Amara Lakhous - Clash of Civilizations Over an Elevator in Piazza Vittorio

W hen I get married and have a child Im going to call him Amedeo. This is a promise Ive been making to myself for years. Sadly, so far I havent experienced the joy of having children, though Ive been pregnant plenty of times. I know that the Church, the Pope, and the priests are definitely against abortion, but why do they think only of the fetus? Dont I deserve a little care and attention? Who thinks about poor Maria Cristina Gonzalez?

Signor Amedeo is the only person who treats me kindly and supports me in difficult moments. Im unfortunate and stupid, this I dont deny. My situation inspires bewilderment and surprise. Usually women are so happy when they get pregnant, but I weep, out of fear of losing my job, fear of poverty, the future, the police, everything. I sit on the stairs and cry after telling Signora Rosa the usual: Im going to do a little shopping. If she saw me crying she would throw me out, because she has often told me that crying brings her closer to death. And she is afraid of dying. In the beginning I used to cry alone in the bathroom. But the bathroom is horrible and sad, no one comes to rescue me. I prefer the stairs, because Amedeo doesnt use the elevator. Hes the only one who asks me how I am, I tell him my troubles and cry on his shoulder.

Signora Rosa is eighty. She was paralyzed ten years ago, and she only leaves her wheelchair to go to the bathroom or to lie down in her bed. She has four children, who take turns coming to see her every Sunday for a few hours. When one of them arrives, my weekly holiday begins: from noon to midnight! I dont know what to do to enjoy my brief time off. I look at the hands of the clock on the wall and hope from the bottom of my heart that time will stop, so my freedom will last longer. I do all I can not to waste precious minutes, I make a plan filled with activities, but in the end I do the same thing every time: I go to the station where the Peruvian immigrants gather. Their faces satisfy my thirsting eyes and their words warm my cold ears. It seems to me Ive gone home, to Lima. I greet them all with a kiss even if Ive never seen them before, then I sit on the sidewalk and eat Peruvian food, rice with chicken and lomo saltado and ceviche. I talk for hours, I talk more than I listen, thats why they call me Maria Cristina the chatterbox.

When the sun begins to set, I get more and more depressed, knowing that my journey to freedom is about to end. So I cling to the bottles of beer and Pisco to shelter myself from that storm of sadness. I drink a lot to forget the world, to forget my problems. Im not the only one who has to deal with old age and imminent death every day. There are a lot of us, united by the destiny of our work with old people who at any moment will move on to another world. As the time passes we are transformed into stray dogs. Some let their tongues go, hurling insults in Spanish and Italian. Some provoke the people sitting nearby, and so in an instant fists are raised, and kicks and punches fly. I, instead, move silently out of sight, and under the wing of night go with a young man who resembles me in every way. Each of us empties into the others body our own desire, hope, anguish, fear, sadness, rage, hatred, and disappointment, and we do this quickly, like animals afraid of missing the season of fertility. We lie on an isolated bench or on pages of a newspaper spread out on the ground. Lots of times I forget the pill and here begins my pregnancy problem, the mad attempt to abort. I know that the pill is very important, but I always forget because Ive had so much to drink.

I often wish old Rosa would die. Yet when I think of the consequences Im filled with a strong feeling of regretIm afraid that her death also means the end of me. Where can I go? How can I support my family in Lima? What will become of me? This life is just not fair. Must I live out my youth a prisoner among phantoms of death? I want a house, a husband, children. I imagine waking in the morning, taking my children to school, going to work, embracing my husband at night, and finally seeing our bodies join on a comfortable bed and not on a sad park bench or an abandoned train car or under a hidden tree.

I would like to feel at peace but I dont even have documents. Im like a boat with torn sails, subject to the will of reefs and waves. If I had a residency permit I wouldnt let that Neapolitan concierge make fun of me and insult me. She always calls me the Filipino. Ive told her many times, Im not from the Philippines, Im from Peru! Im from Lima, I dont understand how someone can confuse Peru with the Philippines! I dont even know why she persists in insulting me. One day I lost patience and said to her, Why do you despise me? Have I somehow been disrespectful to you without realizing it? For example, I know shes from Naples but Ive never insulted her by calling her la Napolitana. So many times Ive said to her, Why are you so rude to me, dont you see that we belong to the same religion, that love for the Cross and the Virgin Mary unites us?

Im afraid of the concierge because she could report me to the police. I dont have a residency permit, and if I fell into their hands they wouldnt be indulgent with me and in the blink of an eye I would find myself back in the airport in Lima, back in the inferno of poverty. I dont want to return to Peru before achieving my dream of a house, a husband, and children. When I have a residency permit I wont be afraid to say whatever I want, I wont call her Signora Benedetta, Ill say Neapolitan concierge! I pray to the Virgin Mary, only she will save me from these cruel people.

I suffer terribly from loneliness, and sometimes it makes me caress madness. I watch TV all day and eat, I devour huge quantities of chocolate. As you see, Im very fat. Id like to lose weight, but in these conditions I cant manage it. Its not a big deal, losing weight isnt so hard. When I get married Ill feel calmer and then my weight will go down automatically. They wouldnt let me have my friends in the house after the neighbors complained. The truth is that that damn Benedetta said bad things about me to the old ladys daughter, Signora Paola, telling her that I bring men home and stay with them all night, so then I dont take care of the sick woman. Then they said my weight was responsible for breaking the elevator, they say its more than the capacity of the poor elevator. They said to me, First lose weight, then use the elevator!

Is it right that they forbid me to use the elevator while they let Signora Fabianis dog pee there? That dog is happier than I am, he goes out more than ten times a day, he wanders in the gardens in Piazza Vittorio like a little prince or a spoiled child. Instead I cant leave the house even for a minute, because Signora Rosa has heart problems. What would happen if her heart stopped beating while Im not there? I dont want to think about the consequences. I envy little Valentino. Ive often dreamed of being in his place. Am I a human being? Sometimes I doubt my humanity. I dont even have time to go to Mass on Sunday or put myself in the hands of a priest to confess and wipe away my sins. So Ill be damned, and Hell will be waiting for me in the next world.

Signor Amedeo a murderer! Thats ridiculous. Im sure hes innocent. And they accuse him of being an immigrant. Is immigration a crime? I dont understand why they hate us so much. Fujimori, the ex-President of Peru, was an immigrant from Japan. You hear so many lies about immigrants on TV. And yet in spite of that I cant do without television. Once the TV broke. My hands shook, my heart was pounding. I called the four children of Signora Rosa one after another and asked them to come right away. They thought their mother was dead or about to die, Signor Carlo even called a funeral home before he came, and when they arrived they found a depressing situation. Signora Rosa was there yelling at me to stop crying. I gathered my strength and said to them, I will not remain in this house a moment longer if you dont get the TV fixed immediately. Signora Laura asked her husband to get a new television. The four children of Signora Rosa left the house when, reassured, they saw me watching a new episode of The Bold and the Beautiful on channel 5. TV is a friend, a brother, a husband, a child, a mother, and the Virgin Mary. Can one live without breathing?