The City and the House

by Natalia Ginzburg

  Sometimes two of my brother’s friends come over after supper. Their names are Schultz and Kramer. They work in the same Institute. My brother and Anne Marie talk and laugh a lot with them, until late at night. I stay for a while during these conversations, without understanding anything because they are on scientific subjects and because I don’t know English well enough. I go to bed early.

  I had an interview for an Italian teaching post. They accepted me. I shall teach Italian in a school. A few days ago my brother and I went to see the director. I start at the beginning of January.

  My brother has advised me to buy a bicycle. I shall cycle to school. According to my brother you enjoy the fresh morning air better on a bicycle than on foot.

  I shall teach for two or three months or so and then perhaps I shall return to Italy. Goodness only knows why I was such an idiot as to sell my house.

  Giuseppe

  Anne Marie’s daughter and son-in-law have arrived. They are sleeping in the drawing room where there are two sofa-beds. They will spend the New Year here. The daughter is a thin, skinny girl. She wears spectacles and she’s pregnant. The son-in-law is a little fellow, thin, with red hair and jug ears. The son-in-law’s name is Danny, the daughter’s Chantal. They both work in an advertising agency.

  I’ve bought a bicycle.

  ROBERTA TO ALBERICO

  Rome, 15th January

  Dear Alberico,

  I was very pleased that you phoned me yesterday, and I thank you very much for your New Year’s greetings, even though I realize that you didn’t phone to wish me a Happy New Year but for your own purposes. You asked me to find you a house to rent in Rome, and you want it at once, by the end of the month.

  My dear boy, if you think it is easy to find a house in Rome you are mistaken. You say you want it to be central, really central, in old Rome; poor boy if you think it is easy to find a house to rent in old Rome you have another think coming.

  Your flat in via Torricelli was not in old Rome, but it was a splendid flat. You made a terrible mistake when you sold it, and your father made a terrible mistake too when he sold his flat here, above me, where the Lanzaras are now. You have been a couple of real fools.

  I’ve asked someone I know who has an estate agent’s to look out for a house for you wherever possible.

  You told me you have also phoned your father recently, and that was very good of you. You get in touch so seldom that every sign of life you give is all to the good.

  I also phoned your father over the New Year. He seemed to me to be in a very bad mood. When I phoned there were guests in the house, your Uncle Ferraccio’s wife’s daughter and son-in-law. The house was probably in something of a muddle and your father detests muddle, and he doesn’t like guests in the house as you know. And perhaps he doesn’t like your uncle’s wife, this Anne Marie woman, much. That’s the impression I got. He doesn’t like America at all either, though what’s he seen of it? He hasn’t seen anything, in New York he had a bit of a sore throat and stayed holed up in his hotel, and now he’s in Princeton he’s always shut up in the house - from what he told me - even if he hasn’t got a sore throat any more. He’s a real character your father is.

  I spent New Year’s Eve upstairs in the flat that used to be your father’s. The Lanzaras invited me. The flat is still a bit disorganized because they only moved in a few days ago. They have made some changes and it’s unrecognizable, but in those places where I did recognise it I felt very sad, because I remembered when I used to come up and find your father there and now I find the Lanzaras instead. They are kind, pleasant people, but you can well understand how it’s not the same for me.

  They have made a lot of changes. They have given those pale blue kitchen fittings to the caretaker and they’ve made a new kitchen with co-ordinated units. To tell the truth I’d have been grateful if they’d given them to me, but apparently it didn’t occur to them. It’s a pity your father didn’t think of giving them to me, seeing that the Lanzaras didn’t want them - I suppose they thought them old-fashioned and not very stylish.

  Anyway, I had a really lively New Year’s Eve with the Lanzaras. I took two pies up, one cheese and one vegetable, and I gave up my diet for the evening; there were lots of different dishes and I tried them all. I think you should be psychoanalysed by Tonino Lanzara. He is a good analyst, he’s very serious and you need an analyst. You need one, let me tell you, you need one as much as you need bread to eat.

  I don’t want to lecture you because that’s not how I am, but when you come back to Rome try not to spend time in all those awful places. When you were here you got into awful habits, so much so that you finished up in jail; be careful that doesn’t happen to you again.

  I can well believe that you haven’t finished the film, but I’m sorry. Anyway, it’s been an experience for you, and perhaps you will be able to continue working in the cinema.

  I would like news of that girl Nadia whom you introduced me to in Florence that day. I’d like to know if she had an abortion or not. You say I’m to find a flat for you and for your friends. I’d like to know if these friends are the same as the ones I met that day.

  With love from

  Roberta

  Your father has bought a bicycle. The only thing he’s managed to do since he arrived in America is to buy himself a bicycle.

  GIUSEPPE TO ROBERTA

  Princeton, 18th January

  Dear Roberta,

  I was really pleased to hear your voice when you phoned a few days ago with your best wishes for the New Year. Then Piero and Lucrezia phoned too from Monte Fermo, and Egisto, Serena, Albina, all our friends, they were all there together, and I think Ignazio Fegiz was there too, or at least there was a voice that seemed like his. When they phoned it was late at night because they had mixed up the time difference and they thought it was day time over here. Anne Marie came down in her nightdress to answer the phone. She has a pink flannel nightdress. There were lots of voices on the phone and I realized they were snatching the receiver from each other to say something to me, and then they were laughing and shrieking - they must have had quite a lot of wine to drink. For a moment Lucrezia’s voice was there too, but only for a moment. It was a real joy for me to hear all their voices together and to think of them all together there, at Le Margherite, in the sitting-room, that sitting-room I remember so well with the big oval table, the lamp-shade with its frayed border, the basket of firewood and the dogs’ cushion, the sofa in front of the fireplace, and over the fireplace the picture of King Lear.

  I start my lessons in two days, I’m not excited about it. I just have to teach Italian literature to a class of thirty people, all adults. I’m not worried. I’m pleased that I’ll have an income. I shall go every morning at nine. I shall go by bicycle. Ferruccio has shown me the road I have to take.

  When I was young I taught history and philosophy in high schools. It’s strange that here in America I should go back to doing those things I did when I was young; writing a novel, cycling, teaching.

  After the New Year Anne Marie’s daughter and son-in-law left. This was a relief to me because the house had been in a muddle and because the son-in-law often came and sat in my room, why I don’t know. I think he felt that he liked me. He is someone who is full of problems. He has difficulties at work and his relationship with his wife is not an easy one. He suffers from insomnia. He lost his father and mother, and he had an unhappy childhood, tossed backwards and forwards, entrusted to different families that for one reason or another he had to leave. He would like his wife to be kinder to him. His wife has a strong, arrogant nature. That’s what he claims. I said I didn’t see all this strength and arrogance in Chantal. She seems a gentle girl. She used to appear in the kitchen in the mornings, with her pregnant belly, her glasses, her dishevelled hair about her neck, in a cheap grey woollen dress with four big buttons down one side of her belly and four down the other, with an air of being serious, determined, deep in thought. Every now and again though she woul
d give a shrill, unexpected burst of laughter, like the shrieking of some bird, when she upset the milk or burnt the toast. Danny told me that she and her mother do, not see eye to eye. Anne Marie is also a strong, arrogant woman. I finally realized why Danny came and sat in my room. Because he couldn’t stand Anne Marie and he had realized that I couldn’t stand her either.

  Danny must be about Alberico’s age, or a few years older. Like Alberico he had a difficult childhood. Alberico wasn’t tossed backwards and forwards because there was always Aunt Bice. But he too experienced little or no happiness while he was a child. Everywhere you look you find difficult childhoods, insomnia, neuroses, problems.

  I think I’ll return to Italy in a few months. I thought I’d stay here till June and then return. You will have,to help me find a house. I haven’t talked about it to Ferruccio. I’ll tell him when it’s convenient. Selling my house was certainly a big mistake. You were right. Never mind, what’s done can’t be undone and there’s a reason for everything. A stupid proverb because the things we do often have neither rhyme nor reason to them. Remember me to the Lanzaras. Sometimes I hate them because they are in my house. That house will always be mine, even if I have sold it to the Lanzaras. Remember me to the walls of my house, to the convent garden, to the newspaper kiosk, to the Mariuccia Restaurant and to the Café Esperia.

  Alberico phoned me. He told me he will go back to Italy at the end of the month. I imagine that he will have to look for a house too.

  Giuseppe

  ROBERTA TO ALBERICO

  Rome, 23rd January

  Dear Alberico,

  Egisto has told me that there is an empty flat under his. The previous tenant left a few days ago. I don’t know if you can remember who Egisto is. He is a friend of your father’s, and also of mine. A journalist. He lives in Piazza San Cosimato. I met him in the street this morning. He told me about the flat and I phoned the landlady. Then I went there and I think she must have liked me because she immediately agreed to show me the flat. I immediately offered to pay her two months’ rent. I went to the bank to withdraw the cash and I took it over to her.

  I phoned you before I went to the bank but I couldn’t get hold of you. I had to hurry and I thought it best to come to an agreement without asking you. The flat has four rooms. There are some loose tiles and the fittings are shabby, but I don’t think that will worry you. It costs four hundred thousand lire a month. That’s more than it’s worth but not too much more. You can give me the money I’ve paid in advance when you come.

  I hope you haven’t changed your mind in the meantime. If you have changed your mind let me know at once. And in any case let me know the date of your arrival. I have the keys.

  Roberta

  To be honest with you, as soon as he had told me about the flat Egisto rather regretted that he’d done so, probably because he remembered that you had been in prison, and the various things people say about you. He was afraid that you might make him appear in a bad light with his landlady. He started to say that the flat was tiny and too expensive and dark. But I didn’t pay any attention. I had to drag the landlady’s number out of him. He couldn’t retreat any further. On the other hand he’s a trustworthy person and as he will have the flat above yours you’ll be able to ask him to do lots of things for you.

  ALBERICO TO ROBERTA

  Berlin, 28th January

  Dear Roberta,

  As I told you on the phone yesterday everything’s fine with me. Thanks very much, as always you’ve been marvellous. I can’t remember this Egisto fellow. I shall arrive at the beginning of February. I will phone you. Piazza San Cosimato will be fine for me. It’s not in old Rome, it’s part of Trastevere, but it’s just as good.

  Nadia hasn’t had an abortion. She’s still pregnant. She will have the child in April. She’s an idiot, but she hangs on to me for dear life and I can’t get rid of her, and anyway she will pay half the rent. There will be three of us in the flat - me, Nadia, and an Italian boy I’ve met here who is called Salvatore. Don’t worry, I will pay you back the money as soon as possible.

  I shall come to collect the keys.

  Alberico

  ROBERTA TO ALBERICO

  Rome, 29th January

  My dear Alberico,

  Something terrible has happened. Your Uncle Ferruccio has died. He died in Princeton, of cerebral thrombosis, whilst giving a paper at a conference. Your father and Anne Marie, your uncle’s wife - whom I’ve never met - were in the audience. They realized that he was having difficulty talking, and then they saw him turn pale and fall. He died a little later in hospital, without having regained consciousness.

  Your father phoned me from the hospital. He seemed shattered. I told him I’d leave for America immediately. I called you but you were out. I left my number but you didn’t call back. I sent you a telegram. I’m leaving. See if you can’t come too.

  Roberta

  PIERO AND LUCREZIA TO GIUSEPPE

  Monte Fermo, 29th January

  Dear Giuseppe,

  Roberta phoned us a short while ago. We have heard your terrible news. I remember your brother well. I met him in Rome last year. We ate in a restaurant on via Cassia. I was there, you, Lucrezia, and perhaps Roberta. Your brother and I had a long, pleasant conversation. About America, Italy, the contemporary world. He was a very intelligent, cultured man. I realize that his death will be a great loss to you. You have not been there long. He had not been married long. A sad fate. Roberta cried when she phoned us. She’s on her way. She is a woman who is always ready to run to wherever she’s needed. She will be a comfort to you.

  Lucrezia and I feel very close to you. We send you our best love. Lucrezia wants to add a couple of words.

  Piero

  Dear Giuseppe,

  Come back. Do everything quickly and come back. We are waiting for you. You can stay at your cousin’s. Or you can come and stay with us, at Monte Fermo, for a while. The main thing is that you come away soon. What can you do there now? Your cousin will come and you must return with her, at once.

  Lucrezia

  ALBINA TO SERENA

  Luco dei Marsi 8th February

  My dear Serena.

  I am at Luco dei Marsi because my mother has broken her femur. I asked for a week’s leave from school. There’s no telephone at my family’s house here. You can imagine how cheerful it is for me to be here, with no telephone, with my irritable mother, Maura and Gina being no help, my father who is getting deafer and deafer, my brother who wants his shirts ironed. I fling his shirts back at him, and then he becomes like a wild animal and the house is full of endless shouting.

  You will have heard that Giuseppe’s brother has died. Egisto told me when I phoned him from a public call-box. I remember the morning Giuseppe left. He was in a real state. He had a sore throat. His brother had written telling him that he had got married. This was worrying him. We went to the airport with him, me, his cousin Roberta, and Egisto. He isn’t the sort to move from one continent to another. He’s the sort for a sedentary life. He’s afraid of everything. He went to America in order to hide himself away under his brother’s wings. But brothers don’t have wings. Once you’ve reached a certain age you realize that either you stand on your own two feet, or you’ve had it. Giuseppe reached that age some time ago. But he has those long, skinny legs that hold him up so badly. He still has a craving to be protected. Perhaps he didn’t have enough affection when he was a child. But then which of us hasn’t suffered from lack of affection. I have. And you have too. In fact the affection we are given is always less than we need. Giuseppe went to America in order to feel more protected. Just ask yourself what kind of a reason that is for going to America. You go to America out of a spirit of adventure. He was the opposite. Anyway, when he gets there his brother dies. Now he will come back again.

  Dear Serena, I get the impression that Lucrezia has fallen in love with Ignazio Fegiz, and perhaps he has with her. To tell you the truth, from the first few times that he came to Le
Mar-gherite I thought this would happen. I sense it immediately when something starts to go on between two people. I feel the air becoming warm and light. But in this case I also felt there was something uneasy and fearful between them. I couldn’t tell you why. I find Ignazio Fegiz handsome, but I don’t like him. Once he told me I act too much like a young girl, and that I dress too much like a young girl, and that there is nothing worse than a thirty-year-old woman who behaves and dresses like a girl and has a lined, tired face. This was a horrible thing to do, and he said it just like that, quietly, tapping my hand as he did so. I felt absolutely terrible. He realized and perhaps he was sorry because later in the evening, when I played the flute, he said that I played well. Nevertheless, he had really hurt me and for days I felt bad about my face, and there’s nothing worse than thinking about your own face constantly, hating it and avoiding all the mirrors.