Cosi Fan Tutti - 5 (31 page)

fills it with scintillating wine.

‘When you brought me that videogame cassette,’

Nieddu says faintly, “I was at a very low ebb, as you know.

Times were difficult, not just for me but for Rosa and the kids…’

‘Yes?’

‘Well, like I told you, the cassette I returned to you was not the same as the one you brought me. What I didn’t tell you was that it wasn’t an accident/

‘It wasn’t?’

“I’m only human, Aurelio. The temptation was too

strong. Anyone would have done the same. It was just too good a chance to pass up. The first version of this particular game sold millions, billions! And now I had my hands

on a usable prototype of the sequel, months before it was scheduled to hit the shops anywhere! Can you imagine

the possibilities? Of course I wasn’t in a position to manufacture and market it myself, but I’d heard that they had

the facilities here in the former Eastern bloc, plus a progressive, libertarian approach to things like copyright

laws. So…’

Zen hangs up and hands the phone back to the grave

retainer.

‘I am not taking any further calls,’ he says.

The paid functionary bows silently and withdraws as

though he has been in the service of the family his whole life.

Meanwhile Gesualdo and Sabatino have paired off

with their respective mates, and the rest of the party are disputing vociferously about their host’s identity. The exchange on this subject between Pasquale and Professor Esposito is characterized by a particularly colourful and inventive display of rhetoric, which is unfortunately lost on the subject himself since it is conducted not merely in dialect, nor yet that variant common to the Borgo San

Antonio Abate neighbourhood, but a sub-species of the

latter, a sort of family jargon spoken only by persons of a certain age and social class from a particular couple of streets in the shadow of the eponymous church - and

only then in moments of great emotion.

The resulting encounter is both competitive and cohesive, at once an affirmation of a common heritage incomprehensible to outsiders and a struggle for dominance in

terms of criteria which only the other is capable of judging.

It is also incredibly loud and animated, suggestive of

imminent bloodshed to ears untuned to its finer nuances.

Zen makes the mistake of going over to calm them down,

and immediately becomes the centre of attention once

again, deflecting questions and fielding comments, gesturing hugely and maintaining a confident, unproblematic

smile while he tries to work out who knows what

about which aspect of whatever it is that has happened to whom.

Meanwhile the young people, left to their own devices,

gravitate by unspoken agreement towards an outlying

area of the terrace overlooking the cascade of steps far below, the tiled roofs of the house opposite and the seeming avalanche of the whole city petrified whilst scurrying

down the hill towards the level expanse of the bay. The exhausted evening air, laden with an intimate, insinuating heat, coils and swirls around the quartet as they stand together, chatting and nodding, ignoring the stunning

vista in a grand, proprietorial way.

Although their words are inaudible, the thoughts

which they convey and conceal in equal measure are

fairly clear to any casual onlooker. Gesualdo is in love with lolanda. Look how he leans forward and brushes his lips against the nimbus of her long hair, how his eyes

always seek hers out and then focus afresh when they

meet, how the motions of his hands seem at once to

respect and caress the contours of an emanation which

surrounds her body, perceptible only to him.

His beloved, on the other hand, is more problematic.

The open stance and glowing, shocked expression convey

a message which that muscular tautness and those

convulsive gestures appear to call in question, if not contradict.

This ambiguity might be explained in various

ways, from the banal ‘Does he really love me?’ to the

rather more suggestive ‘Would he still love me if he

knew …?’ But the exact nature of the revelation Iolanda so obviously fears, but also desires, remains for the

moment unclear.

The young buck to her left, on the other hand, leaning

over the edge of the terrace with breathtaking disinvoltura, presents no such problem. He eyes up Libera with

a disconcertingly frank appreciation which is neither

tainted nor redeemed by any ambiguity. ‘I’ve had this,’

his eyes say, ‘and if it came my way again, and there was nothing better on offer, I’d have it again.’ Unappealing as this may sound, it must be said that Sabatino is easily the least constrained and most charming of the four. If you were there, scanning the company, glass in hand, he’s the one you’d head for.

It is when we come to the object of his salacious homage that the whole thing threatens to fall apart. The other three are each, in their varied ways, paying tribute to the object of their desires, with whatever unspoken and perhaps

unspeakable reservations. But Libera … She isn’t even looking at Sabatino, for a start-off, but at Iolanda, and her gimlet stare expresses no love for anyone, with whatever qualifications or reservations, only the purest, crassest…

well, frankly, bitchery. It’s as though Iolanda had done her some wrong, scored a point over her in some way. But

how can this be? Libera certainly isn’t in love with Gesualdo.

Why should she care? What’s going on? ‘Mannaggia ‘a Madonna!’ This cry comes from Sabatino. Having told everyone what he wants them to know in a shameless survey of his conquest’s charms, he is now gazing down at the alley

below on the lookout for fresh game. And here it comes, in the form of two young women making their way down the

steps through the hushed, expectant dusk. Sabatino stares at them fixedly for a long moment, his face a collapsed parody of the complacent mask he was wearing a moment

earlier. He whirls around, staring wildly at Gesualdo, who is lost in the mists of love’s young dream. Sabatino runs up to the other end of the terrace, where Aurelio Zen is holding forth to a confused but still attentive audience. The

young man whispers urgently into his ear.

‘Impossible,’ replies Zen in the confident tone he has

been using for his explanatory discourse.

‘They’re right outside the house!’ Sabatino shouts,

unable to modulate his emotions any longer. ‘They’ll be here at any moment!’

‘What is it?’ demands Valeria.

Zen turns to her.

‘It seems that your daughters have returned.’

‘Nonsense! “I spoke to them on the telephone just before I left to come here.’

‘What are we going to do?’ wails Sabatino. ‘They’ll be

here any moment! If they find those Albanians here …’

‘I wouldn’t worry about that,’ Valeria comments in a

tone of unctuous malice. ‘I’m sure they’ll be very understanding.

Women always are about these matters.’

‘What women?’ demands Libera, joining the group.

Zen grasps her by the arm.

‘Get your companion, go down to my bedroom, close

the door and don’t come out until I tell you. First, though, give me one of your shoes.’

Libera frowns.

‘My shoe? Why?’

‘Because that’s what I’m paying you to do, Zen

replies sweetly.

Libera slips off one of her shoes and hands it to him.

‘Fetishist.’

She turns to Iolanda and gives a piercing whistle.

‘Pay-off time!’ she trills mockingly.

Her companion is clearly none too happy about having

her rapturously fraught unspoken dialogue with Gesualdo interrupted, but after a few barked phrases in dialect

from Sabatino he relinquishes her to Libera, who hustles her back into the house.

‘What are you playing at?’ Valeria hisses to Zen. “I want my girls to catch them together!’

‘Catch them doing what? Attending the same party?

What does that prove? The whole idea was to arrange for them to be caught in flagrante, but since your daughters have shown up without any warning, we’ll have to

improvise.’

‘I still don’t believe they’re really here. That young

delinquent must be imagining things. He’s probably on

drugs. There’s no way my girls would come back to

Naples without letting me know.’

Here they are, nevertheless, stepping out on to the terrace and looking uncertainly around.

‘Stap me!’ exclaims Immacolata Higgins. ‘If it isn’t my two young ladies of last night. Well, well, it’s a small world, to be sure.’

Valeria Squillace inspects the pierced and tattooed

apparition in black leather.

“Is that you, Orestina?’ she demands in a tone of mingled anxiety and menace.

‘We were robbed, mamma!’ cries Filomena, rushing

forward with outstretched arms. ‘They threatened us

with a knife and took our money, credit cards, everything.

It was horrible, just horrible!’

“I thought it was a fascinating piece of street theatre,’

Orestina comments dismissively. ‘And they were very

polite about it. The knife was just a prop. They left us our

passports and return tickets, and one of the guys tipped me off to this great tattoo parlour by Camden Lock/

She slips the jacket and blouse off her shoulder, revealing the full extent of the tattoo, together with a considerable amount of the surrounding flesh.

‘It’s disgusting!’ her mother pronounces. ‘Wash it off

immediately. And stop exhibiting yourself like that! Have you no shame?’

‘It doesn’t wash off, mamma,’ Orestina replies, adjusting her dress. ‘That’s the whole point. It’s a way of

reclaiming your body, personalizing it…’

Valeria’s silence is more intimidating than any reply.

‘But, mamma, I’m still the same person inside!’ her

daughter protests with just a hint of panic.

‘You don’t seem to understand, Orestina,’ Valeria

retorts icily. ‘To me, and everyone else of my generation, you are now scum.’

“I told her not to do it!’ cries Filomena, whose panic is overt and urgent. “I begged her not to! But she never listens to me. She never did and she never will.’

‘Of course I listen to your mewling,’ her sister replies contemptuously. ‘Why do you think we’re here? Because

after those guys robbed us you did your usual neurotic prima donna routine, sobbing and screaming about how you couldn’t sleep again until you were safely back home tucked in with your teddy.’

Filomena bursts into tears and hugs her mother.

‘But how on earth did you get here so quickly?’ Valeria asks her. ‘Why, it was only an hour ago that I spoke to you in London!’

‘We were already here, mamma,’ Orestina replies as

though to a child. ‘We flew in last night.’

‘Last night?’

‘That’s right, signor a,’ Immacolata Higgins chips in. “I picked them up personally and escorted them to the Sole Mio. Do you know it? Lovely place, very homely,

spotlessly clean, never a hint of trouble.’

‘Not to mention a fat finder’s fee for Immacolata which turns up on the bill as “City Residence Tax”/ Pasquale

murmurs to no one in particular.

‘Why didn’t you come home?’ Valeria asks Orestina.

‘Not that I particularly want to be seen associating with a person looking like that, but when all’s said and done

you’re still my daughter and I can’t turn you away.’

‘That’s what I wanted to do!’ Filomena wails. “I just

wanted to go home, but she wouldn’t let me!’

All eyes turn to Orestina, who in turn looks at Gesualdo and Sabatino.

‘The whole idea was to test our lovers’ faithfulness,

right?’ she says. ‘What better way to do it than by turning up completely unexpectedly?’

She smiles coolly.

‘They don’t seem very happy to see us, do they?’

Filomena confronts Sabatino with a pout.

‘Why don’t you say anything?’ she demands. ‘And

why are you looking at me like that?’

“I expect it’s just the shock,’ Zen suggests in a tone of fake bonhomie. ‘And of course your mother being here

makes it all a bit awkward.’

He bends down and picks up a red patent leather shoe

with a long spiked heel.

“I wonder who this belongs to.’

‘It’s Libera’s,’ Dario De Spino replies. ‘Genuine Gucci, marked down as factory flawed but you’d never spot the

difference. Eighty to a hundred thousand, depending on

the model. Also a full range of men’s sizes available.’

There is a brief silence.

‘And who might Libera be?’ asks Orestina.

‘A friend,’ Zen replies with a fatuous smile.

‘Whose friend?’

‘Everybody’s! Libera by name and libera by nature.’

Orestina’s smile hardens perceptibly.

‘And may one meet this fascinating person?’

‘Certainly!’ Valeria replies with an air of triumph.

‘She’s in the bedroom downstairs. The one where Gesualdo and Sabatino have been spending their nights since

you left town.’

‘That’s not true!’ shouts Filomena, backing away from

her mother.

Aurelio Zen shakes his head as though in embarrassment.

‘It’s

only too true, I’m afraid. But you don’t need to take

my word for it. Why don’t you go in and see for yourselves?’

Gesualdo

steps forward, as if to intervene, but Sabatino

holds him back. With a long lingering look at them,

Orestina turns and marches inside the house. Filomena

follows at her heels.

‘That’s that, then,’ sighs Sabatino.

Gesualdo shakes his head vigorously.

‘It won’t make any difference. She knows how much I

love her.’

‘Yeah, right,’ Sabatino replies sarcastically. ‘Don’t let that punk make-over fool you, Gesua. Like she told her