Read Online Born Twice (Vintage International) by Giuseppe Pontiggia - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Giuseppe Pontiggia
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sticking out her chest proudly. “What don’t you like about it?”
“The name: Pleasure Island,” he replies. “What on earth does it have to do with us?”
“I agree,” I hear myself saying. Why am I doing this? I’m not sure, but now I have to keep going. Signor Colnaghi turns toward me, overwhelmed with gratitude. “It’s the wrong formula.”
She looks at me with a shared sense of irony. “So you’re against me now too, Signor Frigerio?” Then, after a pause she adds, “Of course we don’t have to use that name. What do you think, Signora?” She turns to a diminutive lady sitting in the front row who keeps her hands folded over her knees in a gradually intensifying grip. I’ve noticed her before; she’s one of those very shy people who, when called on to speak in public, would just love to disappear. The kind of person who dreams of saying memorable things and fears saying the ridiculous.
“It sounds fine to me,” she replies weakly.
The doctor jumps to her feet. We know how proud she is of doing this. Her existence is based on passionately serving those who are devoid of such agility. She teases us with it. She’s a good woman, we’re reluctantly forced to admit.
She laughs brightly, the way she does at the best of times. “Signor Colnaghi and Signor Frigerio don’t like Pleasure Island. What about the rest of you?”
The others hesitate; they shift uncomfortably on their chairs, torn between adulation and truth, tradition and secession.
“I get it. You don’t like it either. So we’ll do away with it. No more Pleasure Island from now on. But what about the Center. Are you pleased with the Center?”
Yes! The Center, yes, a liberated chorus of voices exclaims, but hidden in their voices lies a combination of sincerity and untruthfulness, conviction and perplexity. Just as in school, there’s the same divided unanimity.
“We couldn’t ask for better treatment,” Signor Colnaghi says, dabbing at his forehead with a handkerchief, both proud and fearful of his unexpected triumph, “but Pleasure Island was a bit euphoric.”
“Yes, Signor Colnaghi, I know. It’s been discussed,” she says patiently, lowering her gaze.
He wants to say more, as often happens when someone has already concluded. “We live it differently.”
“I know.” She nods. Then she looks up. “That’s right. How do you live the experience of the Center?”
She’s picked up where she left off. How do we live the experience of the Center?
We grow serious: focused, intense, almost troubled. The vacation on Pleasure Island is over.
Favors
The same person who’ll refuse to do a favor for you if you ask in the evening might have been willing to do it had you asked earlier in the day. It all depends on someone’s mood. There’s no way of knowing for sure. These are the hypothetical certainties that are sources of joy when we are tempestuous and of distress when we are not.
That’s why I can’t risk making a mistake with my father-in-law. What’s the best time to ask him a favor?
“What kind of favor?” Franca asks.
“Publishing.”
“Never,” she says.
“Good,” I reply, encouraged by our matrimonial exchange.
“Who’s it for?”
“The guy with the limp.”
With some distress I realize I have brutally used the principal’s disability against him. It doesn’t usually happen to people who are either directly or indirectly affected by a handicap. If someone uses the abusive epithets “spastic” or “mongoloid,” you can be sure that no one in their family is either of those. Misfortunes have varying kinds of effects on us, linguistic ones being the most immediate. We become sensitive to the vocabulary associated with the problem. We could even say, by way of inference, that writers are perennially sensitive to the misfortunes of language, even if they’re never affected by them. Nor do they expect to be, in order to reflect on the variations in meaning. This helps explain why
“The name: Pleasure Island,” he replies. “What on earth does it have to do with us?”
“I agree,” I hear myself saying. Why am I doing this? I’m not sure, but now I have to keep going. Signor Colnaghi turns toward me, overwhelmed with gratitude. “It’s the wrong formula.”
She looks at me with a shared sense of irony. “So you’re against me now too, Signor Frigerio?” Then, after a pause she adds, “Of course we don’t have to use that name. What do you think, Signora?” She turns to a diminutive lady sitting in the front row who keeps her hands folded over her knees in a gradually intensifying grip. I’ve noticed her before; she’s one of those very shy people who, when called on to speak in public, would just love to disappear. The kind of person who dreams of saying memorable things and fears saying the ridiculous.
“It sounds fine to me,” she replies weakly.
The doctor jumps to her feet. We know how proud she is of doing this. Her existence is based on passionately serving those who are devoid of such agility. She teases us with it. She’s a good woman, we’re reluctantly forced to admit.
She laughs brightly, the way she does at the best of times. “Signor Colnaghi and Signor Frigerio don’t like Pleasure Island. What about the rest of you?”
The others hesitate; they shift uncomfortably on their chairs, torn between adulation and truth, tradition and secession.
“I get it. You don’t like it either. So we’ll do away with it. No more Pleasure Island from now on. But what about the Center. Are you pleased with the Center?”
Yes! The Center, yes, a liberated chorus of voices exclaims, but hidden in their voices lies a combination of sincerity and untruthfulness, conviction and perplexity. Just as in school, there’s the same divided unanimity.
“We couldn’t ask for better treatment,” Signor Colnaghi says, dabbing at his forehead with a handkerchief, both proud and fearful of his unexpected triumph, “but Pleasure Island was a bit euphoric.”
“Yes, Signor Colnaghi, I know. It’s been discussed,” she says patiently, lowering her gaze.
He wants to say more, as often happens when someone has already concluded. “We live it differently.”
“I know.” She nods. Then she looks up. “That’s right. How do you live the experience of the Center?”
She’s picked up where she left off. How do we live the experience of the Center?
We grow serious: focused, intense, almost troubled. The vacation on Pleasure Island is over.
Favors
The same person who’ll refuse to do a favor for you if you ask in the evening might have been willing to do it had you asked earlier in the day. It all depends on someone’s mood. There’s no way of knowing for sure. These are the hypothetical certainties that are sources of joy when we are tempestuous and of distress when we are not.
That’s why I can’t risk making a mistake with my father-in-law. What’s the best time to ask him a favor?
“What kind of favor?” Franca asks.
“Publishing.”
“Never,” she says.
“Good,” I reply, encouraged by our matrimonial exchange.
“Who’s it for?”
“The guy with the limp.”
With some distress I realize I have brutally used the principal’s disability against him. It doesn’t usually happen to people who are either directly or indirectly affected by a handicap. If someone uses the abusive epithets “spastic” or “mongoloid,” you can be sure that no one in their family is either of those. Misfortunes have varying kinds of effects on us, linguistic ones being the most immediate. We become sensitive to the vocabulary associated with the problem. We could even say, by way of inference, that writers are perennially sensitive to the misfortunes of language, even if they’re never affected by them. Nor do they expect to be, in order to reflect on the variations in meaning. This helps explain why
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