Eleven Short Stories. Luigi Pirandello

mamma. Sta’ sano e voglimi bene». Eran rimasti d’accordo che egli le avrebbe lasciato cinque, sei anni di tempo per farsi strada liberamente: eran giovani entrambi e pote-

      tion; and he too—he recalled—was sad, so much so that tears had come to his eyes when he heard her sing. And yet he had heard that arietta many other times; but sung that way, never. He had been so struck by it that the following day, without informing her or her mother, he had brought with him his friend, the orchestra conductor, up to the garret. And in that way the first singing lessons had begun; and for two years running he had spent almost all of his small salary on her; he had rented a piano for her, had purchased her sheet music and had also given the teacher some friendly remuneration. Beautiful faraway days! Teresa burned intensely with the desire to take flight, to hurl herself into the future that her teacher promised her would be a brilliant one; and, in the meantime, what impassioned caresses for him to prove to him all her gratitude, and what dreams of happiness together!

      Aunt Marta, on the other hand, would shake her head bitterly: she had seen so many ups and downs in her life, poor old lady, that by now she had no more trust left in the future; she feared for her daughter and didn’t want her even to think about the possibility of escaping that poverty to which they were resigned; and, besides, she knew, she knew how much the madness of that dangerous dream was costing him.

      But neither he nor Teresina would listen to her, and she protested in vain when a young composer, having heard Teresina at a concert, declared that it would be a real crime not to give her better teachers and thorough artistic instruction: in Naples, it was essential to send her to the Naples conservatory, cost what it might.

      And then he, Micuccio, breaking off with his parents altogether, had sold a little farm of his that had been bequeathed to him by his uncle the priest, and in that way Teresina had gone to Naples to perfect her studies.

      He hadn’t seen her again since then; but he had received her letters from the conservatory and afterwards those of Aunt Marta, when Teresina was already launched on her artistic life, eagerly sought by the major theaters after her sensational debut at the San Carlo. At the foot of those shaky and hesitant letters, which the poor old lady scratched onto the paper as best she could, there were always a few words from her, from Teresina, who never had time to write: “Dear Micuccio, I go along with everything Mother is telling you. Stay healthy and keep caring for me.” They had agreed that he would leave her five or six years’ time to pursue her career without impediment: they were both young and could wait.

      vano aspettare. E quelle lettere, nei cinque anni già scorsi, egli le aveva sempre mostrate a chi voleva vederle, per distruggere le calunnie che i suoi parenti scagliavano contro Teresina e la madre. Poi s’era ammalato; era stato per morire; e in quell’occasione, a sua insaputa, zia Marta e Teresina avevano inviato al suo indirizzo una buona somma di danaro: parte se n’era andata durante la malattia, ma il resto egli lo aveva strappato a viva forza dalle mani dei suoi parenti e ora, ecco, veniva a ridarlo a Teresina. Perché, denari—niente! egli non ne voleva. Non perché gli paressero limosina, avendo egli già speso tanto per lei; ma … niente! non lo sapeva dire egli stesso, e ora più che mai, lì, in quella casa …—denari, niente! Come aveva aspettato tant’anni, poteva ancora aspettare … Che se poi denari Teresina ne aveva d’avanzo, segno che l’avvenire le si era schiuso, ed era tempo perciò che l’antica promessa s’adempisse, a dispetto di chi non voleva crederci.

      Micuccio sorse in piedi con le ciglia corrugate, come per raffermarsi in questa conclusione; si soffiò di nuovo su le mani diacce e pestò i piedi per terra.

      —Freddo?—gli disse, passando, il cameriere.—Poco ci vorrà, adesso. Venite qua in cucina. Starete meglio.

      Micuccio non volle seguire il consiglio del cameriere, che con quell’aria da gran signore lo sconcertava e l’indispettiva. Si rimise a sedere e a pensare, costernato. Poco dopo una forte scampanellata lo scosse.

      —Dorina, la signora!—strillò il cameriere infilandosi in fretta e furia la marsina mentre correva ad aprire; ma vedendo che Micuccio stava per seguirlo, s’arrestò bruscamente per intimargli:

      —Voi state qua; prima lasciate che la avverta.

      —Ohi, ohi, ohi …—si lamentò una voce insonnolita dietro la cortina; e poco dopo apparve un donnone tozzo affagottato che strascicava una gamba e non riusciva ancora a spiccicar gli occhi, con uno scialle di lana fin sopra il naso, i capelli ritinti d’oro.

      Micuccio stette a mirarla allocchito. Anche lei, sorpresa, sgranò tanto d’occhi in faccia all’estraneo.

      —La signora,—ripeté Micuccio.

      Allora Dorina riprese d’un subito coscienza:

      —Eccomi, eccomi …—disse, togliendosi e buttando dietro la cortina lo scialle e adoperandosi con tutta la pesante persona a correr verso l’entrata.

      And in the five years that had already elapsed, he had always shown those letters to anyone who wanted to see them, to combat the slanderous remarks his family would hurl at Teresina and her mother. Then he had fallen sick; he had been on the point of dying; and on that occasion, without his knowledge, Aunt Marta and Teresina had sent to his address a large sum of money; part had been spent during his illness, but the rest he had violently torn out of his family’s hands and now, precisely, he was coming to return it to Teresina. Because money—no! He didn’t want any. Not because it seemed like a handout, seeing that he had already spent so much on her; but … no! He himself was unable to say why, and now more than ever, there, in that house … money, no! Just as he had waited all those years, he could wait some more … Because if Teresina actually had money to spare, it was a sign that the future was now open to her, and therefore it was time for the old promise to be kept, in spite of anyone who refused to believe it.

      Micuccio stood up with his brows knitted, as if to reassure himself about that conclusion; once again he blew on his ice-cold hands and stamped on the floor.

      “Cold?” the servant said to him passing by. “It won’t be long now. Come here into the kitchen. You’ll be more comfortable.”

      Micuccio didn’t want to follow the advice of the servant, who confused and irritated him with that lordly air. He sat down again and resumed thinking in dismay. Shortly afterward a loud ring roused him.

      “Dorina, the mistress!” screamed the servant, hurriedly slipping on his tailcoat as he ran to open the door; but seeing that Micuccio was about to follow him, he stopped short and issued an order:

      “You stay there; let me notify her first.”

      “Ohi, ohi, ohi … ,” lamented a sleepy voice behind the curtain; and after a moment there appeared a large, stocky, carelessly dressed woman who trailed one leg on the ground and was still unable to keep her eyes open; she had a woolen shawl pulled up over her nose and her hair was dyed gold.

      Micuccio kept looking at her foolishly. She too, in her surprise, opened her eyes wide when confronted by the outsider.

      “The mistress,” Micuccio repeated.

      Then Dorina suddenly returned to consciousness:

      “Here I am, here I am … ,” she said, taking off the shawl and flinging it behind the curtain, and exerting her whole heavy body to run toward the entrance.

      L’apparizione di quella strega ritinta, l’intimazione del cameriere diedero a un tratto a Micuccio, avvilito, un angoscioso presentimento. Sentì la voce stridula di zia Marta:

      —Di là, in sala! in sala, Dorina!

      E il cameriere e Dorina gli passarono davanti reggendo magnifiche ceste di fiori. Sporse il capo a guardare in fondo la sala illuminata e vide tanti signori in marsina, che parlavano confusamente. La vista gli s’annebbiò: era tanto lo stupore, tanta la commozione, che non s’accorse egli stesso che gli occhi gli si erano riempiti di lagrime: li chiuse, e in quel bujo si strinse tutto in sé, quasi per resistere allo strazio che gli cagionava una lunga squillante risata. Teresina rideva così, di là.

      Un grido represso gli fece riaprir gli occhi,