Giovanni Arpino - Scent of a Woman

PENGUIN MODERN CLASSICS

Scent of a Woman

Giovanni Arpino (192787) was a novelist, journalist and poet. He won Italys prestigious Strega Prize in 1964 for Lombra della colline (The Shadow of Hills). Scent of a Woman (1969), his most famous book, was filmed in 1979 by Diho Risi, starring Vittorio Gassman, and remade in 1992 by Martin Brest, starring Al Pacino.

Anne Milano Appel, a translator and former library director, translates from Italian to English.

A large iridescent fly buzzed around the window on the landing; the walls smelled of fresh paint. Relishing the taste of air, the fly veered suddenly, found the narrow gap at the partially open window, and disappeared. I leaned out too, to toss away my cigarette butt. The courtyard below was deserted: a meagre couple of yards of cement in the late August sun. In the distance, the withered green of the hills beyond the river blended into an opaque sky. Before ringing the doorbell, I felt to make sure my cap was sitting firmly on my forehead, checked the knot and proper positioning of my tie.

The door opened at once, as if the woman had been there all along, waiting.

She was a tiny old woman, incredibly rosy and diminutive, dressed in white and grey. Smiling and twinkling through every one of her delightful wrinkles, she gestured for me to come in. Behind her, the darkness of a long corridor. We quickly turned into a kitchen, two chairs already moved out from the table.

Good, good, very punctual, thats a pleasure to see. She sighed, still smiling, nodding, her hands clasped.

I told her my name and carefully balanced my cap on my knee.

But youre hardly more than a boy, good heavens! she lamented, squinting. I felt myself blush. Who knows whether a young man like you will have the patience that this situation the patience to stay here.

She remained undecided, holding her breath, her lips slightly parted over her porcelain teeth.

So I told her that my commanding officer at the barracks had explained the situation to me in detail.

Her smile faded, she nodded again, stroking the back of her right hand with the slender fingers of her left. She had very beautiful hands, transparent as tissue-paper, in keeping with her, with the immaculate surroundings, with the two flowers in the vase on the table.

A student, I think. An only child?

I told her a little about my father, a clerk, about my mother and my younger sister. As I searched for the right words, those three familiar faces emerged from their usual misty haze for a moment, only to become softly shrouded again soon afterwards. I then specified my age, twenty years old, and the university faculty I was enrolled in, business and economy.

The voice coming out of my mouth felt unconnected to me.

Her sigh in response was not one of relief.

I know nothing about todays young people, she said finally, hedging. Him too, him in there, with that great misfortune of his, I cant understand him either. It must be my age. And then too: can understanding help in any way? Sympathy does, of course.

But as if stung by delirium, she was once again on her feet and smiling, expressions flitting across her face: Theres chilled coffee, would you like some? Its good. Or maybe an orangeade would be better? Dont tell me you wouldnt like some.

She was spinning around. I thought: a squirrel. I soon had a glass of coffee in my hands.

Is it all right if I smoke?

She laughed quietly. Go ahead. Him too, one cigarette after another. You men.

She accompanied that him with a brief wag of her fingers over her shoulders, as if to indicate the entities hidden beyond the darkness of the corridor.

She recovered her composure, her hands clasped, and continued: Still, all in all you give the impression of being a fine young man, fine indeed.

We went on looking at each other; I was determined not to be the first to ask a question.

Finally she made up her mind to speak, lowering her voice: Im his aunt. He says Im only a cousin, but in fact Im like an aunt and more, because who nursed his poor mother up until the end, if not me? Fortunately she passed away before having to endure the worst. Afterwards it was all so difficult, no one can ever imagine. Until the day of the accident I didnt know him very well. He was always roaming around the world, boarding school, academy, the military. But since then Ive had to be the one to look after him, its clear that God above willed it. Its been nine years now, did you know that?

I finished the coffee, and went on holding the glass in my hand. It was still cool.

Nine years, she went on in a monotone, her voice increasingly thinner. Today its nothing, but at the beginning: oh, I dont even want to think about how it was at the beginning. A young man like him, losing his sight and a hand. Just like that: only because Our Lord wont let anyone be happy in this world. During manoeuvres, playing with a bomb. I say playing because what else are these manoeuvres nowadays? Here, give me that glass.

My commander explained it to me, I said.

In order to appear indifferent, I stared at the tiles on the floor. Each set of four formed a blue design, a kind of improvised flower against a white background. Through the transparent curtains at the window the light fell on those flowers in a sunburst, revealing their fragility.

A man like him, she went on slowly, as the wrinkles on her face crumpled and unfolded. Even rather wealthy, yes. Hes rich, Im certainly not. A scrap of widows pension, thats all I have. But him: rich. Not even forty years old. Healthy as a horse. And all alone in the world.

Carefully I crushed out the butt in the little plate she had offered me as an ashtray.

Take good care of him during this time, please, she added. You must never leave him alone. You know that, dont you? And be patient, young man, very, very patient. Dont contradict him, dont argue for heavens sake! Always tell him hes right, whether hes making sense or raving. The only sure way out is to always answer yes. Yes and yes, sir. Do you understand?

Of course, maam.

Ciccio, the soldier who is in hospital right now, his attendant up until the day before yesterday, was Calabrian, thick-headed but good, in some cases even cunning. He realized right away that his only reply must be yes and yes, sir. That Ciccio too, though: coming down with typhus just now, on the eve of the trip. Does that sound like luck to you?

In our barracks too there have been three cases of typhus, I said, immediately noticing her lack of interest.

Her watery eyes were fixed on me, as though seeking some image beyond me.

In a wispy voice, she offered: Bad is a strong word, and I wouldnt want to actually say hes bad, but hes cut from different cloth, nothing in common with people like us. The great damage hes suffered, of course. But he was a little like that even before the accident: God knows what his mother had to put up with, raising him. Then too, the pain. But these are our secrets, right, my boy?

Thank you, maam.

She continued gazing at me with fleeting tenderness, then sudden mistrust. She set down the glass, and carefully and repeatedly smoothed the cuffs of her dress, her fingers lightly ironing out invisible creases.

Maybe she was afraid shed said too much.

In fact: For you, after all, its also a nice vacation, she added, looking away. Five days plus two, as you say in short, a weeks leave is something, to be sure. All the way to Naples, and no barracks.

She was right, so I tried to utter another reassuring phrase.

Fine, fine, she interrupted, suddenly dejected, now youd better go in. There are strips of cloth right outside there. For polishing. With those heavy military boots of yours. Its the door at the end of the corridor. But knock first. Always knock first, with him. I its best if I stay here. God help me, something always slips out of this mouth of mine.