The Neapolitan Novels

by Elena Ferrante

Enzo said to her:

  “Stop it.”

  She turned against him sharply:

  “I say what I like. My son is a drug addict, my son didn’t study, my son speaks and writes poorly, my son is a good-for-nothing, my son has all the sins. But the one who steals is her daughter, the one who betrays her sister is Elsa.”

  Enzo said to me:

  “Let’s go, I’ll go with you to Bologna.”

  We left in the car, we traveled at night. I had scarcely returned from Rome, the trip in the car had tired me. The sorrow and the fury that had arisen had absorbed all my remaining forces and now that the tension was easing I felt exhausted. Sitting next to Enzo, as we left Naples and got on the highway, what took hold was anxiety for the state in which I had left Dede, fear for what could happen to Elsa, some shame for the way I had frightened Imma, the way I had spoken to Lila, forgetting that Rino was her only child. I didn’t know whether to telephone Pietro in America and tell him to come back right away, I didn’t know if I really should go to the police. “We’ll solve it ourselves,” Enzo said, feigning confidence. “Don’t worry, it’s pointless to hurt the boy.”

  “I don’t want to report Rino,” I said. “I just want them to find Elsa.”

  It was true. I muttered that I wanted to recover my daughter, go home, pack my bags, not remain a minute longer in that house, in the neighborhood, in Naples. It makes no sense, I said, that now Lila and I start fighting about who brought up her children better, and if what happened is her fault or mine—I can’t bear it.

  Enzo listened to me at length, in silence, then, although I felt he had been angry at Lila for a long time, he began to make excuses for her. He didn’t speak about Rino, about the problems he caused his mother, but about Tina. He said: If a being a few years old dies, she’s dead, it’s over, sooner or later you resign yourself. But if she disappears, if you no longer know anything about her, there’s not a thing that remains in her place, in your life. Will Tina never return or will she return? And when she returns, will she be alive or dead? Every moment—he murmured—you’re asking where she is. Is she a Gypsy on the street? Is she at home with rich people who have no children? Are people making her do horrible things and selling the photographs and films? Did they cut her up and sell her heart for a high price so it could be transplanted to another child’s chest? Are the other pieces underground, or were they burned? Or is she under the ground intact, because she died accidentally after she was abducted? And if earth and fire didn’t take her, and she is growing up who knows where, what does she look like now, what will she become later, if we meet her on the street will we recognize her? And if we recognize her who will give us back everything we lost of her, everything that happened when we weren’t there and little Tina felt abandoned?

  At a certain point, while Enzo spoke in his laborious but dense sentences, I saw his tears in the glow of the headlights, I knew he wasn’t talking only about Lila but was trying to express his own suffering as well. That trip with him was important; I still find it hard to imagine a man with a finer sensibility than his. At first he told me what, every day, every night in those four years Lila had whispered or shouted. Then he urged me to talk about my work and my dissatisfactions. I told him about the girls, about books, about men, about resentments, about the need for approval. And I mentioned all my writing, which now had become obligatory, I struggled day and night to feel myself present, to not let myself be marginalized, to fight against those who considered me an upstart little woman without talent: persecutors—I muttered—whose only purpose is to make me lose my audience, and not because they’re inspired by any elevated motives but, rather, for the enjoyment of keeping me from improvement, or to carve out for themselves or for their protégés some wretched power harmful to me. He let me vent, he praised the energy I put into things. You see—he said—how excited you get. The effort has anchored you to the world you’ve chosen, it’s given you broad and detailed expertise in it, above all it has engaged your feelings. So life has dragged you along, and Tina, for you, is certainly an atrocious episode, thinking about it makes you sad, but it’s also, by now, a distant fact. For Lila, on the other hand, in all these years, the world collapsed as if it were hearsay, and slid into the void left by her daughter, like the rain that rushes down a drainpipe. She remains frozen at Tina, and feels bitter toward everything that continues to be alive, that grows and prospers. Of course, he said, she is strong, she treats me terribly, she gets angry with you, she says ugly things. But you don’t know how many times she has fainted just when she seemed tranquil, washing the dishes or staring out the window at the stradone.

  29.

  In Bologna we found no trace of Rino and my daughter, even though Moreno, frightened by Enzo’s fierce calm, dragged us through streets and hangouts where, according to him, if they were in the city, the two would certainly have been welcomed. Enzo telephoned Lila often, I Dede. We hoped that there would be good news, but there wasn’t. At that point I was seized by a new crisis, I no longer knew what to do. I said again:

  “I’m going to the police.”

  Enzo shook his head.

  “Wait a little.”

  “Rino has ruined Elsa.”

  “You can’t say that. You have to try to look at your daughters as they really are.”

  “It’s what I do continuously.”

  “Yes, but you don’t do it well. Elsa would do anything to make Dede suffer and they are in agreement on a single point: tormenting Imma.”

  “Don’t make me say mean things: it’s Lila who sees them like that and you’re repeating what she says.”

  “Lila loves you, admires you, is fond of your daughters. It’s me who thinks these things, and I’m saying them to help you be reasonable. Calm down, you’ll see, we’ll find them.”

  We didn’t find them, we decided to return to Naples. But as we were nearing Florence Enzo wanted to call Lila again to find out if there was any news. When he hung up he said, bewildered:

  “Dede needs to talk to you but Lina doesn’t know why.”

  “Is she at your house?”

  “No, she’s at yours.”

  I called immediately, I was afraid that Imma was sick. Dede didn’t even give me a chance to speak, she said:

  “I’m leaving tomorrow for the United States, I’m going to study there.”

  I tried not to shout:

  “Now is not the moment for that conversation, as soon as possible we’ll talk about it with Papa.”

  “One thing has to be clear, Mamma: Elsa will return to this house only when I am gone.”

  “For now the most urgent thing is to find out where she is.”

  She cried to me in dialect:

  “That bitch telephoned a little while ago, she’s at Grandma’s.”

  30.

  The grandma was, of course, Adele; I called my in-laws. Guido answered coldly and put his wife on. Adele was cordial, she told me that Elsa was there and added, Not only her.

  “The boy’s there, too?”

  “Yes.”

  “Would you mind if I came to you?”

  “We’re expecting you.”

  I had Enzo leave me at the station in Florence. The journey was complicated, with delays, waits, annoyances of every type. I thought about how Elsa, with her sly capriciousness, had ended up involving Adele. If Dede was incapable of deception, Elsa was at her best when it came to inventing strategies that could protect her and perhaps let her win. She had planned, it was clear, to impose Rino on me in the presence of her grandmother, a person who—she and her sister knew well—had been very unwilling to accept me as a daughter-in-law. For the entire journey I felt relieved because I knew she was safe and hated her for the situation she was putting me in.

  I arrived in Genoa ready for a hard battle. But I found Adele very welcoming and Guido polite. As for Elsa—dressed for a party, heavily made
up, on her wrist my mother’s bracelet, and on full display the ring that years earlier her father had given me—she was affectionate and relaxed, as if she found it inconceivable that I could be mad at her. The only silent one, eyes perpetually downcast, was Rino, so that I felt sorry for him and ended up more hostile toward my daughter than toward him. Maybe Enzo was right, the boy had had scant importance in that story. Of his mother’s hardness, her insolence, he had no trace, it was Elsa who had dragged him along, beguiling him, and only to hurt Dede. The rare times he had the courage to look at me his glances were those of a faithful dog.

  I quickly understood that Adele had received Elsa and Rino as a couple: they had their own room, their own towels, they slept together. Elsa had no trouble flaunting that intimacy authorized by her grandmother, maybe she even accentuated it for me. When the two withdrew after dinner, holding hands, my mother-in-law tried to push me to confess my aversion for Rino. She’s a child, she said at a certain point, I really don’t know what she sees in that young man, she has to be helped to get out of it. I tried, I said: He’s a good kid, but even if he weren’t, she’s in love and there’s little to be done. I thanked her for welcoming them with affection and broad-mindedness, and went to bed.

  But I spent the whole night thinking about the situation. If I said the wrong thing, even just a wrong word, I would probably ruin both my daughters. I couldn’t make a clean break between Elsa and Rino. I couldn’t oblige the two sisters to live together at that impossible moment: what had happened was serious and for a while the two girls couldn’t be under the same roof. To think of moving to another city would only complicate things, Elsa would make it her duty to stay with Rino. I quickly realized that if I wanted to take Elsa home and get her to graduate from high school I would have to lose Dede—actually send her to live with her father. So the next day, instructed by Adele about the best time to call (she and her son—I discovered—talked to each other constantly), I talked to Pietro. His mother had informed him in detail about what had happened and from his bad mood I deduced that Adele’s true feelings were certainly not what she showed me. Pietro said gravely:

  “We have to try to understand what sort of parents we’ve been and how we’ve failed our daughters.”

  “Are you saying that I haven’t been and am not a good mother?”

  “I’m saying that there’s a need for continuity of affection and that neither you nor I have been able to insure that Dede and Elsa have that.”

  I interrupted him, announcing that he would have a chance to be a full-time father to at least one of the girls: Dede wanted to go and live with him immediately, she would leave as soon as possible.

  He didn’t take the news well, he was silent, he prevaricated, he said he was still adapting and needed time. I answered: You know Dede, you’re identical, even if you tell her no you’ll find her there.

  The same day, as soon as I had a chance to talk to Elsa alone, I confronted her, ignoring her blandishments. I had her give back the money, the jewelry, my mother’s bracelet, which I immediately put on, stating: You must never touch my things again.

  She was conciliatory, I wasn’t, I hissed that I wouldn’t hesitate for a moment to report first of all Rino, and then her. As soon as she tried to answer I pushed her against a wall, I raised my hand to hit her. I must have had a terrible expression, she burst into terrified tears.

  “I hate you,” she sobbed. “I don’t ever want to see you again, I will never go back to that shitty place where you made us live.”

  “All right, I’ll leave you here for the summer, if your grandparents don’t kick you out first.”

  “And then?”

  “Then in September you’ll come home, you’ll go to school, you’ll study, you’ll live with Rino in our apartment until you’ve had enough of him.”

  She stared at me, stunned; there was a long instant of incredulity. I had uttered those words as if they contained the most terrible punishment, she took them as a surprising gesture of generosity.

  “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll never have enough of him.”

  “We’ll see.”

  “And Aunt Lina?”

  “Aunt Lina will agree.”

  “I didn’t want to hurt Dede, Mamma, I love Rino, it happened.”

  “It will happen countless more times.”

  “It’s not true.”

  “Worse for you. It means you’ll love Rino your whole life.”

  “You’re making fun of me.”

  I said no, I felt only all the absurdity of that verb in the mouth of a child.

  31.

  I returned to the neighborhood, I told Lila what I had proposed to the children. It was a cold exchange, almost a negotiation.

  “You’ll have them in your house?”

  “Yes.”

  “If it’s all right with you, it’s all right with me, too.”

  “We’ll split the expenses.”

  “I can pay it all.”

  “For now I have money.”

  “For now I do, too.”

  “We’re agreed, then.”

  “How did Dede take it?”

  “Fine. She’s leaving in a couple of weeks, she’s going to visit her father.”

  “Tell her to come and say goodbye.”

  “I don’t think she will.”

  “Then tell her to say hello to Pietro for me.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  Suddenly I felt a great sorrow, I said:

  “In just a few days I’ve lost two daughters.”

  “Don’t use that expression: you haven’t lost anything, rather you’ve gained a son.”

  “It’s you who pushed him in that direction.”

  She wrinkled her forehead, she seemed confused.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You always have to incite, shove, poke.”

  “Now you want to get mad at me, too, for what your children get up to?”

  I muttered, I’m tired, and left.

  For days, for weeks, in fact, I couldn’t stop thinking that Lila couldn’t bear the equilibrium in my life and so aimed at disrupting it. It had always been so, but after Tina’s disappearance it had worsened: she made a move, observed the consequences, made another move. The objective? Maybe not even she knew. Of course the relationship of the two sisters was ruined, Elsa was in terrible trouble, Dede was leaving, I would remain in the neighborhood for an indeterminate amount of time.

  32.

  I was preoccupied with Dede’s departure. Occasionally I said to her: Stay, you’re making me very unhappy. She answered: You have so many things to do, you won’t even notice I’m gone. I insisted: Imma adores you and so does Elsa, you’ll clear things up, it will pass. But Dede didn’t want to hear her sister’s name, as soon as I mentioned it she assumed an expression of disgust and went out, slamming the door.

  A few nights before her departure she suddenly grew very pale—we were having dinner—and began to tremble. She muttered: I can’t breathe. Imma quickly poured her a glass of water. Dede took a sip, then left her place and came to sit on my lap. It was something she had never done. She was big, taller than me, she had long since cut off even the slightest contact between our bodies; if by chance we touched she sprang back as if by a force of repulsion. Her weight surprised me, her warmth, her full hips. I held her around the waist, she put her arms around my neck, she wept with deep sobs. Imma left her place at the table, came over and tried to be included in the embrace. She must have thought that her sister wouldn’t leave, and for the next days she was happy, she behaved as if everything had been put right. But Dede did leave; rather, after that breakdown she seemed tougher and more determined. With Imma she was affectionate, she kissed her hundreds of times, she said: I want at least one letter a week. She let me hug and k
iss her, but without returning it. I hovered around her, I struggled to predict her every desire, it was useless. When I complained of her coldness she said: It’s impossible to have a real relationship with you, the only things that count are work and Aunt Lina; there’s nothing that’s not swallowed up inside them, the real punishment, for Elsa, is to stay here. Bye, Mamma.

  On the positive side there was only the fact that she had gone back to calling her sister by name.

  33.

  When, in early September of 1988, Elsa returned home, I hoped that her liveliness would drive out the impression that Lila really had managed to pull me down into her void. But it wasn’t so. Rino’s presence in the house, instead of giving new life to the rooms, made them bleak. He was an affectionate youth, completely submissive to Elsa and Imma, who treated him like their servant. I myself, I have to say, got into the habit of entrusting to him endless boring tasks—mainly the long lines at the post office—which left me more time to work. But it depressed me to see that big slow body around, available at the slightest nod and yet moping, always obedient except when it came to basic rules like remembering to raise the toilet seat when he peed, leaving the bathtub clean, not leaving his dirty socks and underwear on the floor.

  Elsa didn’t lift a finger to improve the situation, rather she purposely complicated it. I didn’t like her coy ways with Rino in front of Imma, I hated her performance as an uninhibited woman when in fact she was a girl of fifteen. Above all I couldn’t bear the state in which she left the room where once she had slept with Dede and which now she occupied with Rino. She got out of bed, sleepily, to go to school, had breakfast quickly, slipped away. After a while Rino appeared, ate for an hour, shut himself in the bathroom for at least another half hour, got dressed, hung around, went out, picked up Elsa at school. When they got back they ate cheerfully and immediately shut themselves in the room.

  That room was like a crime scene, Elsa didn’t want me to touch anything. But neither of them bothered to open the windows or tidy up a little. I did it before Pinuccia arrived; it annoyed me that she would smell the odor of sex, that she would find traces of their relations.