Catastrophe: And Other Stories Read online

  He seized Giovanni by an arm and led him up a mule track, rather like the other one but closed in by walls of rough stone. It was then that, bringing his left hand up to his chest to draw his coat around him, Giovanni happened to glance at his wristwatch. It was already five fifteen, it would soon be dark and he still had literally no information about the landslide, not even its location. If only this hateful peasant were to be leading him to the spot!

  “Are you satisfied? Here it is, take a good look at your blasted landslide!” growled the peasant, stopping short; he indicated the hated phenomenon with his chin, to express loathing and contempt. Giovanni was standing on the edge of a small field, several square yards in area: an absolutely negligible piece of land except for the fact that it stood on the slope of a steep mountain, a man-made field, reclaimed effortfully inch by inch and supported by a stone wall. At least one-third of this space was now covered by crumbling earth and stones. The rains, the seasonal dampness, it might have been almost anything, had brought a small section of the hillside down on to the diminutive field.

  “Take a good look—now are you satisfied?” roared the peasant, furious not so much with Giovanni of whose intentions he had not the slightest idea, but with this disaster which was going to cost him months and months of hard work. Dumbfounded, Giovanni looked at the landslide, a mere graze in the mountainside, an absolute nothing. It’s not this either, he said to himself miserably, there must be some mistake. Meanwhile time was passing and he must phone the paper before nightfall.

  He left the peasant without a word, ran back to the square, anxiously questioned three laborers who were manhandling his tires: “Where’s the landslide?” he shrieked, as though they were responsible. The mountains were disappearing into the darkness.

  A gangling but reasonably well-dressed type stood up from the church step where, until that moment, he had been sitting smoking, and came toward Giovanni: “Who told you? Who gave you the information?” he asked without further ado. “Who mentioned landslides?”

  His tone was ambiguous, almost threatening, as though the whole subject was unpalatable to him. At this point a consoling thought crossed Giovanni’s mind: there must be something louche, criminal even, in this business. That was why they had all agreed to thwart inquiries, that was why the authorities hadn’t been called in and why no one was on the spot. If only, instead of an ordinary tale of woe, with its inevitable commonplaces, he had been destined to uncover some romantic plot, all the more extraordinary for being perpetrated in that godforsaken village!

  “The landslide!” this character repeated scornfully, before Giovanni had had a chance to reply. “I’ve never heard such rubbish! And you’re as bad, to believe it!” He turned his back on them and walked off.

  Angry though he was, Giovanni did not have the courage to approach him. “What did he mean?” he asked the least dense-looking of the laborers. “Ah,” replied the young man, “the usual business! Ah, I’m not saying a word! I don’t want no trouble! I don’t know nothing about nothing!”

  “Are you afraid of him?” inquired another of the three, reprovingly. “You’re going to say nothing just because he’s a bad lot? Landslide? I’ll say there’s a landslide!”

  And he began to explain the whole thing to Giovanni, who was breathless with excitement at the prospect of hearing all about it at last. That character had two houses for sale, just outside Sant’Elmo but the ground wasn’t safe there and sooner or later the walls would collapse—it would take a lot of hard work and expense to have it put right. Few people knew this, but rumors had spread and now no one wanted to buy. That was why the man was so insistent about scotching talk of landslides.

  Did the mystery end here? O melancholy evening in the mountains, among stupid, devious people. It was getting dark and an icy wind was blowing. The men, faint shadows, faded away one by one, cottage doors creaking closed, the three laborers had tired of staring at the car and suddenly vanished.

  There was no point in further questioning, Giovanni decided. Everyone would have a different answer, as had been the case until now, they would all take him to different places and it would all be quite fruitless as far as the article was concerned. (Everyone, in fact, has his own landslide—the hillside collapses over your field, your manure heap is crumbling or you come into personal contact with the slow but sure march of the invading scree; but it is never the landslide that matters to Giovanni, the big landslide that would warrant three columns and possibly make his fortune.)

  The great silence was broken by the sound of a distant bell, then all was quiet again. Giovanni, who had climbed back into his car, turned on the engine and lights; discouraged, he started on his way back home.

  What a wretched business, he thought to himself, and wondered how it had come about. The news of a mere nothing, possibly the landslide on the field of the irascible peasant, had somehow or other reached the city, becoming so exaggerated in the process as to constitute a full-scale tragedy. Such things were not rare, quite the reverse. But this time Giovanni was going to have to pay for it. It wasn’t his fault, admittedly, but he was coming back empty-handed and looking slightly ridiculous. “Unless . . . ,” he smiled, aware of the absurdity of the thought.

  The car had now left Sant’Elmo; the road wound steeply down to the dark recess of the valley; not a soul in sight. It moved forward with a slight swish of gravel, the columns of brightness from the headlights searching the darkness and falling every now and again on the opposite wall of the valley, on the sinister crags and dead trees. It moved slowly, as if held back by some final glimmer of hope.

  Until the engine was silent, or so it seemed, because behind him Giovanni heard something that might have been his imagination but might also very well not; behind him he heard the initial rumblings of an immense crash which seemed to shake the earth; and his heart was filled with an indescribable excitement strangely similar to joy.

  Just the Very Thing They Wanted

  IT WAS VERY HOT. AFTER A LONG TRAIN JOURNEY spent standing in the corridor, Antonio and Anna arrived in the big town where they were to spend the night in a state of exhaustion. There were no trains until the following morning.

  They went out of the station into the scorching square. The boy held their small case in one hand and supported Anna with the other; she could hardly walk and her feet were swollen with tiredness. It was very hot. They must find a hotel immediately and get some rest.

  There were plenty of hotels around the station. And they all looked empty, with their blinds down, no cars parked in front of them, no one visible in the entrance halls. They picked out one which looked reasonably cheap. It was called Hotel Strigoni.

  There was no one in the entrance. The place was still and drowsy. Then they saw the porter, slouched in an armchair asleep behind the desk. “Excuse me,” said Antonio without raising his voice. The porter opened an eye effortfully and stood up slowly, becoming suddenly black and very tall.

  Before Antonio could say a word, the porter shook his head; he stared at the two of them as one stares at an enemy. He pointed a thumb at the hotel plan on the top of the desk. “Full up,” he announced, “sorry, there’s absolutely nothing.” His extreme boredom implied that he was pronouncing a formula which he had repeated endlessly over the years.

  Nor was there any room in the other hotels. Yet the entrance halls were all empty, there was no one coming in or going out, no sound of life from the stairs. Most of the porters were dozing, gloomy and perspiring. They too all pointed to the plan of the hotel to show that there wasn’t even an attic available. And they too stared at the couple suspiciously.

  They wandered around the burning streets for an hour, becoming more and more exhausted.

  At last, Antonio asked the seventh or eighth porter who said no whether at least they could have a bath. “A bath?” he replied. “If that’s what you’re looking for, why don’t you go the public baths, they’re very near.” He proceeded to give directions.

  They s
et off. Anna’s expression had hardened and she was silent, a sure sign that she was exasperated. They came to a large colored notice at the door of the public baths, with stairs leading down to them. There was no one there either.

  But, once down there, their spirits fell. There were long queues outside the two windows with “Baths” written above them; even more people, who had obviously already bought their tickets, were waiting their turns, sitting around and whispering.

  One window was for men, another for women. “Oh, Lord, I just can’t go on any longer,” said Anna.

  The boy spoke: “Come on, a bath will cool us down. Then, with any luck, we may find a hotel.” They joined their respective queues.

  Even here in the basement the hot steam from the corridor with the bathrooms made the air damp and heavy. Meanwhile Antonio noticed that the people sitting down were staring at them, particularly at Anna; they would look and then whisper among themselves, though without malice, apparently, since no one was smiling.

  Anna was quicker than the boy. After about half an hour he saw her overtake him in the next queue and go up to the window. When her turn came, she took out a hundred-lira note.

  At this point Antonio was distracted by a low-voiced bickering between the person in front of him and the clerk at the window, who had no change, whereas the customer only had thousand-lira notes. “Please, I really must ask you to stand aside and let the others go ahead.” They were arguing in low voices, as though afraid of being overheard. At last the man stood to one side, grumbling, and made way for Antonio.

  It was only then that he noticed that Anna too was having an argument at the next window. She looked red and panicked, and was looking desperately for something in her handbag. “Have you lost your money?” he asked her. “No, but they want some means of identification and I seem to have lost my card.”

  “May I kindly have your attention, sir?” hissed the clerk to Antonio. “A bath? Eighty lira . . .”

  “Do you want my identity card?”

  A faint smile appeared on the clerk’s face. “Indeed I do,” he replied meaningfully. Antonio produced his identity card and the clerk copied the information into his register.

  Meanwhile Anna was causing a stoppage in the women’s queue, which was humming with protest. A grating female voice from the window said finally, “Look, madam, if you haven’t got an identity card will you kindly leave the queue?”

  “But I’m not feeling well, I must . . . ,” Anna was insisting, smiling weakly in an attempt to soften the woman. “There’s a gentleman over there who knows me, he’s got his card . . .”

  The woman cut her short: “Look, I’ve no time to waste. . . . Now, please . . .”

  Antonio led the girl gently away by the arm, and suddenly she lost her temper: “What behavior! You’d think we were criminals or something!” Her high voice echoed shockingly in the silence. People turned around in horror and began to whisper more fervently than ever.

  “This is the last straw!” said Antonio. “Now what are you going to do?”

  “How should I know?” retorted Anna on the verge of tears. “You can’t even have a bath in this loathsome town . . . I hope you’ve got a ticket at least?”

  “I have, yes. . . . Now, look: I wonder if you could go in my place? . . .” They walked up to the assistant who was taking the tickets at the entrance to the baths and was drawling out the successive numbers as the queue proceeded.

  “Please,” said Antonio beseechingly. “I’ve already got my ticket but I have to go . . . couldn’t the young lady use it?”

  “Certainly,” said the woman. “Just go to Inquiries and register your identity card . . .”

  “Look,” interrupted Anna. “Please . . . I’ve lost my identity card . . . but please let me have a bath all the same . . . I don’t feel well . . . look at my ankles . . .”

  “My dear child, that’s something I can’t do,” said the woman. “If they were to find out, it would be me who’d suffer, I can assure you . . .”

  “Let’s go,” said Antonio, losing patience himself. “It’s like the army here.”

  People were staring at them harder than ever and as the couple moved toward the stairs to go back to the road, the whispering stopped for a moment.

  “For goodness’ sake, let’s go and sit down somewhere,” moaned Anna. “I can’t stand up a moment longer . . . look, some gardens!”

  The street did in fact run into the edge of a small park, which from a distance seemed to be empty. In fact, all the benches completely in the shade were occupied. They had to make do with a seat half-shaded by a branch. As soon as she was seated, Anna undid her shoes. Cicadas were chirping all around them; it was bleak and dusty.

  In front of them, in a round clearing, they saw a large circular basin with a fountain playing in the middle. This was the only part of the gardens that was crowded, although it was completely in the sun. Women, and even men, were sitting on the edge, their hands dangling in the cool water; while in the pool itself was a crowd of restless half-naked children, playing with toy boats. They were paddling about happily, splashing each other, some were wet up to the waist, clothes and all, ignoring the protests of their mothers.

  A dull haze hung over the town—possibly from the rotting rice fields which surrounded it—and this deadened the sunlight. But the heat seemed to be increasing.

  “Look . . . water!” said Anna suddenly. “I won’t be a minute. . . .” And leaving her shoes, before Antonio could stop her, she hurried, smiling, to the fountain, murmured “Excuse me” to the people around the edge, leaped neatly over it and landed in the water, lifting her skirts a little. “Wonderful!” she shouted to Antonio, who had come up immediately, holding her shoes and the suitcase.

  The surrounding people raised their eyes from the cool water to concentrate on this sudden vision in their midst. The heads, which had been nodding drowsily, became suddenly animated, a series of conversations broke out. Then a clipped voice spoke.

  “Would you please climb out, miss? The fountain is for the children.” The speaker was a woman of about forty, tough and energetic-looking.

  But Anna was delighted to be in the water. The request was drowned by the sound of children shouting.

  “Young lady,” repeated the woman, more loudly this time. “Adults aren’t allowed in the fountain. It’s for the children.” The other women nodded in agreement.

  Anna turned around in surprise, still smiling. “Children or not,” she answered, “I must do something to cool down, if you don’t mind.” Her tone was pleasant, ceremonial almost, as though she hoped to amuse. Then she went toward the middle of the fountain, where the water was deeper.

  Another woman, with a face like a weasel, waved her hands. “This fountain belongs to the children,” she shouted. “Do you hear? To the children.”

  Others followed suit: “Get out! Out! It’s for the children!” Even the children themselves, who had taken no notice at first, looked up at this girl who had come to share the water with them; and they stopped playing, expectantly.

  “Get out! Not allowed! Out!” By now Anna was almost under the jet of water, where the children were thickest. The water was up to her knees. She turned around again at the renewed shouting, but for some reason she was blind to the sudden transformation that had affected the faces of the surrounding women: damp with sweat, red and drawn with anger, with lines of hatred at the corners of their mouths. She didn’t see and she wasn’t afraid. “Oh, just a minute,” she replied, raising a hand in impatience and annoyance.

  From the fountain’s edge Antonio, trying to avoid further trouble, spoke gently. “Anna, Anna, come back now. You’re cool enough.”

  But Anna realized that Antonio was embarrassed by her and was, in a way, putting the women in the right. In reply she stamped in the water like a naughty child. “I’m coming, just a minute!” She didn’t want to give in to those old hags.

  Splash. Something gray fell into the water, and a large patch of dirt ap
peared on Anna’s back; it ran down the blue flowered material. Who had done it? One of the women, tall, handsome and strongly built, had taken a fistful of mud from the bottom of the pool and had thrown it at Anna.

  The crowd laughed and shouted. “Out! Out of the fountain. Out!” There were men’s voices now, as well. The crowd, which had been drowsy and uncaring at first, was now thoroughly roused. It contemplated with glee the prospect of humiliating this brazen girl whose face and accent proclaimed her foreign origin.

  “Cowards!” shouted Anna, turning suddenly. She tried to wipe the mud off her back with a handkerchief. But the joke had succeeded. Another dollop hit her on the shoulder, a third on the neck of her dress. She had become a target.

  “Out! Out!” they shouted in delight. A burst of laughter went through the crowd when a great fistful of mud hit Anna’s ear, and went over her face; her sunglasses fell off into the water. The girl tried to shield herself from the sudden rain of blows, panting and shouting incomprehensible phrases.

  Here Antonio pushed himself forward to intervene. Unfortunately, as often happens in moments of great stress, he could produce only disjointed words: “Please, for goodness’ sake,” he began, “leave her alone! She hasn’t done you any harm. . . . Now, look . . . listen. . . . Surely you must . . . Anna, Anna, come away immediately!”

  Antonio was a foreigner, the crowd all spoke dialect. His words sounded odd, almost ridiculous. Right beside him, someone began to laugh. “For goodness’ sake, eh? Surely you must?” he mimicked. He was a young man of about thirty, wearing a T-shirt and with the sly face of a born troublemaker.