Amina Persa Page #4

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Look!

Pretty,isn't it?

What's this?

Cute...

You'll be Lelio,

and I,Rosaura.

Miss Rosaura,you're so lovely.

Spare a kiss.

- What? I'm a decent girl

- And I am a decent boy.

I'll give you my heart,and my

father's estate when he dies.

Forget it. I'm engaged

to Fabrizio,the servant.

Marry him,and let me be

your lover.

- Are you hurt?

- No.

I've never been in here before.

- Quite pretty.

- Yes.

- Who was that girl?

- A school friend.

We weren't doing anything bad.

We came in here by chance...

There's something new

in the sun today.

Or in fact,ancient

How mean! He's not to speak

to me that way again.

I swear I'll never let him

talk to me like that again.

I've asked Jesus to forgive me.

- Let's go,Gino.

- Where are you going?

- To a lecture.

- Aren't you saying goodbye?

Yes, Auntie.

- Can you get there late?

- I can even skip it.

Are you ill?

Anything I can do?

No. I'm better now.

Sit with this sick woman.

God,I've changed.

My face... my eyes...

everything's so grey.

It's the start

of my effacement.

I'm discovering that years

are like an eraser.

A light and invisible eraser.

It slowly goes over our eyes,

nose,mouth...

making everything blurred,

confused...

I can feel it going over my face

time and time again.

- You're partly to blame too.

- Me?

Yes.

In a way you've awoken things

I wanted to forget.

You've made me think...

recollect...

And memories hurt.

- I didn't mean to hurt you.

- No. You did the right thing.

With your thirst

for knowledge...

I know I have to keep quiet,

avoid asking questions

and wandering at night.

I've apologised to Uncle

I'm doing the same to you

Take the box out of that

first drawer over there.

Bring it to me.

Here it is. Look.

My little one.

- This must be...

- Beba.

- Your daughter?

- Yes. My daughter.

From my first marriage.

When I met your uncle I was a

widow with a 10-year-old child.

A sweet,gentle

and sensitive girl.

She loved music

and dance.

I can still see her

in her tutu,

a pretty little ballerina.

She loved Fabio.

And he loved her...

like his own daughter.

Then Fabio had to leave

on business for two months.

Right at that time his brother

came to visit.

He was back from a long trip

He was already ill.

Naturally he grew fond

of the little girl.

He was a lonely,

unhappy man.

Beba was sweet,radiant...

full of life.

She smothered him

with caresses,kisses...

In a very innocent way,

naturally...

very innocent.

But the professor was

no innocent man.

The girl's slender arms

around his neck...

her unstoppable kisses

on his forehead,his cheeks...

on his lips at times...

the presence of her lithe,

blonde figure...

awoke a violent passion

in him.

Or even love,

if we want to call it that.

The little girl was upset...

disturbed.

I saw her cry more than once.

He'd told her everything.

He begged her for love

as if she were a woman...

capable of understanding.

He'd send her flowers

buy her dresses...

bracelets...

bracelets

for her slim wrist.

He'd charm her.

He'd fascinate her

with his bizarre talks...

his tales of anguish...

softly,whilst staring at her

with his demented eyes.

And once the child

was totally besotted by him

he'd grab her and kiss her

desperately...passionately.

If you knew

why didn't you stop him?

- Speak to him?

- I knew nothing.

I found out much later.

- You said you saw her cry.

- But I didn't know why.

I swear,Tino.

One day he suddenly became

violent...agressive.

The child was frightened.

I was out.

In tears,she ran

towards the canal.

When they fished her out

she was dead.

And he's shut himself away

since...

as a prisoner...

prisoner of his own remorse.

Can you hear him?

He can't find any rest.

He never sleeps.

He hasn't had any peace

since that day.

- What does horehound mean?

- Not during the recitative!

God Almighty! Always

during the recitative!

You're so good at spoiling

a mood

- You can talk.

- Okay. Forget about it.

The concert's over.

- So, what was the word?

- Never mind.

You can't back down now.

I must educate you, right?

- Well? What word was it?

- Horehound, I think.

We don't need a dictionary

for that.

Horehound is a plant

with small white flowers

Satisfied ?

It's amazing how insensitive

women are

to all things spiritual.

Your aunt, for instance,

who's not so silly after all,

enjoys holding a book

now and again,

flicking through it,

reading here and there...

But they're nothing but

haphazard, empirical readings.

It's not true culture.

Want and example?

She can never put a book back

in the right place.

It would be worse if she didn't

put it back at all.

Tidiness doesn't bother me.

The fact is,the poor woman

still hasn't grasped the idea

that some writers

find it painful

to sit next to each other.

Recently she took out Ulysses,

bitter,difficult reading.

Know where she put it

back in the library?

Next to Goethe's works.

How can anyone put Joyce

and Goethe side by side?

The sublimina,

imperturbable Goethe!

How could they not help

loathing each other?

Where does Joyce belong?

Next to the great clowns

of language and literature..

next to Rabelais,Gadda,

Folengo,Celine...

Only a stupid

and insensitive woman

would try to make Joyce

and Goethe live together.

Good night,Tino.

Have fun.

Are we being ironic

my sweet tyrant?

You resent being called stupid?

But you are.

Stop torturing me!

I'll end up killing myself!

Kill yourself?

You've been dead for years.

You're a corpse. And I'm

rotting away next to you.

Like the past,when they tied

a living person to a corpse.

You're right.

But you're the corpse.

Do you know why

I married her?

One day I didn't know

what to say to her...

So I told her I loved her.

Poor woman...

She's been a nervous wreck

ever since.

- She told you,didn't she?

- No.

The tone of your voice

tells me yes.

It's a habit of hers...

ridding herself of guilt

by blaming others,

like my poor brother,

who's totally innocent.

I must be frank with you.

You know too much now.

You see...

young Beba...

my wife's child

from her first marriage

was pure,

totally devoid of malice.

She grew fond of me,

like a real father.

Suddenly, Elise...

was overcome by unfounded

jealousy towards her.

She was jealous of our hugs,

our caresses...

I could tell from the suspicious

way she looked at us.

Yes...

Elisa came to hate

little Beba.

- She caused her death.

- What are you saying?

Yes...

Beba was taken ill...

bronchitis with pulmonary

complications...

Nothing major,with the right

treatment and medication...

But Elisa neglected all that.

She even forgot

the injections,

suddenly....

Beba got worse.

- And we couldn't save her.

- That's terrible.

I don't believe you.

No mother could...

Beba died because of Elisa.

And she lies there...

in our family vault.

Where I wanted her buried.

And where I hope I'll be able

to join her soon.

What else do you want

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