Nectar, page 11
If only they could run away together: he, Ramona, and the baby. They could forget the debts and begin a new life somewhere else. Somewhere in the country, maybe. It would be a better place to bring up a child. Perhaps he could take on a smallholding, become a farmer. Ramona might even help him.
While Rupinello lay thinking, becoming more and more enthusiastic about the rural idyll his mind planted for him, he noticed something curious. For the first time Ramona’s scent was not hanging heavy in the air. Odd. There was no smell except the usual odor of the rooms: dampness and decay. These and the neighborhood smells of open sewers and filth had until this moment been masked by Ramona’s magical fragrance. Now all the disgusting smells crowded at once into Rupinello’s nostrils, vying with one another for space. He felt quite sick as a result and was forced to cover his nose with his sleeve. What had happened to Ramona’s smell, the smell he loved and cherished above all else? Where had it gone?
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The Smell Vanishes
Throughout that sleepless night Rupinello could smell the blood and bones from the abattoir. He could smell Amalasunta Castorelli’s feet, two floors below. He could smell the rat droppings in the passage. He could smell the stale pipe tobacco of Signor Scarpetta, who lived across the street.
Without Ramona’s scent, he felt naked, a stranger alone in a foreign land.
In the faint glimmer of light he looked at Ramona sleeping soundly. He sniffed her like a dog, straining to recover some trace of the perfume. He sniffed at the nape of her neck, as it nestled into the pillow. He sniffed her matted hair. He raised the bedclothes and sniffed underneath them. Here the scent would gather in an aura close to her sleeping form; here it was always strongest. He raised her nightgown and sniffed at the folds of skin between her legs, her swollen belly, the space between her breasts. There was no trace of the maddening elixir that had held him captive these past months.
Rupinello spent the night watching and waiting for the smell to return. It had to come back. Please let it come back. He could not bear to be without it. How could it just disappear? Where had it gone? He would look for it and he would find it. He would follow it anywhere.
In the hour before dawn, the hour of clarity when our true selves are illuminated and we recognize our own secret truths, he realized he did not love Ramona. More than that, he now knew he had never loved her. Now that the smell had been stripped away he saw her for the first time as she really was, and he was repulsed by her. Her livid pink face with its clumsy features, the way her mouth gaped in sleep, exuding a frothy mess onto the pillow. He looked with horror at her ugly nostrils. How could he have imagined he loved those? Now he almost hated her. How could he have deluded himself so?
He felt like such a fool. And a fool without a single carlino to his name. He owed several weeks’ protection money and now watched constantly over his shoulder, fearing that one silent night he would feel a stiletto piercing his hump. The cook shop which had, up to now, provided Ramona’s meals, had also threatened him with violence. He had until the week’s end to settle his account. Only yesterday, in a warning gesture, the patron, Selmo Filangieri, had sent him a pig’s ear on a plate, garnished with parsley and a sauce of capers. His own ears now stung with fear. There would be no more food until he found the money. How could he continue to feed her? She had become a giant mouth and stomach feeding upon him.
Amalasunta Castorelli, that merry widow, held her hand outstretched every time she saw him. Now her very feet were inside his nose. He could not keep paying. It would all have to stop. His head spun. What could he do? How could he free himself? The loathsome smells crowded his nasal passages. He could hardly breathe. Air. He needed air. He had to get away from the stench of this place. He had to think. Quietly he rose and went outside, leaving Ramona and the baby sleeping. He would head toward the Capodimonte. The air was fresher there. He would walk in the pinewood and think.
Some time later, when Ramona had recovered her strength, she too decided to take a breath of air outside. A little walk in the street. She had not left the apartment in months and she felt a desire to stretch her legs. Yet when she emerged from the house, leaving the baby upstairs, something strange happened: a chimney sweep walked straight past her without even raising his eyes from the ground. Bad sinuses, she thought.
Then a band of three or four oyster catchers went by on their way to the docks. Not one of them bothered to sniff the air. How odd. Fishermen were usually the first to detect her scent, their sense of smell sharpened by the odor of the briny sea. Then a butcher’s boy rode past on his bicycle. He whistled away without giving her a glance. Then a troop of foot soldiers marched past without even breaking file. What was going on? Surely all these men did not have blocked noses?
Ramona walked a little farther. She deliberately stepped in the path of a passing archdeacon, but he stepped smartly around her and went on his way without even a cursory bulging of the surplice. And so it went on. With all the traffic on the Via Vecchia Poggioreale that day, the acrobats, plasterers, glowworm trainers, pancake men, and policemen who always gathered round her and followed her to her destination, not a single person noticed her. It was as though Ramona Drottoveo did not even exist.
It felt strange not to be jostled by crowds. Not to be accosted by pleas and prayers and heckles. She felt suddenly small and scared and insignificant. What had happened to her?
Ramona returned to her rooms and was almost surprised to see the baby on the bed. She had completely forgotten about it. She picked it up and grappled with it. The baby struggled in her arms, and seemed reluctant to be held. It was very heavy, and it was bigger than she remembered. Not that Ramona cared; she was preoccupied with the fear of having become ordinary. Where was her scent? Perhaps it was exhausted by the birth, and was simply renewing itself, ready to burst forth in a few days with even more potency.
She waited impatiently for Rupinello to come. She was miserable and hungry. Where was the humpback? Why did he not bring a pizza or a frittata?
What Ramona did not know as she waited and waited, growing more and more hungry, was that Rupinello, her little servant, was not coming back. That night when he sat waiting for the smell to recover was a turning point in his life. As Ramona paced the floor in hunger, Rupinello was on the road to Roma with his new love, the bearded lady from the circus, Monalda Spantigati. Lured on by the scent of the hormonal imbalance that caused her follicles to sprout their rich growth of umber bristles, the humpback had agreed to take an engagement at Vanvitelli’s circus in the capital.
Thus, at a stroke, he left behind the huge edifice of burdens he had constructed for himself on the foundations of a false and foolish love. The hungry mouths, the outstretched palms, the Camorra, the cook shop, Amalasunta Castorelli. They could go to hell, for all he cared. He was free. Free! With what joy did he skip along the highway, holding the hand of his hairy friend! He blessed the fates for their timely intervention, for his escape from the hungry jaws that were about to swallow him whole. He would not be so foolish again. He had learned his lesson. He knew better now than to allow himself to be led by his nose.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
To the Circus
Soon Ramona Drottoveo was gnawing on her fingers.
She could not understand where the humpback had gone. He should have been back long ago. She had gone all day without food. He had not even left her a basket for her breakfast or lunch. What could he be thinking of? There would be trouble when he did finally roll in, his sooty face gaping, craving a kiss. Well, there would be no kiss for him this evening. He must be punished.
In desperation, she decided she could wait no longer: she would have to find something to eat on her own. She scraped together the few grains that she had managed to keep hidden from Rinaldo and Rupinello and hurried out to the grocer’s on the corner of the Via Arenaccia. Her little money did not buy much, only a small loaf and a morsel of cheese, and once back in her rooms she hurriedly swallowed what there was and was still hungry. Oh, what she would do for ravioli or a fluffy beef-and-onion pie.
The night passed and when Ramona awoke early the next morning, Rupinello had still not returned. She glanced at the baby. Overnight it had doubled in size, like rising dough. It seemed strange, but she had no experience with babies. How could she know what to expect? She decided to go to the circus and make inquiries about Rupinello. Maybe he had been injured in an accident. If he had been taken to the infirmary, she would visit him there. He was sure to have some money that would keep her until he could resume his act. He should not lie idle for too long, it wouldn’t be good for him.
And so Ramona got ready and set out on the long journey to Capodimonte. It was a beautiful day. Had she not been so hungry and had the baby not been so big and heavy to carry and had it not been so far it would have been quite a pleasant walk. As she made her way along, she looked over her shoulder to see whether anyone followed her, but there were no amorous crowds of scullions and courtiers. In the Via Casanova she passed eleven wandering minstrels, two puppeteers, three taxidermists, and twenty-seven civil servants. Not one of them joined step with her. Not one sniffed. Not one made a lewd remark. It did seem as though her worst fears were confirmed. The smell had deserted her. She was no longer special.
What a long walk it was to the circus. To think Rupinello did this walk twice every day. Sometimes four times. It was not surprising that he was always tired. She would tell him to get her a baby carriage. The baby was too heavy to carry around. At last, the big top loomed huge in the distance. As Ramona approached she saw the clowns, the tumblers, the fire-eaters practicing their acts out of doors in the sunshine.
She could not see Rupinello. It was plain he had been injured, as she suspected. She felt that the Donadio brothers should at the very least have sent someone round with a hamper of food and some money. Magnanimously, she decided to absolve Rupinello of the greater measure of blame. The patrons were responsible.
A strong man walked past in a loincloth of lion skin.
“Where is Rupinello? What has happened to him?” she asked as he spat on his palms and prepared to begin his training with a number of leaden dumbbells.
“I haven’t seen him, lady. Ask the ringmaster.” He pointed in the direction of a smaller tent at some little distance from the big top. So Rupinello had got this young woman into trouble. Not surprising, then, that he had fled. Let the ringmaster tell her. The Great Massimo wasn’t about to involve himself in that pretty mess. Heave-ho.
Ramona hurried over to the tent, preparing to tell the ringmaster just what she thought of him.
“But my dear signora,” replied the mustachioed Signor Donadio when Ramona broke off from her complaint long enough to catch her breath, “there has been some misunderstanding. Rupinello has not been maimed in an accident. In truth he has run away, owing me money. Monalda Spantigati too has disappeared. The word is that they have gone to Roma, to the circus of that lizard, Vanvitelli. To think, she had no beard when I discovered her, selling matches in the Via Mezzocannone. I brought her up. I drew out her whiskers. Never have I seen such whiskers on a woman. What a fine, bristly growth. And this is how she repays me. What ingratitude. Why, I fairly boil to think about it. She and the humpback. Who would have thought it? And so now I have two openings. I have no one to fire from the cannon, and no bearded lady. Now, how will I draw the crowds? I will lose money. The punters will drift away to that villain Corenzio. It is said he has two women with bristles. Twins. But they cannot be genuine….”
Ramona had turned and walked away. She did not want to hear any more. The ringmaster’s talk was making her head spin.
“Hey, signora, I don’t suppose you have any bristles, do you? Any sprouting warts or moles? I can help you. I can draw out your natural talents. You would look amazing with a beard. Your coloring is so unusual. A pink woman with a white beard. Think about it. What a draw for the crowds. We would be packing them in. Standing room only. All I ask is that you think about it, signora….”
Ramona left the tent. One phrase stuck in her mind. The humpback had gone. That much she understood. Now what would she do? How would she survive?
Hours later, Ramona found herself back at the Via Vecchia Poggioreale, although she was not conscious of having walked there. As she opened the door, she thought of Amalasunta Castorelli. Amalasunta Castorelli could help her. She was a wealthy woman now. Why, had they not always been on the best of terms? They were more like friends than landlady and tenant. No, more than friends, sisters. Amalasunta would not see her starve.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Sweet Charity
Ramona put the baby down on the stairs and knocked on the door of Amalasunta’s rooms. There were scrabbling noises within. Rats, of course. The abattoir attracted them. Some of them as big as dogs. She shuddered. Still, Amalasunta did not come to the door. She would let herself in. They didn’t stand on ceremony with one another.
Ramona admitted herself into the parlor. It was like a warehouse; every surface was covered with piles of goods: miniature glass bottles, wax dolls dressed as priests, and boxes packed with what looked like blackened sausages. They did not look appetizing, but Ramona was starving, so she stuffed three all at once into her mouth. Uuurrhh. They were not sausages at all. They contained sawdust, not meat. Ramona spat them out in disgust. Surely Amalasunta couldn’t have grown rich selling such inedible sausages?
“There’s someone there, I tell you,” came the worried voice of a man Ramona didn’t recognize.
“There’s no one there. It’s only the rats,” came the voice of Amalasunta, sounding strangely honeyed. “You should see the size of the rats we get in this district. Huge.”
“Someone has let himself in, I tell you,” came the man’s voice again, this time accompanied by the fumbling noise of someone climbing hurriedly into his clothes. “He’s in the parlor.”
Strange. Whose could that voice be?
“There’s no one there, my prince; come back to bed.”
So Amalasunta had a prince in there! Ramona quickly adjusted her hair. Here was her chance to make an impression. If she could get in with a prince, her worries would be over. If only her smell had not deserted her, she would snatch him from Amalasunta’s grasp.
Ramona assumed her most seductive pose on top of one of the crates. But it was not a prince who emerged from Amalasunta Castorelli’s bedchamber. It was a young priest with a red face under the biretta he was hurrying to cram onto his head. His vestments were in a state of disarray, and as he ran from the front door, trying to assume an air of composure he could not feel, he was still seeking to adjust them.
Then Amalasunta emerged, she too struggling to put on her clothes. Her honeyed tone had evaporated, and Ramona could tell her interruption was not welcome.
“What do you mean, bursting in here when I am taking my spiritual guidance?” she demanded.
“I’m sorry,” said Ramona, “but I’m hungry. I thought you might have a little of your offal stew to spare.”
“Offal stew, indeed! The nerve! No, I haven’t got any offal stew to spare. I haven’t got anything to spare. Now get out.”
“But Amalasunta Castorelli, I need to talk to you. Rupinello has gone.”
“So he’s finally seen the light, has he? Well, good for him. So how are you going to pay the rent?”
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Seeing that you and I have always been such good friends, I—”
“Friends, indeed! Your rent’s due Friday. Pay up or you’ll be on the street. Now get out.” With that, Amalasunta opened the door and bundled her friend, her sister, Ramona out into the stinking passage.
So much for charity.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
“Never seen her before, Bubbone”
Who else could Ramona ask for help? There was, of course, Signor Po at the opera house. Although he had never summoned her to take the stage, if he knew her circumstances he would be sure to help her. He wouldn’t allow her to starve, not after all they had been to one another. There was also the gentleman who had taken her to the Fontana Refreshment Rooms. What was his name? It was Signor Pastini, she was sure of it. She scrabbled about in a drawer and came up with his card. It was torn and stained but it would allow her to find him.
“It’s a good thing I am so clever,” Ramona said to the baby, which had grown even more during the night. “I will save us. Now we must go out again, and this time we won’t return hungry.”
And so Ramona strapped on her eyeglasses and set off to the San Carlo. Instead of the beautiful clothes of Brunella Tosti she was dressed now in her own dowdy rags, but she hoped Signor Po wouldn’t notice the difference. She hurried across town with the enormous baby in her arms, hoping she would soon be sitting down to a lavish meal. She staggered up the steps of the opera house and made her way into the vestibule. There was a different concierge this time, not the friendly man who had escorted her to Signor Po’s office. The former concierge had been relieved of his duties. He was still in prison awaiting execution for the brutal murder of his wife.
“The house is closed, signora,” the new concierge informed her.
“I wish to see Signor Po,” said Ramona.
“Signor Po is no longer with the San Carlo, signora.”
“No longer here?” Ramona panicked. “But I must see him.”
“Sorry, he’s gone. Difference of opinion with the management. Can’t help you. Good day.” With that, he ushered Ramona out onto the steps and quickly closed the door.
The concierge nodded slyly to Panfilo, the deaf janitor, who was then passing by with a mop.
“Just had another of Signor Po’s bastardi in, Panfilo!” he bellowed. “That makes three already this week.”
