Roland Delicio - Merda!: The Real Italian You Were Never Taught in School

Roland Delicio

Illustrated by KIM WILSON EVERSZ

PLUME

Published by the Penguin Group

Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, U.S.A.

Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario, Canada, M4P 2Y3
(a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

Penguin Ireland, 25 St. Stephens Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.)

Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia
(a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.)

Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi 110 017, India

Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, North Shore 0632, New Zealand
(a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.)

Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa

Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

First published by Plume, a member of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

First Printing, November 1993

Copyright Roland Delicio, 1993

All rights reserved

REGISTERED TRADEMARKMARCA REGISTRADA

LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA:

Delicio, Roland.

MERDA! : the real Italian you were never taught in school / by
Roland Delicio; illustrated by Kim Wilson Eversz.

p. cm.

ISBN: 978-1-101-66467-4

1. Italian languageSlang. 2. Italian languageObscene words.
3. Italian languageConversation and phrase booksEnglish.

I. Title.

PC1961.D45 1993

457.09dc20

93-7731
CIP

Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

BOOKS ARE AVAILABLE AT QUANTITY DISCOUNTS WHEN USED TO PROMOTE PRODUCTS OR SERVICES, FOR INFORMATION PLEASE WRITE TO PREMIUM MARKETING DIVISION, PENGUIN BOOKS USA INC., 375 HUDSON STREET, NEW YORK, NEW YORK 10014.

FOR

Amelia, the source

Anita, who made it possible

Merendolina, who supplied some of the
ammunition

and to the memory of my Tuscan

grandmother who, when I was a child,
sang the following with a blend of
insouciance and wicked innocence:

E con lo zigo zago, morettino vago

Me lhai rotto lago, mhai ferito il cuore

Mi farai morir, mi farai morir

Dalla passione mi sento svenir.

None of the above, however, is any way
responsible for the bawdy excesses of this
terrible little book. Ithe only begetter of
this offense to the common goodawait the
punishment due me. Mea culpa! That
punishmentinevitablywill be flaming
and Faustian.

Italians are friendly, right? Smiling Latins who will give you everything they have, including their mellifluous language. You couldnt possibly imagine the Italian languagewhose very grocery lists sound like an aria by Puccinibeing capable of producing the vilest obscenities, right? Or could you?

You are in Italy and an old man smiles and says to you, Americani, pezzi di merda! Of course, you smile graciously. The old paisano is praising Americans and apple pie. Wrong. He has just told youin the most unrestrained slangthat Americans are pieces of shit.

You are an attractive young lady traveling alone in Florence and an abnormally handsome hunk you met in the Uffizi is sitting across from you at a cozy table in the Piazza della Signoria, and he says to you soulfully, Come vorrei chiavare con te stasera. You are delighted. He looks like the beautiful Italian in Hawthornes novel whose title you cant remember. You have two degrees in literature and a bad memory, but you just love all things Italian. Obviously, he wants to discuss the iconography in Botticellis paintings with you. Wrong. He has just bluntly said, albeit in a poetic tone of voice reminiscent of Marcello Mastroianni, that he wants to fuck you tonight.

You are walking down a street in Venice (yes, there are streets in Venice) with your wife, Myrtle, who has gone recklessly to fat, when you are stopped by a delicate old lady Myrtle has just bumped into. Quella donna ha un culo pericoloso, says the frail lady benignly as she looks at Myrtles body like an appraiser. You have heard that Italians appreciate buxom women, so you accept what must be a compliment. Wrong. The old lady has just said, as bluntly and explicitly as the aforementioned young satyr in the piazza, That womans ass is dangerous.

You are back in the United States visiting Greenwich Village in New York City, with its still-vibrant Italian-American population. You are with your girlfriend and happen to look at a guy in a perfectly casual way. Finocchio, stronzo! snaps the young man in smiling contempt. You nod pleasantly and answer grazie, the only word you remember from that two-week Perillo tour of Italy you and Sheila took. The guy said something gracious, did he not? Wrong. He called you a faggot and a turd.

You continue walking. Somewhere in Little Italy, two very old Italian ladies seem to be having a disagreement. Figlia di puttana! shouts the first. Vaffanculo! answers her snarling antagonist vehemently. Cafona! howls the first. Avanzo di galera! rages the second. Tuo padre era un rotto in culo! shrieks the first triumphantly. Fortunately, their respective family members break up the slight disagreement. The women are in their eighties and fragile. If their exchange had had subtitles, you would have read: Daughter of a bitch! Go fuck yourself! Peasant! Jailbird! Your father took it up the ass!