The Garden of Monsters

by Lorenza Pieri

  Sauro took his daughter in his arms and lifted her into the air. Saverio, not to be outdone, lifted Lisa, who laughed, shouting, “Put me down!” which sounded like it meant the opposite. It took Annamaria an hour to leave the sports field, shaking hands and thanking everyone. She was the star of the evening. When she got to the food stands, a new round of applause came from the long tables. Giovanna had come up to her and hugged her. She was holding her nephew by the hand, her brother’s son, who had watched Annamaria with admiration, and said to her, “Is it true that we’re kind of cousins? So now you’re my famous cousin?” Annamaria had looked at Giovanna and said quietly to her, “I’ve got to talk to you later: I might have found my Niki, the person who’s made me understand who I am.” Giovanna had nodded as she went away. It still wasn’t possible for the two of them to be seen in public so near each other. The rest of the night, Sauro had shown her off to all his important friends like a trophy, not realizing that Annamaria had served them all at the restaurant—they knew her already. Saverio looked proud and happy, and kept on telling everyone who congratulated him, “We raised this one well,” taking part of the credit for himself. Before she went home, Lisa had hugged her a long time and said into her ear, “You’re one of the great ones, stupid, don’t you see that you’ve got to listen to me?” And Annamaria inhaled the scent of Lisa’s conditioner and thought there could be nothing better in this life than listening to her.

  *

  She spent the night completely sleepless, listening to the owl. Half asleep, she wrote Lisa an imaginary letter.

  Look what you’ve done for me. You made it so other people would notice me, but more than that, you made me see myself, convinced as I am that I don’t amount to anything, that I don’t know how to do anything. I think it’s the first time in my life that this has happened. Still, what’s kept me awake until now isn’t the joy of having won, or of being appreciated by the village and in the midst of so many men, but the joy that you noticed me. The rest of the world means nothing to me. Your world, which seemed so out of reach to me and faraway; you, so different and so beautiful. All of a sudden you seemed closer to me. My frustration disappeared, for one instant the world had become fair. You gave me a kiss, and I won the contest for you. All the things I can’t tell you are here, in these thoughts that keep racing through my head. I think only about you, care only about you; and whether a place for us has ever existed, and could continue to exist, a world in which both of us belong, and love each other.

  There was nothing to do, sleep had not come, the crowing of the rooster and the birds had begun to build and then to blend with the noises of the house, of the countryside, the barking of the dogs. Annamaria got up and went to have breakfast. The air was cool, and the jujube tree she saw through her window was laden with fruit. It was the second-to-last day of vacation.

  12. THE HANGED MAN

  Pause. Hidden depths. Reversal.

  A few days after the beginning of eleventh grade, Annamaria appeared in class with a copy of one of the major national daily papers, in which a little article about her appeared in the “Free time and vacation” section, titled “The Maremma Celebrates its Little Cowgirl.” It was signed Giulia della Rovere. The article described the event, and spoke of the daughter of Sauro Biagini, “known as ‘The King,’ a cowboy in his own right and a noted local entrepreneur, enlivener of the Maremma nights,” and of this “determined sixteen-year-old brunette, who in addition to being an Amazon and a model student, is capable of beating older, more experienced male colleagues in ability and speed.” It ended: “The village is proud that its traditions can be carried forward by this courageous girl, the little cowgirl in skirts.” Annamaria disliked the expression “cowgirl in skirts” so much, because for one thing, there hadn’t been a skirt, and also, the photo that was published, among the ones taken by Tamara, was hideous, with her eyes half shut, and in a strange pose that made it look like she had no neck. From that day on, her classmates had started calling her “Cowgirl,” which sounded even worse to her than Annamarì. She regretted having brought the newspaper to school. But all in all, she was very proud to have won that contest and to have ended up in the paper.

  The article was kept in a glass frame that Miriam had hung in the kitchen. For Annamaria, everything that had happened—the gymkhana, the applause, the sudden popularity, the article in a major national newspaper, had only one meaning: Lisa. That she’d suddenly stood up for her, introduced her, encouraged her, had given her an official sign of approval, and a proof of friendship. Of all the possible forms of attention she’d always sought from her, that one had struck her as enormous and confusing. An unexpected act of love from a sea of indifference, amid so many small gestures that had made her feel snubbed, if not hurt. Lisa continued to be moody and hard to read, but Annamaria felt she was the key that could unlock the door to Lisa’s most beautiful secret rooms. She began building a castle of her own around these rooms, rereading the letters from Cuba to add bricks and cornerstones.

  Dearest Lisa,

  I finally have time to respond to all the letters you sent me from Cuba. They are amazing and I think you should recycle them to get As on your next essays. You have such deep ideas, and every line is so full of meaning and so well written that now I’m almost ashamed to write to you with these banal thoughts and the details of my idiotic life that’s always the same.

  School has started again, and I wake up at six thirty, take the bus, work really hard, come back at two eat, rest a bit then go do my homework, which there’s always so much of, and finish at supper time, watch television or read and then go to sleep, or try to, while Mamma and Grandpa watch taped episodes of the Indietro Tutta! show at top volume. That way I hear it, too. It’s great, do you watch it? Then the next day is the same. Thrilling, right?

  As for what’s going on at my high school, there’s one good thing and one bad one: the good one is, I don’t have that hag from the last two years anymore; the bad one is, ever since my classmates read the article in the newspaper they call me Cowgirl, and that’s not very nice, because obviously there’s an offensive connotation (see, I know big words, too), since I’m from the country, a farmgirl, a peasant, while they’re the children of lawyers, doctors, pharmacists from Orbetello.

  But I have to say that I don’t give a shit about them, as they say here.

  They should shut their mouths until one of them ends up in the newspaper for doing something worthwhile.

  I wanted to thank you again for making me do the cowboy Palio—if you hadn’t spurred me on (that is: dug in with your spurs to force me on) I would never have had the guts, and you know how important a thing like that was for me, with my insecurity.

  I think that only people who truly love you take your success to heart, and that, more than anything, is what filled me with joy: to know that you truly love me.

  I hope that dance practice won’t keep you too far from the village. You know I’m always waiting for you, I do nothing else, practically everything I do is to fill the time while I wait for you.

  I love you,

  Ciao

  Ann

  She had written that “ciao” in puffy letters with a special pen, and filled it in with all sorts of colors. She attributed the fact that she’d gotten no reply to that babyish handwriting. Lisa hadn’t been back to the village. Annamaria always asked Sanfilippi, however, who came regularly every weekend, and he responded vaguely that she was studying, or had a test, or was doing something with her friends, or her boyfriend, and wanted to stay in Rome. “Give her my very best,” Annamaria replied, sure that this would be forgotten. Various times she was tempted to ask Lisa’s father for their telephone number, but she was ashamed; maybe Lisa wouldn’t have been home, or maybe she wouldn’t have known what to say to her. She wrote her another letter, first making two ugly drafts that she ripped into tiny pieces.

  Dearest Lisa,

 
I am so sorry that I’ve gotten no reply. If it’s due to the fact that I seem moronic to you because I signed off with colored letters like in middle school, I promise I won’t do that anymore.

  How are you?

  I think you’re doing well, because your father told me you have a whole lot going on, but I hope you’ll find five minutes to respond to me. Even a postcard would be fine.

  But hopefully you’ll be free some Saturday to come out, so we can spend a little time together.

  It would be wonderful to go back with you to the Monsters, oops, to the Tarot Garden—they’ve grown so much since last time. Now the fountain is entirely covered in a blue mosaic, and that tower that had a wheel sticking out of it sparkles all over with little mirrors. What a flash there was that day! It would be so wonderful to talk with the artist again.

  That second cousin of mine who works there, Giovanna, has told me lots of things about her (she’s her personal assistant, and she is truly a fantastic and magical person).

  I’d like so much to know her better because, from what Giovanna has told me, from the little I’ve understood, it’s as if she had a great fire inside her, which gives off light and shines on the people around her, not just on her work. I don’t know if I’m getting the idea across.

  But I don’t want to go there alone, because I get shy and don’t know what to say, whereas you’re always in fine form, and know the names of artists and famous people. I’ll wait for you and maybe we can go there on my moped or we can get Saverio to take us (he’s been making a pile of money at the gym lately, and he gives me 50 bucks every week, it’s so great).

  I want to thank you again for the cowboy competition. It was incredibly important to me, this might have been the first time in my life that anybody helped me achieve a personal success. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to repay you given that you already know very well who you are, and given that you’re surrounded by people who remind you every day how marvelous you are, including the mirror.

  You will become the prima ballerina of the Opéra de Paris. Maybe I’ll take you there one day on horseback, just think how cool it will be, we’ll arrive, me dressed like a cowboy, you in your tutu.

  You in your tutu makes me think of the tu-tu-tu-tu-tu-tu sound the telephone makes when you hang up: I’ll leave you my number in case you want to call me instead of writing me, that would be faster: 0564 897617.

  I love you so much and I miss you. Answer my letter, please.

  Ciao.

  Til soon.

  Ann.

  Annamaria put the period after her signature, in which she changed her name. She hadn’t realized she was using so many periods. A capital letter. Next line. Another period. Next line. So much insecurity in this parataxis. And all that self-deprecation, and the compliments. The person who responded to her letter instantly picked up on that, and tried to reassure her with her reply.

  Dearest Ann (you like to be called that, and not Cowgirl, right?)

  Forgive me for not writing to you more often, but since school started and dance resumed, I haven’t had a break. I wanted to apply to the Academy, because there, at least, they’re more lenient about studying, but my father said no, he says I have to graduate from this school or I won’t be well-prepared for college (which, moreover, I’m not sure I want to go to, either), so I think I can’t get out of it. This year I’ve got the graduating exam, and the professors are already stressed out and filling us with anxiety. I don’t know when I can come, I hope soon. I also saw Niki again, she’s mythic. Her husband Jean was there, the sculptor who makes the wheels and the mechanisms that move, with scrap metal and the skulls of dead animals. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a husband and wife who are so complicit, and so hard to explain. It’s something you perceive in the way they look at each other. When other husbands and wives are among other people, it seems like they look at each other only to find fault. But these two do it to encourage one another, as if to say, “I like what you’re saying, go on.” You should get to know him, too. I think Jean did something major for her, for years he’s been giving her the thing I gave you only once, and in a small way: the encouragement, the stimulus, to make you recognize what you are very capable of doing, and the support to make you do it for yourself. The way men do it, without fear, with vanity; with ambition, and without shame. We girls have to learn to be ambitious and not to be ashamed of it. That’s no small task, given that the greatest ambition that was pressed on our mothers was to marry “a good catch,” and to achieve that, all that was necessary was to be beautiful and quietly educated. We’ve got a big job ahead of us.

  In the meantime, straighten those shoulders that I can see you’re hunching as you read.

  A big hug, Ann, I hope I’ll manage to see you at the end of October.

  I love you too,

  Lisa

  Annamaria reread the letter countless times. She sniffed the fuchsia ink that retained a faint scent of strawberry and stroked the sign-off, “I love you too,” indented in the paper, with a finger, closing her eyes. Beneath her fingertips was the most equivocal of caresses. How easy it is to find signs of love, when you’re young and in love, and don’t know anything yet.

  13. DEATH

  Change. Profound transformation. Rupture.

  October came, bringing its shorter hours of daylight and the temptation to keep wearing shorts, to take a midday swim, and to get dressed immediately after, feeling salt between the skin and the cotton, hair bathed in the illusion of sunshine. Enchanted days, like all the days in the countryside that mark the passing of one season into another. The transition that brings new colors, and the thrill of standing on the threshold before taking the definitive step.

  It was a long weekend, because of a general strike that was keeping most of the schools closed, so all the Sanfilippis were in the country by Friday afternoon. For Saturday morning they’d organized one of the usual horse rides with a stop at the Seaside Cowboy for lunch, the last day before it closed for the winter. Sauro had asked for maximum participation from the family: Filippo had brought a government minister with his wife and children. They wanted to buy a house in the area, so they needed to make them feel welcome, to make them see what a delight it would be to spend time there, to go horseback riding, to revel in the countryside, the sea, to spend time with prominent people and to always eat well, at tables with beautiful views and well-connected fellow diners.

  Lisa didn’t want to go on a ride, and Annamaria was upset that she couldn’t be with her. Giulia came up with an alternative: she would take the girls to the Tarot Garden to meet the artist. Sauro had to accept, and he asked Saverio to accompany him, taking the riding group out on the horses. Given that he’d recently agreed to play cowboy, Saverio accepted again, but he made it clear to his father that he shouldn’t count on him to entertain the guests, or to serve at table, and that this would be the last time.

  Giulia had told Annamaria that she knew Niki, knew the owners of the property where the Garden was built, and that she had made an appointment with her for “a chat with promising young women.” Niki had said yes, but not for more than half an hour. Annamaria was a little astonished that Giulia had taken the initiative. She had asked to go to the Garden with Lisa, not with her mother. The fact that Lisa had been considerate enough to have sought her mother’s intervention seemed strange to her, all the more so because she seemed fairly uninterested in the trip. But for Annamaria, this was just part of her friend’s strange moods, sometimes nice, sometimes bitchy, in the space of a few minutes.

  Regardless, everything was working to perfection, and they would rejoin the others at the Seaside Cowboy for lunch.

  Giulia and Lisa, along with the minister’s daughter, who was ten and was called Maria Vittoria, Mavi to friends, came by around ten to pick up Annamaria in the car. She had put on her best outfit, a pair of pleated navy pants and a shirt with pink stripes that Saverio
had given her when his hormone-puffed shoulders no longer allowed him to fit into it. She’d also dared some mascara, but all in all, it wasn’t different from what she wore when she was in uniform serving tables. Seeing what the others were wearing, much more suitable for the occasion, she wondered why she’d chosen to dress as if she were going to mass. But Giulia complimented her: “You look good in pink, and the mascara heightens your femininity, too.” Lisa hadn’t even gotten out of the car, and had remained chilly when Annamaria had opened Lisa’s door before taking a seat in the back, to give her a kiss and tell her how happy she was to be going back to the Monsters with her.

  Only Guilia talked all the way to the Garden, preparing them for the visit with a few observations.

  “Niki is an exceptional person, you’ve noticed, a fascinating and very charismatic woman. My friend told me that when she went to propose the project to the Caracciolo brothers, they immediately said yes, because they were persuaded by the idea, but most of all, because they fell in love with her on the spot. Beauty helps, girls, nothing can be done about that. It shouldn’t, and mustn’t, become a goal, but it certainly can spare you many unpleasant paths, it must be said. For that reason, you’ve got to try to hold onto it . . . without making it an obsession, but don’t believe anyone who tells you it counts for nothing.”

  The road was increasingly winding. Giulia drove in bursts with lots of braking in between, and Annamaria felt a little nauseous, but she started talking anyway, to amuse Giulia, who responded to all of her comments with a Pavlovian laugh. Annamaria put on a Tuscan accent because she knew that worked even better.