The Beautiful Summer

by Cesare Pavese

  ‘Oh, you were having supper’, said Ginia curtly.

  ‘An intimate supper’, said Rodrigues, ‘but it will be more intimate with the three of us’.

  ‘You were looking for Guido, I expect’, said Amelia.

  ‘I was just calling, but Rosa is waiting for me. I’m late already’.

  Amelia shouted, ‘Stop, little idiot!’ but Ginia replied, ‘I’m not an idiot’, and bolted down the stairs.

  She thought she was alone when she turned the corner, but she heard someone running after her. It was Amelia, still hatless. ‘Why are you rushing off like this? Didn’t you believe Rodrigues?’

  Without stopping, Ginia shouted, ‘Leave me alone!’

  She passed several days in this breathless state as if she was still running away. Whenever she thought of those two in the studio, she clenched her fists. She dared not think of Guido and did not know how to set about seeing him. She was convinced she had lost him as well.

  ‘I am a little idiot’, she concluded, ‘why do I always run away? I still have to learn to be alone. If they want me, they can come and fetch me’.

  After that day she felt more at peace and thought of Guido without getting excited, and she began to take some notice of Severino, who whenever they asked him anything, dropped his head before replying and invariably disagreed with whoever had spoken; as often as not he did not reply at all. He was not such a fool, for all he was a man. She, on the other hand, had behaved like Rosa. No wonder people treated her like Rosa.

  She gave up going to meet anyone at the cinema or at the dance-hall. She was content to walk in the streets all by herself and pay an occasional visit to the centre of the town. It was November and some evenings she took the tram, got down by the porticoes, strolled round for a short while and then returned home. She always cherished a hope of meeting Guido and glanced cursorily at every soldier as he went by. Chiefly out of curiosity she ventured as far as the café window on one occasion, her heart beating fast; she could vaguely see a number of people but Amelia was not among them.

  The days passed by slowly but the cold helped to keep her indoors and Ginia reflected, in the middle of her depression, that there would never be such a summer again. ‘I was a different woman then’, she thought. ‘Can I really have been so crazy? I’ve come through by a miracle’. It seemed incredible to her that summer would come round another year. And she could already see herself walking down the avenues in the evening, with sore eyes, going from home to work and back home again in the warm air, like a woman of thirty. The worst of it was that she had lost her former partiality for having her little siesta after lunch with the shutters closed. Even when she was busy in the kitchen she thought of the studio and she always had time to do some day-dreaming.

  She realized afterwards that she had passed as much as a fortnight like this. She always hoped, on leaving the dressmaker’s that she might have some surprise waiting at her door and the fact that no one ever turned up gave the sense of having wasted a day, of being already caught up in the following day or the day after that and of eternally waiting for something that never happened. ‘I am not yet seventeen’, she thought, ‘I have plenty of time before me’. But she could not make out why Amelia, who had run after her hatless, was no more to be seen. Perhaps she was merely afraid she would talk.

  One afternoon Signora Bice told her she was wanted on the phone. ‘It’s a woman with a voice like a man’, she added. It was Amelia. ‘Listen Ginia, say that Severino is ill and come along to our place. Guido is here too. We will have supper together’. ‘But what about Severino?’ ‘Dash home and knock something up for him and then come here. We will expect you’.

  Ginia obeyed and ran home and told Severino she was having supper with Amelia; she tidied her hair. It was raining when she went out. ‘Amelia has the voice of a consumptive, poor wretch’, she thought.

  She had made up her mind to clear off if Guido was not there. She found Amelia and Rodrigues lighting a spirit-stove in the semi-darkness. ‘Where’s Guido?’, she asked. Amelia straightened herself and passing the back of her hand across her brow, pointed to the curtain. From behind it emerged Guido’s head. He called out, ‘Hello!’ and Ginia smiled at him. The table was an untidy mess of paper doylies and food. At that moment a circular reflection from the stove appeared on the ceiling. ‘Light the lamp’, shouted Guido. ‘No, it is nice like this’, said Amelia.

  It was by no means warm and you needed to keep your overcoat on. Ginia went to the sink, drawing back the curtain and called out from there, ‘Whose birthday is it, this evening?’ ‘Yours if you like’, replied Guido softly, drying his hands. ‘Why haven’t you been coming lately?’ ‘I came and you weren’t in’, whispered Ginia, ‘Have you been confined to barracks?’

  But Guido only smoothed her hair with his fingers.

  Just then the light came on behind them and Ginia dropped the curtain and gazed at the still-life of the melon.

  They waited until the space round them had got a little warmed up before they began the meal. Strolling about like this with her hands in her coat pocket was like being in the café. Rodrigues poured her out a drink and replenished the other glasses. ‘Don’t begin’, said Amelia. Rodrigues insisted they should. They carefully moved the table over to the sofa so as not to spill the contents of the glasses, and Ginia hurried across to sit next to Amelia on the sofa.

  There was salami, fresh fruit, cakes and a couple of bottles of wine. Ginia wondered if this was the sort of party Amelia used to have with Guido, and when she had drunk a glass of wine, asked him point-blank, and then the two of them proceeded to laugh and remind each other of all the funny things they had done behind there. Ginia listened jealously – she seemed to have been born too late and felt a fool. It occurred to her that artists are a joke because their lives are different from other people’s; even Rodrigues, who did not paint, lapsed into silence and chewed away or, if he did air his views, did so in a jeering way. She took it all in, quietly hostile, angry because Guido had fooled round with Amelia.

  ‘It is not very nice’, she complained, ‘telling me all these things when I wasn’t there’.

  ‘But you’re here now’, said Amelia, ‘enjoy yourself!’

  Then Ginia felt a terrible desire to be all alone with Guido. Yet she knew that it was only Amelia’s presence that was giving her the necessary courage. Otherwise she would have run off. ‘I don’t seem to have learnt to keep quiet’, she repeated to herself, ‘I ought not to get worked up’.

  Then the others lit their cigarettes and offered her one. Ginia did not really want it but Guido came and sat beside her and lit it for her, telling her not to inhale. The other two were engaged in an amorous tussle on a corner of the sofa.

  Then Ginia leapt to her feet, pushed Guido’s hands away, put down her cigarette and walked across the studio without speaking. She moved the curtain aside and stood still in the darkness. The conversation behind her sounded like a distant buzz. ‘Guido’, she whispered, without looking round, and threw herself, face downwards, on the bed.

  TEN

  All four of them left the place in silence, Guido and Rodrigues accompanying them as far as the tram. Guido with his beret pulled over his eyes looked quite different, but he pressed her hands in his and said, ‘darling Ginetta’. As they strolled along, the pavement seemed to be rocking under her feet. Amelia took her arm.

  While they were waiting for the tram, they began talking about bicycles, but Guido came close to her and said in a gentle voice, ‘Mind you don’t change your mind. I would never do your portrait if you did’. Ginia smiled and took his hand.

  When they had boarded the tram, Ginia stood staring at the driver’s back and fell silent. ‘Go home and put yourself to bed’, said Amelia, ‘it’s the result of the wine more than anything else’. ‘I’m not drunk’, said Ginia, ‘don’t you believe me?’ ‘Would you like me to see you home?’ said Amelia. ‘Leave me alone, for Heaven’s sake’. Then Amelia spoke to her about the ot
her occasion, explaining how it had been, and Ginia just listened to the noise of the tram.

  When she was alone, she began to feel better because there was no one looking at her. She sat on the edge of the bed and stayed there for an hour staring at the floor. Then she suddenly got undressed, flung herself down and put out the light.

  The next day was sunny, and as Ginia got dressed she felt as if she had been ill. She thought that Guido would have been up three hours already, and she smiled into the mirror and threw herself a kiss. Then she went out before Severino should return.

  It seemed futile walking along in the usual way, being hungry, for her mind was fixed only on one thing, that from now on she must have Guido to herself without the other two. But Guido had invited her to the studio, he had not said a word about meeting her outside. ‘I need to be very fond of him’, thought Ginia. ‘I’d feel let down otherwise’. The summer had suddenly returned and with it the desire to go out, laugh and have a good time. She could not believe that what had happened was really true. She found herself laughing at the thought that in the dark Guido would have behaved in the same way if she had been Amelia. ‘It is obvious he likes the way I talk, look and how I am. He likes me as a sweetheart; he loves me. He did not believe I was seventeen, but he kissed my eyes; I am a grown-up woman now’.

  How pleasant it was to walk along all day, thinking of the studio and waiting for evening. ‘I am more than a model’, said Ginia, ‘we are friends’. She was sorry for Amelia because she did not understand the beauty in Guido’s pictures. But at two o’clock when she came to pick her up, Ginia wanted to ask her something but did not know how to begin. She had not the nerve to ask Guido.

  ‘Have you seen anyone?’

  Amelia shrugged her shoulders.

  ‘Yesterday when you put out the light, my head seemed to be going round. I think I cried out. Did you hear me?’

  Amelia was listening attentively. ‘It wasn’t me putting out the light’, she replied gently, ‘all I noticed was that you had disappeared. I thought Guido must be murdering you. I hope you enjoyed yourselves at any rate’.

  Ginia frowned and looked straight in front of her. They walked on to the next tram-stop.

  ‘Do you like Rodrigues?’ asked Ginia.

  Amelia sighed and said, ‘Don’t worry your head. I don’t care for blond men, if anything I prefer blonde women’.

  Then Ginia’s face softened into a smile and she said no more. She was quite happy to walk along with Amelia and feel they were on such friendly terms. They parted company under the porticoes, without fuss, and Ginia watched her from the corner where she stood, for a minute wondering whether she was going to pose at that woman-painter’s.

  Meantime she herself went back to the studio at seven o’clock and climbed up five floors without hurrying so as not to get red in the face. Without hurrying, but two steps at a time. All the while she thought that even if Guido was not in, it was not his fault. But the door was open. Guido had heard her walking along the corridor and had come to meet her. Ginia was now in her seventh heaven.

  She wanted to talk and tell him all manner of things but Guido closed the door and the first thing he did was to hug her. A little daylight still fell from the windows, and Ginia buried her face on his shoulders. She could feel his warm flesh through his shirt. They sat down on the sofa without saying anything and Ginia began to weep. As she wept, she thought, ‘supposing Guido were to cry, too’, and a burning sensation ran through her whole body as if she was going to faint. Suddenly the support was removed; she realized that Guido was getting up and she opened her eyes. Guido was standing there looking at her, puzzled. She stopped crying then because she felt as if she was crying in public. As he looked at her Ginia who could hardly see, felt more tears welling into her eyes. ‘Steady on’, said Guido light-heartedly, ‘if there’s so little to come into this world for, it’s hardly worth crying over’. ‘I am crying because I am so happy’, said Ginia softly. ‘That’s all right then’, said Guido, ‘but let’s know at once another time!’ So that half-hour, when Ginia would have liked to ask him lots of things about Amelia, about himself, his pictures, what he did in the evenings and if he loved her, she could not screw up the necessary courage. She managed to get him to go behind the curtain, however; in the light she somehow felt in full view of everybody. While they were kissing there, Ginia quietly told him he had made her cry out yesterday, and Guido’s manner then became more gentle; he cheered her up, renewed his caresses and whispered in her ear, ‘You see what’s happening; I’m not hurting you, am I?’ Then while they lay back in the cosy warmth, he explained all kinds of things to her, telling her he respected a girl of her sort and that she could trust him. Then Ginia squeezed his hand in the dark and kissed it.

  Now she knew that Guido was so good, she became bolder and with her head leaning against his shoulder, told him she had always wanted to have him to herself because she felt fine with him but not with the others there. ‘In the evening Rodrigues comes back here to sleep’, said Guido, ‘I can’t put him out on the tiles. We work here you know!’ But Ginia told him that she would be content with an hour, even a few minutes, that she worked too and had dashed away from the shop every evening at that time in the hope of finding him alone. ‘When you’re in civilian life again, will you still see Rodrigues?’ she asked him. ‘I should so like to see you paint when no one else is there’. Then she told him she would sit for him, only if he would agree to that. As they lay stretched there in the darkness, Ginia did not notice that night was coming on.

  That night Severino had to go to work on an empty stomach but it was not the first time, and he never complained. Ginia did not leave the studio until Rodrigues arrived.

  Guido spent the last days before his demobilisation priming and drying his canvases, adjusting his easel and generally tidying the studio. He never went out. It seemed a foregone conclusion that Rodrigues would continue to live there with him. But Rodrigues always messed everything up and whenever Ginia was in a hurry, started up a conversation. Ginia would have been only too happy to help Guido clean and tidy up the studio, but a glance at Rodrigues told her that it would have annoyed them, and she went back to go out with Amelia. They joined forces and went to the cinema because each of them was holding something back from the other and they would have found an evening’s chat hard going.

  It was clear that Amelia had something on her mind; she was railing against all blonds, male and female. But at the moment Ginia felt kindly disposed towards her and was unable to hide her thoughts. As they walked back home, she brought them out.

  She asked her if she had come to any arrangement with the woman-artist. Amelia put on a puzzled look and told her she had let it go. ‘No’, said Ginia, ‘what a thing to do; I know I’ve never sat but I’m sorry you have lost the job’. ‘Don’t mention it’, said Amelia, ‘you’ve found love these last days, you can snap your fingers at everyone else. Why not! – but if I were you. I’d watch my step’.

  ‘Why?’ asked Ginia.

  ‘What has Severino got to say? Does he approve of your friend?’ said Amelia with a laugh.

  ‘Why ought I to watch my step?’ asked Ginia.

  ‘You take away my best painter and then you ask?’

  Then Ginia’s heart began to thump and she felt Amelia’s eyes boring into her as she walked along.

  ‘Have you ever posed for Guido?’ she asked.

  Amelia took her by the arm and said, ‘I was only joking’.

  Then, after a pause, ‘No, it’s much more pleasant for us two who are women and know it, to go out for a walk together than demean ourselves mixing with unscrupulous oafs whose only idea about girls is to make a bee-line for the first one they clap eyes on’.

  ‘But you go out with Rodrigues’, said Ginia.

  Amelia merely shrugged her shoulders and made an exclamation of disgust, adding, ‘Tell me one thing, is Guido careful, anyhow?’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean’, said Ginia.


  Amelia took her by the chin and forced her to stop. ‘Look me in the face’, she said. They were in the shadow of a porch. Ginia offered no resistance because it was all to do with Guido, and Amelia kissed her swiftly on the lips.

  ELEVEN

  They walked on again and Ginia gave a frightened smile under Amelia’s stares. ‘Powder your face’, said Amelia in quiet tones. Ginia, without stopping, looked at herself in her mirror until she reached the next lamp and did not dare leave off, examining her eyes and tidying her hair as well. ‘I may as well tell you – I have been drinking tonight’, said Amelia when they had gone past the lamp-post. Ginia replaced her mirror and continued to walk on without replying. Their steps rang out on the pavement. When they reached the street-corner, Amelia hesitated. Ginia said, ‘Well, here we are’. They turned and when they reached the door, Amelia said ‘Cheerio’. ‘Cheerio’, said Ginia, and continued on her way.

  Next day Guido lit the light when she entered because there was a fog outside and it seemed to have found its way in through the huge windows. ‘Why don’t you light the stove?’ she asked him. ‘It is lit’, said Guido, who was wearing his jacket this time, ‘don’t worry, we’ll light the fire this winter’. Ginia walked round the room, raised a piece of material nailed to the wall and discovered a tiny room full of rubbish and piles of books. ‘What a nice room! Is this where you put your sitter?’ ‘If it’s in the nude’, said Guido. Then they dragged a suitcase from under the bed behind the curtain; it contained Guido’s wardrobe. ‘You’ve had models then?’ asked Ginia. ‘Let’s see the portfolios of drawings’.

  Guido took her by the arm. ‘What a lot you know about painters. Tell me, do you know any?’ Ginia laughed, put her finger to her lips and struggled to get away. ‘Come on, show me the portfolios. You told Amelia lots of girls came here’. ‘Naturally’, said Guido, ‘it’s my job’. Then to hold her there, he kissed her. ‘Which artist do you know?’