15
When I awoke the next morning, Bruno was still asleep. He snored softly next to me. I lay very still, trying to discover whether I had changed. As soon as Bruno wakes up, he will kiss me and caress me like he did last night. Maria had told me that she and Edgardo liked to make love in the morning, too. That would be nice. Bruno opened his eyes. He seemed not to realize that I was there. I waited for him to kiss me. “Good morning,” I said finally. His body seemed to stiffen and avoid mine like a creature withdrawing into its shell.
He rolled over quickly and got out of bed without looking at me. “I have to go.” Is that a reason not to say “good morning”? He dressed with his back to me.
I felt very naked. I pulled the covers up to my neck. “Let’s have breakfast before we go to Milano. There’s still time.”
He glanced at the door. “I never eat breakfast.”
“But you and papà have eaten breakfast together every morning since you became partners.” Bruno unlocked the door and turned the doorknob. “At least have some coffee with me while I have breakfast, then.”
“I have to go.” He opened the door and went out. The latch sounded very loud when it closed. What could have happened to the warmth and excitement we shared only a few hours earlier? I went to the basin and filled the sink. Bruno must not be feeling well this morning, I thought as I dried myself off. I pulled the plug and watched the water whirl down the drain. As I brushed my hair, I heard a soft knock at the door. I put on my robe, held it closed with one hand, and opened the door with the other. Bruno stood outside in the hall with his suitcase.
I opened the door wider. “Come in.”
“I have to go.”
“Aren’t you coming with me to Milano?”
“I can’t.”
I opened the door completely, forgetting that I wasn’t dressed. “Why not?”
“Shhh. People will hear you.” He looked around. “Put your clothes on.”
My voice rose. “I want to know why you’re leaving.” I didn’t care that I spoke more loudly and insistently than was considered proper for a young woman from a good family.
“Be quiet!” Bruno hunched his shoulders and withdrew even more.
“What are you keeping from me?” My voice filled the hallway. A man in a dark suit emerged from the next room and glanced at me as he passed by with his suitcase.
Bruno squared his shoulders. “You’re disturbing other people.”
“Tell me the truth.”
“If you wish, I’ll go to the station with you now and help you get your luggage.” He sounded indifferent, as if we were strangers. A well-dressed couple approached us from the far end of the hallway.
“You slept in my bed last night and now you act like you’ve never met me,” I said quite loudly. I saw the woman take the man’s arm and look away. I didn’t care.
“Are you coming now or not?” Bruno said. I slammed the door in his face as hard as I could. Our empty wine glasses rattled on the nightstand. The floor creaked outside the door, and the sound of Bruno’s footsteps faded away. For the first time, I noticed the tattered carpet beneath my bare feet and the frayed curtains at the window. I looked at the clothes I had left on the chair the night before. Maybe the yellow dress in my suitcase would look better. When he sees me, Bruno will be sorry for the way he’s acted. He’s probably downstairs right now waiting to apologize. After I got dressed, I sat down on the unmade bed with the purse Bruno had given me. A few days earlier it had seemed beautiful. I emptied out the contents. I had my ticket and the envelope with the money from mamma. I was very hungry. We hadn’t eaten dinner the night before. I put everything back in my purse, closed the suitcase, locked it, and went out into the empty hallway. Just as I was closing the door, I remembered the corno. I returned for it and fastened it around my neck. Perhaps I shouldn’t have taken it off. I tiptoed down the stairs to the front desk. The couple I had seen in the hall turned away when they saw me. What should I say to Bruno after the way he has acted? But Bruno wasn’t at the desk. Or in the salotto either. He must have gone to the station. I’ll ignore him when I see him, I decided. Let him apologize. The concierge took my key. “Are there any messages for me?” I asked.
“The young man with you said his sister would be down shortly,” the concierge told me. I understood that this fiction allowed all of us to overlook my actual situation. At least Bruno had been considerate about protecting my reputation. Or did the concierge make up the story? The heat climbed up the back of my neck and settled in my face. I pretended that I had dropped something on the floor. When I stood up, she handed me the bill for both rooms. “Your brother said he was late and that you would take care of the bill.” She shook her head and smiled at me in a way that seemed sympathetic. I wanted to ask her—someone—what to think, what to do. Fortunately, I had the money mamma had given me, but Bruno had known nothing about it. How did he expect me to pay the bill?
“He had to leave early,” I said. “A family matter.” The concierge smiled pleasantly, as if this information clarified everything.
If there were any advantage to virginity, the advantage had nothing to do with honor. Rather, the advantage was that it gave one the power of having something to give away, something that someone else wanted, a magic wish granted by a fairy tale witch. Once the wish was made, even if it had been the wrong wish or a mistake, it was gone. How silly that so much depended on so little. Nothing at all, really. I hadn’t understood before that moment how angry Bruno was at me for leaving. I hadn’t understood that making love could also be an act of revenge. My taxi crossed the Ponte Santa Trìnita. “The Americans paid for this new bridge,” the driver said. “It’s made with pieces of the old bridge. They used the original plans, but this new bridge is much stronger. It looks exactly the same as the old one. No one can tell the difference.” He seemed proud.
Could anyone tell that I’m different? I wondered. I checked the time. “Could we hurry, please?”
The streets near the station were choked with dimostranti and operaii. Demonstrators and workers. The taxi could go no further, and I had to carry my suitcase the last two blocks. I scanned the crowd still hoping to find Bruno, talk to him, say something to him. Dimostranti milled around me waving signs and distributing leaflets. When they tried to talk to me, I ignored them. In front of the station, I set my suitcase down. A gypsy child ran up to me. Nearby, his parents waited, watching us. Quickly, I picked up my suitcase and went inside.
A stiff-limbed porter smiled at me through broken and missing teeth. “May I help you, signorina?” His white hair hung over the collar of his dirty jacket. Frayed gold braid trailed off his shoulders. “Where are you going?”
“Milano,” I said, “but first I have to find someone.” I gave him the claim ticket for the two other suitcases and the trunk I had left at the station. “Per favore, take care of my luggage and wait for me here.” Then I saw Bruno ahead in the crowd. I called out to him and waved. He paused but then continued on toward the platform. I hurried after him, watched where he got on the train. I walked along the length of the car scanning the windows. I thought I had found him and waved to get his attention. A man looked up at me puzzled, and then waved back. Humiliated, I went back into the station.
The porter looked at me and cocked his head. “Tsk. Tsk. A pretty girl like you shouldn’t be traveling alone.” He nodded at a group of gypsies. “It’s too dangerous.” He placed my trunk on his cart with interminable care. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you.”
“I’m not alone,” I said. “My brother came with me. He took an earlier train back to Orvieto to help with our business.” That doesn’t make sense, I thought. “Our father isn’t well,” I added.
The porter shook his head as if I had described an unthinkable act. “Your brother should have seen you to your train.” Slowly, he picked up a suitcase. What would the porter say if he knew the truth? I checked my watch. Only ten minutes until departure. “You remind me of my granddaughte
r. She’s a pretty girl, too, but she stays home. Helps her mother and father. Keeps in her place.” He looked at the two suitcases that remained on the sidewalk.
“Yes,” I said. “No. I mean I’m a student.”
He dragged another suitcase onto his cart and paused for breath, shaking his head. “I suppose it’s good that some girls learn a little, but not too much.” I checked my watch again. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you’re on time,” he said. He pulled on the cart. The effort required all of his strength. At last, the rusty wheels squealed and turned. “Follow me.” During our slow progress to the platform, we stopped again and again for him to catch his breath. “You’re a nice girl,” he gasped. “Not like those femministe and dimonstranti outside,” he said. “Watch out for the zingari. They get on the trains until the poliziotti find them and put them off.”
When we reached my train, he tried to help me up the steps. I gripped the handrail tightly to keep both of us from falling. On shaky legs he returned for my trunk and each of my bags, pushing them up to me one by one. “You’re lucky I was here today,” he said as I dragged the last bag into the vestibule. “Nobody bothered you.”
“Grazie mille.”
“It’s my pleasure.” He turned his face up to me with a toothless smile. “Who’s going to meet you in Milano?”
“My father…yes, my father.”
He cocked his head again and looked at me intently. “But you said your brother went home to Orvieto to help your father. Do you have two fathers?”
Was that what I said?
“Buona fortuna, signorina.”
16
MILANO, SEPTEMBER 1968
Alone in the compartment I remembered the way Bruno had looked at me and how he had changed, fled from me. “If you refused his offer of marriage, why did you give yourself to him?” papà would have said. “Because I couldn’t help it,” I would have answered. Because I was curious and wanted to find out who I would be after doing this forbidden thing. I touched the corno and tried to think about the flowers that grew in Orvieto instead of Bruno, but it was no use. I was sad, frightened, and very hungry.
The conductor came for my ticket. “We’ll be delayed for several hours, signorina. The dimonstranti have called a strike.” Would they be on the train? Gypsies, too? I touched the corno.
“Where can I get something to eat?”
“The vagone ristorante is closed. The waiters joined them.”
“Could you help me put my luggage on the rack?” I said. “It’s too heavy for me.”
“The baggage attendants have joined the strike, too, signorina.”
I sat down to wait. I had changed, certainly, but what had changed was not so much within me. Rather, the real change was in the way Bruno saw me. A presumption of virginity was enough to establish a woman’s goodness, but the real measure of goodness should be love, I thought. If you love someone, whatever you do with that person is right. Becoming lovers was right because I loved Bruno just as Gilda loved the Duke. Does Bruno know that I love him? I decided to write him a letter. Surely, he would understand. My stomach growled.
I leaned back against the seat and closed my eyes. If Gilda had been papà’s daughter, he would say, “You sold cheap” just as he had said to Silvana when she came home pregnant and without a husband. Of course, Silvana hardly knew the fathers her children. I’ve known Bruno all of my life, and we’re nearly engaged. I didn’t regret that Bruno and I were lovers, only that I had lost my temper. Nonna Marcheschi always said that it wasn’t becoming for a lady to lose her temper, especially a young lady who doesn’t yet know what is correct.
I opened my eyes when the train moved forward. It hesitated, and moved forward again. I checked my watch. Three hours had passed. The compartment door opened. A group of gypsy women entered, all of them gesturing and chattering in a language I didn’t understand. I touched the corno. The men remained outside in the corridor. Their swarthy presence added to my uneasiness. The gypsy women stacked their bags and baskets on the floor and in the hallway. It was so crowded that I couldn’t stand up, much less escape. At least they can’t run away with my luggage. I tried to move my suitcases aside. One of the young women smiled and lifted my bags onto the rack above me.
They settled noisily into their seats. Three of the men, each one of a different generation, sat opposite me. They nodded at me. I averted my eyes, but I didn’t know where to look. A very old woman sat down to my right, a younger one to my left. The youngest squeezed into the seat beside me. I held my purse on my lap, covered it with my arms, and crossed my ankles, drawing myself in to avoid contact. The more I withdrew, the more the gypsy women spread out around me, their warm bodies touching mine. Their rings looked cheap compared to the one Bruno had given me. Will they try to steal mine? They wore scarves over their long hair, which looked like it had never been cut. Are they clean? Their necklaces and bracelets of brass and glass beads clanked. I could smell their bodies and feel the warmth of them. Is the white-haired one the older woman’s mother or grandmother? Occasionally, they smiled at me through broken teeth and dark gaps where teeth were missing. Soon, they opened their baskets. The spicy odors of their voluminous picnic filled the compartment. I was both attracted and repelled. My stomach growled. The woman sitting next to me tapped my arm, pointed to the food and to me.
Although I was very hungry, I shook my head. What if papà found out that I ate with gypsies? The woman smiled and pushed my purse out of the way. I put it on the floor underneath my legs. If they try to steal my purse, I’ll kick them and scream, I decided. The woman covered my lap with a greasy cloth. I touched the corno and then remembered that gypsies steal gold. I buttoned up my dress to hide the necklace. The woman next to me laughed, put thick, dark slices of bread on top of the cloth, and piled the slices with spicy meats. She offered me some pickled vegetables and an oily salad from a common pot. It doesn’t look like spiders or mice. Does poisonous food smell good?
The older man sitting opposite me passed me a bottle of red wine and a glass. The glass looked dirty. Doesn’t wine make the poison work faster? He raised his glass in my direction. “Salute!” I tried to be polite. I pretended to take a sip. He smiled and pointed. Can he tell that I’m not drinking the wine? I wondered. The women ate with their fingers, talking all the while. Are they talking about me? About how they can steal my purse and my luggage as soon as their poison takes effect? I pressed my legs against my purse. My stomach growled. Someone burped. I was very hungry. It had been an entire day since I had eaten. I’m already far from Orvieto, I thought. Perhaps I’ll taste just the meat. No one will know. The gypsies are eating it and they’re still alive, still awake.
I took a bite of the food. Delicious. I drank more wine and took another bite. The bread was delicious, too. I drank more wine and ate some pickled vegetables. In fact, I ate everything. They gave me more food, and I ate that, too. The woman refilled my glass several times. Outside in the corridor, one of the men began to play a guitar, rhythmic passages that rippled in my bones. I brushed the crumbs from my dress. Gypsies are actually very friendly, very hospitable people, I thought. If I hadn’t left Orvieto, if Bruno had stayed with me, I wouldn’t have known what was really true. It must be fortuna that I’m going to Milano alone.
17
Behind my heavy eyelids, between waking and sleeping, between fairytale and nightmare, the faces of strangers floated before me: men and women, their mouths moving silently, smiling and frowning, disembodied souls fading into existence and out, unable to return to the homes they had left, headed toward places they couldn’t name. Then, Bruno came toward me, smiling. Our wedding day. Just as he slid a gold ring onto my finger, a huge centipede stung me, leaving only a red spot where the ring had been.
“Bologna! Next stop!” The voice penetrated the dream. “Tickets, please.” I opened my eyes. I hadn’t seen this conductor before. The gypsies didn’t have tickets or the money to buy them. The conductor called the poliziotti who ordered the
zingari off the train and arrested them as soon as we stopped. When the train left Bologna, the conductor returned to the compartment and demanded to see my ticket again. He pointed to a sack on the floor. A red, oily substance oozed from it and had formed a thick puddle near my feet. “Can’t you people pick up your own garbage?” He studied my ticket and returned it with a grunt. Glancing at the sack, he went out and slammed the compartment door behind him. The sack smelled of the food I had eaten earlier. I picked it up, intending to throw it away. The oily substance dripped on my dress, leaving large stains. I needed to change my clothes.
My suitcases were beyond my reach. I pulled the cord to call the conductor. He didn’t respond. I signaled again. No response. At last, I stood up on the seat and held onto the luggage rack with one hand. By stretching as far as possible, I could grasp the handle of my largest suitcase, the one at the bottom of the stack. With my free hand I pulled on the handle with all of my strength. It didn’t move. I pulled again. Just then, the train lurched, brakes screeched, and the compartment lights went out. My suitcases tumbled off the rack. One struck the side of my head before landing on the floor. I sank down on the seat and touched my throbbing temple. A beam of light appeared outside the compartment, and two men entered with a flashlight. Their badges shone.
“Polizia!” Police! One held the flashlight near my face. I blinked at the sudden brightness, momentarily blinded, and then looked away. One kicked my suitcases aside with his foot.
“What’s happened?” I said.
The poliziotto looked around the compartment. His eyes stopped at my purse. “Carta d’identità.” He held out his hand.
“Why are you going to Milano?” the second poliziotto said.
“I’m going to university.”
The Train to Orvieto Page 33
