The City and the House Read Free

loose and soft; he always seems tired, and he has a short bristly beard; he is often dressed in black and looks like a hearse. When he laughs you see his marvellously white teeth. But then he doesn’t laugh very often. I think all that boredom which he took in from his mother and me when he was little has now come to the surface, as I had expected it to. He started to read Political Science, then he left university and took up photography. But perhaps he would rather be a director - of films, or in the theatre - or an actor. He doesn’t know. He’s always changing his mind. It’s very tiring for me to keep asking him what he wants to do. Actually I have never really known what I wanted to do either and I have spent my life asking myself. If I asked myself this without getting a clear answer, why should I expect a clear answer from him? At first I didn’t mind working at the newspaper, then I became thoroughly disgusted with newspapers and now I’m leaving Italy. The difference between him and me is that I have no money, whereas at the moment he has, thanks to Aunt Bice. On the other hand he is already twenty-five. He is a man. According to Roberta I ought to suggest something to him, but I don’t know what kind of suggestion I could make. When I see him in front of me, my only concern is to annoy him as little as possible. Bore him as little as possible. I always think of that immense boredom that existed between me and his mother, which he drank in sip after sip, day after day, when he was a child. The last time Alberico turned up was last April. He came from Agropoli. He was travelling with someone called Adelmo, a short, muscular, bandy-legged character. They left two identical rucksacks, stuffed to bursting, in the entrance hall downstairs, then they had a shower and flooded the bathroom which they left strewn with sweatshirts, vests and socks. I called Roberta up, because Roberta feels very sympathetic towards Alberico and makes it easier for me to be with him. I left them in the front room and washed the sweatshirts, vests and socks. Then I made
trenette col pesto
. Whilst we were eating Alberico said that he wanted to sell the flat in via Torricelli, the one that Aunt Bice had left him. Roberta was alarmed. Never sell bricks and mortar, never. You have to hang on to bricks and mortar for dear life. Alberico said that he wanted to move to the country and raise rabbits and chickens. He and Adelmo went off to bed. I had made a bed up in the room at the end of the corridor, the one I call ‘Alberico’s room’ even though he has hardly ever slept there. Roberta and I were left alone together. She asked me if I knew that Alberico often went to the California Bar. I told her that I didn’t know anything, and that I didn’t even know where the California Bar was. She said it was in the via Flaminia area and that it was a foul place. I didn’t sleep a wink that night. In the morning I sat in the front room making up questions and phrases and repeating them to myself under my breath. But when I saw Alberico in front of me all those questions and phrases stuck in my throat. He and Adelmo were already dressed and ready to leave. I made them coffee and toast. Whilst they were eating they talked quietly about their own affairs. The vests and socks I had washed for them were still wet but they wrapped them in towels and newspapers and stuffed them into their rucksacks anyway. They were off to London they told me. But two weeks later I heard that they had been arrested in the California Bar. The whole California Bar finished up in prison. Alberico was in prison for a month, you know this because I’ve told you about it. I was waiting for him at the prison gate when he came out. Roberta told me he was coming out, she had heard it from the lawyer we had engaged. I watched him emerge, he was listless and tired, calm, in a thick leather coat with a bundle of clothes under his arm.