Page 6 of Daughter of Genoa
All right, then, he thinks as his eyes begin to close and his limbs to relax.I’ll go first thing in the morning. I won’t let that old fear stop me. I shall list everything that’s wrong with me, and whatever they tell me to do for the sake of my health, I shall do it. Even if it means stopping work for a while. Even if it means leaving the library to Brother Carlo. Yes, even that.
And the decision feels right – of course it does. It’s the correct thing to do. But even as he drifts off to sleep in the warm glow of righteousness, he knows deep down that he still won’t bring himself to do it.
5
Anna
For the first while, I couldn’t get out of bed. It was as if something had given way, something that had been holding me upright. I was like a sick child or an elderly invalid, waking only to use the lavatory or to eat the simple meals Silvia brought to me on a tray. The rest of the time I slept, with Tiberio rolled into a warm ball in the small of my back or the crook of my knee, indignantly rearranging himself whenever I drifted into consciousness for long enough to shift position and ease my stiff shoulders, my aching hips.
‘It’s quite usual,’ Silvia said to me on the first day. I was finishing my soup while she filled the chest of drawers with freshly washed and ironed clothes – a neighbour, she’d told me, had a daughter who’d moved away and left them behind. ‘You’ve been surviving on your own for so long, you haven’t had a chance to rest.’
‘But I haven’t been doing anything,’ I said. ‘I haven’t been able to.’
‘And that’s the whole problem.’ She shook out a wool skirt, rolled it into a tight cylinder and tucked it in with the others. ‘Forced idleness isn’t restful. Quite the opposite, in fact – it saps all your strength. Have a good rest now, a proper rest, and you’ll soon be back on your feet again.’
‘I don’t feel like I’ll ever be back on my feet,’ I said.
Silvia smiled. ‘You will be.’
And I was. A couple of days later, I woke up ravenously hungry and with the strong desire to be upright and active. I washed and put on my ‘new’ wool skirt and a jumper in a pretty rose colour, and I went along the corridor to the kitchen. The door stood ajar and Silvia was sitting at the table, staring at a fat ledger that lay open before her with a stack of papers next to it. She smiled when I came in, but she looked tired.
‘Good morning, Marta. How nice that pink looks on you. Would you like some breakfast?’
‘Yes, please. But let me make it,’ I said as she pushed back her chair.
‘No,’ Silvia said, so sternly that I didn’t dare object. ‘This is my kitchen. Sit down.’
‘But I really do want to help.’ My eyes were drawn to the ledger that lay open on the table – the need to dosomethingwas as urgent as thirst. ‘I can dust my room, if you show me where everything is. I can…’
‘Marta, no.’ Silvia turned to face me, tying an apron around her waist. ‘You mustn’t worry. You’ve had enough worry for a lifetime already. Just rest and concentrate on feeling better. I’m not about to put you to work.’
‘But I want to be put to work,’ I said. ‘I must be put to work, or I shall go mad. What’s this?’ I went on, gesturing to the ledger book, before she could object. ‘I could help with this, I’m sure of it.’
Silvia’s shoulders drooped. She eyed the book as if it were her worst enemy. ‘Oh, that’s just the sales ledger for the shop. Bernardo does his best at keeping it, and I do my best at checking it, but neither of us finds it easy. We used to have a clerk, but…’
‘Let me do it,’ I said. ‘It’s easy for me.’
Silvia looked at me for a moment. She was still wary, but I could see hope breaking through, and that made me hopeful in turn. ‘Really?’
‘Really. This is what I do. Well, what I did before…’ I hesitated, the bleakness of the last years opening out before me.
‘Before things changed,’ Silvia supplied.
‘Yes. I was a sort of secretary-bookkeeper. Honestly, it won’t take me long at all.’
‘Well, if you’re quite sure you must,’ she said, turning back to the stove. ‘But you shall have an egg for your breakfast. This is the kind of work that merits an egg.’
I sat down in her abandoned chair, picked up the pencil and got to work. Before long I’d found two transposed numbers and a miscalculation, and I was so absorbed in the process that I didn’t realise breakfast was ready until Silvia tapped my shoulder. There was a plate at my elbow with a fried egg, a beautiful one with a deep-orange yolk.
‘I’ll leave you to it, as you seem to be having fun. But enjoy the egg, I beg you. It came all the way from Bernardo’s cousin’s village – it deserves to be appreciated.’ Silvia poured out a bowl of chicory ‘coffee’ and placed it next to the plate along with a slice of bread. ‘If you need me, I’ll be in the back office.’
I ate quickly, like I used to do before hurrying out to work, though I lingered a little over the rich egg yolk. Then I gulped down the chicory and went back to my ledger. My eyes were weaker than they used to be, and at first I found myself triple- and quadruple-checking every calculation, but as I went I picked up speed and confidence until I felt very nearly like my old self again. I was finishing up the very last page when the kitchen door creaked open.
‘You see,’ I said triumphantly, ‘I told you it wouldn’t take long! Haven’t you any more?’ I looked up with a big grin, expecting to see Silvia. But it was Vittorio.
‘What’s this about?’ he said. ‘Silvia and Bernardo making you earn your keep?’
‘Oh, no, they wouldn’t do that. I wanted to help.’
