than him. He appeared sensitive to the beauty of their natural surroundings, at which point his typically unyielding composure would vanish for an instant.
Yet when it came to his relationship with his fellow soldiers and subordinates, appealing to that aforementioned sensitivity was bound to end in failure. Other officers were far stricter, some were even intractable, and a few were even cruel. Captain Renzi, on the other hand, was fair-minded, yet one couldn’t rely on his indulgence, understanding, or pity. He was simply calm and collected, in full mastery of his feelings.
Privates Danisi and Ranieri had no luck with him. They happened
to infringe one of the military’s rules and wound up being judged by the very same Captain Renzi. Sergeant Major Sanzogno burst into Captain Renzi’s office in a state of obvious excitement. He had caught the two soldiers in an indecent act. Truth be told, he tried to blame it all on Danisi, who was a bad egg and whom he’d kept his eye on for a while. Ranieri instead was a good soldier, honest and sincere, and he honestly had no idea how he’d fallen into such a trap. He wasn’t very sociable or outgoing, but was serious and honest. (Sergeant Major Sanzogno had actually played no part in the discovery; in fact, most of the soldiers had known for some time. Yet a certain Capresi had snitched to the Sergeant Major. This Capresi didn’t like Ranieri at all.)
The Sergeant Major’s excitement led him to overstep his bounds and advise the Captain to punish Danisi and forgive Ranieri. It was a groundless hope. While still in the midst of talking, the Sergeant Major confusedly began to realise this: if he’d been truly invested in the matter, he should have brought it to the Captain, but should have resolved it in his own way; if there was no way to exonerate Ranieri, then he should have kept his mouth shut. But now it was up to the Captain to decide – and Renzi would certainly not keep his advice in mind. Not that he allowed his real intentions to transpire, just that there would be no surprises.
Nevertheless, the Sergeant Major was to be surprised regardless, not that he dwelled on it much, given the disappointment he experienced the moment the Captain opened his mouth. He cited the rule the soldiers had broken verbatim from memory – and this act of total recall did surprise the Sergeant Major – but merely by reciting the flouted rule he made it clear he would not be indulging either of the two privates. The rules had to be applied.
By the time Captain Renzi should have reasonably forgotten about the entire incident, a high functionary from the administration whom he’d met in Italy happened to walk into his office to talk to him about Danisi and Ranieri. Unlike the Sergeant Major, the functionary had come to exonerate Danisi, who was his son. After all, they were merely twenty-year old kids (in actual fact Danisi was twenty-two and Ranieri was already twenty-four), it had all just been a mistake. What point would there have been in casting a light on a momentary lapse of reason, instead of turning a blind, indulgent eye to the whole affair and dropping the matter entirely? That punishment would just ensure they were publicly pilloried, and what was the point of mortifying them like that instead of trying to reach out to them? Why bring them to the brink of desperation and make their mistake seem even bigger in their eyes? Would it really help put them back on the right path?
The functionary had very little sympathy for Renzi. It had required some effort of him to come all the way to his office; all the more so since he had now realised that while Renzi was listening to him attentively. He nonetheless did so in the coldest manner possible. Had he spent an additional hour making his case, he would have still walked away empty-handed. Thus, cutting himself off randomly in the middle of a sentence and attempting to strike a cordial tone, he asked Renzi: ‘Well, what have you decided?’
Captain Renzi appeared slightly surprised by the question; the functionary’s thoughts were on an entirely different wavelength since he had not given this particular question any consideration. Sure enough, he said:
‘The punishment I’ve dealt them is a disciplinary measure, just as though they’d left their barracks without leave, I didn’t attach any moral judgment to it. We officers must ensure that the rules and regulations are followed, we haven’t been charged with looking after their souls. Once they have received their punishment, they will return to their usual ranks as ordinary soldiers, and if they won’t make any further mistakes, I’ll think of them as exemplary soldiers…’
‘What do you mean?’ the functionary exclaimed, suddenly frustrated, ‘do you really not understand the implications of your judgment? Do you really believe that this kind of punishment has nothing to do with their being morally judged? This may very well be true as far as you’re concerned, but you do not seem to grasp that by revealing an indiscretion which others tend to judge not only from a regulatory, but above all from a moral point of view, you have assumed a great responsibility here. By dealing with the matter publicly, you have encouraged others to think along these lines, and it was wholly in your power to avoid that.’
‘I am profoundly and sincerely sorry for the way in which the situation unfolded. As I have already mentioned, this was not my intention…’
‘Do you finally see how flippant you’ve been?’ the functionary passionately interjected.
‘I haven’t been flippant,’ the Captain sternly replied. ‘I only did my duty. I wouldn’t hesitate to do it again. Discipline is…’
‘But no,’ the functionary bitterly retorted, ‘you’re mistaken, because–’
‘Perhaps my one mistake was to consent to talk about the matter,’ the Captain calmly replied, and that sentence brought the conversation to an end. ‘It is the strict purview of my superior officers to judge my decisions.’
‘So be it, even if I have to take this all the way to the King,’ the functionary bursted out, ‘but I’m not prepared to let this go.’
He left without even saying goodbye. The Sergeant Major entered simultaneously through the door opposite the one the functionary had used. He had also come to discuss the matter of Danisi and Ranieri. It appeared as though he was no longer kindly disposed towards Ranieri. In fact, the two soldiers had been caught while attempting to communicate with one another in prison. Having intercepted a message – which for that matter contained nothing important – the Sergeant Major had called them into his office. He couldn’t say that they’d been too brazen or impertinent, instead they had been calm. It looked as though their punishment had lifted a weight off their shoulders.
‘My actions didn’t go far enough.’ The Sergeant Major concluded, ‘they must be permanently kept apart.’
He was giving the Captain advice again, and he bit his lip, vexed with himself. The Captain said nothing, neither yes nor no. It seemed as though Sanzogno’s words had left an impression on him, but in a completely different manner to the one the Sergeant Major had expected. In fact, he didn’t seem displeased in the slightest. He dismissed the Sergeant Major without saying anything, headed over to the mirror to ensure his appearance was in order and left to inspect the troops.
He mulled over what the Sergeant Major had told him. Hearing the functionary speak, one might have believed his account of the soldiers’ desperation, and if he didn’t experience any regrets it was only because he was convinced that he’d merely done his duty. However, the Sergeant Major’s speech had agitated him. His observation that the soldiers looked as though a great weight had been lifted off their shoulders had struck him as truthful and accurate. The Captain secretly envied those soldiers for having found peace and solace in their punishment.
No pleas or supplications were forthcoming from Ranieri, and there wouldn’t be any either. When he had seen the functionary before him, he had originally assumed that Danisi had sent him to intercede on his behalf. Instead, he had been mistaken – they had accepted their punishment. In fact, as the Sergeant Major had so eloquently put it, they felt liberated.
That evening, Captain Renzi headed over to the Officers’ Club. On the night of his arrival from Italy, Colonel Tarenzi had invited him there. He hadn’t returned to that place since. He had been expected to attend a lunch with all the other officers to mark the visit of two navy units to the colonial city. Ever since then, he had become a tireless devotee of the club. He arrived punctually each day at nine, headed over to the bar – from which vantage point he could see who was coming and going – strolled through the rooms, climbed up one of the turrets, and then went home. More often than not he didn’t exchange a single word with anyone. At first he had become an object of curiosity, but as time went on nobody paid him any heed.
Once he reached the club, he went to the bar and asked for gin with a splash of orange juice. This was his
favourite drink and the bartender would prepare it for him as soon as he saw him enter the establishment. He was always one of the more elegant officers – except that he lacked the fatuousness which distinguished all the others – and he wasn’t smugly proud of his appearance. One only had to look at him when he stood in front of the mirror: meticulously well-kept, but absent-minded, he seemed no more interested or pleased than if he’d been putting his desk in order. Two officers made for the bar with the sole purpose of greeting him.
‘Do you know we’re leaving?’
The regiment had been transferred to the border. In those days, there was constant talk of war brewing on the horizon, and their orders appeared to confirm this.
Captain Renzi was keen to know all the minuscule details of their departure date, taking the two soldiers by surprise. Yet his curiosity stopped short there. He merely wanted to know at what hour and on what day the regiment would be departing. Nothing more.
‘He’s such an oddball,’ one of the officers said as they walked away.
The Captain remained sitting at the bar for a half hour. Then he stood up, ambled distractedly from one room to the other, and then went up to the terrace. He left shortly afterwards and swiftly made for a corner of the garden. There was a group of officers there talking animatedly. They were exchanging confused comments about the war, of the lodgings they would find in that distant border town, of the families they would have to leave behind. As for the younger officers, they commiserated over having to leave their city and club behind. Everyone had drunk their fill and conversation flowed easily.
‘Is it true that you’re leaving?’
‘Of course! You heard that too?’
‘I did, Major Fontana told me.’
‘Some pretty excellent news, eh?’ the young officer said sarcastically.
‘Why do you say that?’
‘What do you mean, why?’
‘Are you afraid of war?’
The Fourth Shore Page 3
