According to Angela, I was no longer saying anything funny about that subject. Now, it was true that I had put an end to the lewd tales, but only because it had seemed childish to exaggerate my few experiences and had no juicier material. Since the relationship with Roberto and Giuliana had been consolidated, I kept Silvestro, my classmate, at a distance, who after the pencil episode became fond of me and on several occasions proposed a secret courtship. But, above all, I was very tough with Corrado, who continued with his proposals, and cautious, but firm with Rosario, who at fixed intervals would show up when leaving school and suggested that I accompany him to his attic in via Manzoni. At this point I had the impression that those three suitors of mine belonged to a degraded humanity of which, unfortunately, I had been a part.
Instead, it was as if Angela had become someone else: she was cheating on Tonino and sparing Ida and me not a single detail of the occasional relationships she had with schoolmates and even with a teacher over fifty; so much so that she herself made faces of disgust when she spoke of him.
That disgust affected me, it was genuine. I knew what it was and wanted to say: I can see it in your face, let's talk about it. But we never did; it seemed that sex should excite us by force. I myself didn't want to admit, to Angela and also to Ida, that I would rather become a nun than smell Corrado's latrine smell again. On the other hand, I was not amused that Angela interpreted my lack of enthusiasm as an act of devotion to Roberto. Besides, let's face it, the truth was tough. Disgust had its ambiguities, difficult to put into words. What I disliked about Corrado might not have displeased me if it had been about Roberto. So I was just identifying contradictions. She said:
"Why do you keep going out with Tonino if you do those things with others?"
"Because Tonino is a good boy and the others are pigs."
"And you do them with pigs?"
-Yes.
-Why?
"Because I like the way they look at me."
"Make Tonino look at you the same."
"He doesn't look like that."
"Maybe he's not a man," Ida said once.
"On the contrary, he's a very man."
-So?
"He's not a pig, that's all."
"I don't believe it," said Ida, "there are no men who aren't pigs."
"They exist," I said, thinking of Roberto.
"They exist," Angela said, quoting Tonino's erections with fanciful expressions as soon as he touched her.
It was then, I think, when she was talking having fun, that I felt the lack of a serious conversation on the subject, not with them, but with Roberto and Giuliana. Was Roberto going to avoid her? No, I was sure that she would answer me and that I would find a way to make very articulate reasoning in that case as well. The problem was the risk of being untimely in Giuliana's eyes. Why broach that topic in the presence of your boyfriend? After all, we had met six times, not counting the meeting in Piazza Amedeo, and almost always for a short time. So, objectively, we weren't very confident. Although he always tended to offer very concrete examples when he spoke of the big issues, I would not have dared to ask: Why, if you scratch a little, we find sex in almost everything, even in the highest things ?; Why is a single adjective insufficient to define sex, do you need many - embarrassing, bland, tragic, happy, pleasant, disgusting - and never one at a time, but all together? Is it possible that in a great love there is no sex, is it possible that sexual practices between men and women do not spoil the need to love by being loved? She imagined these and other questions, in a distant tone, perhaps somewhat solemn, especially to prevent both she and Giuliana from thinking that I wanted to intrude on her private life. But he knew he would never ask them. I insisted, instead, with Ida:
"Why do you think there are no men who are not pigs?"
-I dont believe it, I know.
"So Mariano is also a pig?"
"Sure, he's sleeping with your mother."
I shuddered.
"They see each other from time to time," I said icily, "but as friends."
"I think they're friends too," Angela interjected.
Ida shook her head energetically, repeating decisively: They're not just friends.
"I'm not going to kiss any man, they disgust me!" He exclaimed.
"Not even a good and handsome one like Tonino?" Angela asked.
"No, I'll only kiss women." Do you want to hear a story that I have written?
"No," Angela said.
I stared at Ida's shoes; they were green. I remembered that her father had looked at my cleavage.
'The lying life of adults'. Elena Ferrante. Translation by Celia Filipetto Isicato. Lumen, 2020. On sale from September 1.
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Author: Elena Ferrante.
Translation: Celia Filipetto Isicato.
Publisher: Lumen, 2020. On sale September 1.
Format: soft cover (368 pages, 19.90 euros) and e-book (9.99 euros).
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SEARCH ONLINE 'THE LYING LIFE OF ADULTS'
Author: Elena Ferrante.
Translation: Pau Vidal Gavilán.
Publisher: La Campana, 2020 (in Catalan). On sale September 1.
Format: soft cover (368 pages, 19.90 euros) and e-book (9.99 euros).
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