ELVIRA VIGNA: IN ENGLISH – O assassinato de Bebê Martê (Brasil, Companhia das Letras, 1997, 128p.)
This book received the following insertion in the 58th volume of the Handbook of Latin American Studies of the Library of the Congress of the United States:
“A new-look narrative, fragmented and circular, tells about two women and their stages in life: from riches to rags, from a small town to a big city, from a heterosexual marriage to a dive into lesbianism. Novel is a long reflection filled with irony on appearances and delusions.”
This abstract was signed by Dr. Regina Igel, PhD of the Department of Spanish and Portuguese, University of Maryland, United States.
Hanno ucciso Baby Marty – Riassunto, per Patrizia di Malta:
Due donne di mezza età passano il tempo a litigare fra loro quando non cercano nuovi modi di guadagnare soldi. Un tempo ricche, oggi cercano disperatamente di non sembrare povere. Competono fra loro anche per le attenzioni di un pittore d’avanguardia, più giovane di loro, e forse gay. Sono unite da un legame molto forte; Lucia è sposata all’ex-marito di Vera, del quale era amante da molto tempo. Quando l’avventura extraconiugale è stata scoperta, le due, invece di litigare, sono diventate amiche. Durante una festa, Lúcia, la donna sposata, racconta a Vera di avere ucciso il padre, o che potrebbe averlo ucciso, durante la festa di compleanno per i suoi ottant’anni, forse per gelosia o per l’invidia nel vederlo, nonostante l’età, godersi la vita e le donne. Le due feste, quella attuale a casa di Lúcia, e quella da lei raccontata, si snodano parallelamente nella narrazione, come l’ interesse e la competizione delle due donne. Due gli omicidi: nel primo, Baby Marty – Bernardino Bertolli Martezzi, uno dei tanti italiani del sud emigrati in Brasile all’inizio del XX° secolo – muore per mano di Lúcia, ancora giovane, che lo soffoca con un cuscino. Nel secondo è la stessa Lúcia a morire soffocata da un cuscino. Le due morti avvengono quando le due feste – quella del passato e quella del presente – stanno per finire. La doppia azione è ambientata negli appartamenti decadenti di una classe media urbana brasiliana fallita, e nelle case spaziose di una piccola città rurale dell’entroterra. In questo romanzo costruito su suggestioni, la Vigna attizza la curiosità suggerendo indizi e costruendo ambigue ipotesi, ma i dettagli delle due morti sono lasciati all’immaginazione del lettore. Lo sguardo sulla vita delle due donne esplora le vicissitudini femminili della mezza età, le trasformazioni di corpo e anima imposte dal tempo e dai luoghi alla protagonista. E’ soprattutto la sfera delle relazioni interpersonali ad essere indagata: il lavoro del lettore consiste nello scoprire le analogie tra le due storie che si sovrappongono. La protagonista del romanzo si lascia attrarre ogni giorno di più dalla eventualità di un omicidio come alternativa alla mancanza di prospettive della sua quotidianità, e a poco a poco si appropria della storia di Lucia, e il presente di una va incontro al passato dell’altra. I sentimenti sordidi, i desideri meschini nascosti sotto le convenzioni comportamentali sono smascherati dal tono acido della narrazione.
Excerpt: (trans. David Lehmann)
“Dino dies the same way he said he would: after the party.
Dino is Bernadino Bertolli Martezzi on his ID, Dino for the family, Baby Marty for those beyond the bridge, in alleys so narrow that one can only walk sideways, last time I was there it seemed quite useful, drunks couldn’t fall, the walls would stop them, if it wasn’t so, they would clutter the passage.
Dino is 80 that very day, and as he arrives in the morning from Metropolis Hotel for his usual lunch meal, he falls into bed, a dried drool on a corner of his mouth, the huge hands, eyes wide open, and a muffled sound – like a third-rate diesel generator – coming from his chest.
The doctor says:
“Any moment now.”
And smiles, as he usually does – a good rapport is an excellent healing device, if not for the sick person, in case of death, at least for the family. The perfect white, pearl-white teeth, the stethoscope – pearl necklace on his neck.
I think that now is the time to start sobbing, and that’s what I do. My mistake. While I sob, leaning or hiding on my husband’s shoulders, which is hard to do, because he’s short, all the others, which by accident or not so accidentally, are all men, leave the room. In returning, they have their grieving face, already. That’s what they were away for, to put on their grieving faces, and they left me there looking silly. But Dino is trying to raise his head, say something, and we all get closer and what he says, drooling, with his dying chest, is pork fries and aquavit.
“Pork fries and aquavit.”
A slap to the face.
The doctor whispers whatever, christian charity, at least he’ll depart with his last wish attended, and I get even more angry because at that moment everyone agrees and I can see quite clearly that the thought that someone else instead of me would prepare the pork fries and booze doesn’t cross anyone’s head. I stand still for a little while, unmoving, until one and then another look at me with a puzzled look, their eyebrows saying, it’s supposed to be now, right? we don’t have all day. And I go. I kick myself until this day for having gone, but I went. And I went weeping, because if I must go I’m going au grand complet, crying, nose runnin,g and I use the screeching of the frypan to cry very loudly, screaming, the way I like to do. Touching, say the crystal dishes. Moving, this child-to-parent pain.
The plate has on top of it a starched and ironed laced napkin, the yellowed glass with booze aside, Dino struggles to raise his head slightly, his huge hand picking a pork fry while he is knocking down others, the pig. Sticks everything into his mouth, turns the glass over, the eyes shining, the food slides inside through his neck, perfectly visible in the crackled skin that stretches, he cleans his mouth with the sleeve of the pajama, supports himself with his elbow, looks at each one of us, already with his usual look, so ironic, and says with his usual voice, strong, me hanno salvato, carissimi.
“Me hanno salvato, figli miei. Me hanno salvato. – and laughs with a killer health.
Now everyone is crying, powerless, punching one another. The vexed doctor tries to take his leave, but no one is paying much attention, he leaves alone through the door where he bumps into some people who are arriving, dressed in black. One of us, hasty, had already phoned some neighbors and close friends – guests for the imminent party – so that they would come earlier, and in black. In his bed, supporting himself on his elbow, Dino says he never dies before a party.
“I never die before a party, you imbeciles. First I’ll eat, drink and dance, more than all of you put together. After that, if I want, I’ll die, so I don’t have to look at your silly faces never again”