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Authors: Antonio Tabucchi
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armchair and invited me to help myself.
—And so school does not interest you? It is not your vocation?—
I said that as far as a vocation was concerned, I might even have followed it, but I had been graduated for two years already, and it still fell to me to do substitute teaching. And,dear God, I was
almost
twenty years old. I explained the concept of substituting, which Madame appeared to totally ignore, and to be concise said that the following week, when the teacher I was substituting for had finished her maternity leave, the principal would tell me that the school was very grateful for my most valuable assistance, good day and goodbye. And while at one time the pregnant ladies to be substituted for had sprouted like mushrooms, nowadays people think twice before having children, what with the cost of living, just imagine. I don’t know if she kept abreast of the statistics relative to births in Italy.
Dusk was falling over the lake, and from our position it really was a painting, anything but Dufy. The terrace overlooked the garden, full of lemon trees and cypresses, furrowed by the geometry of the boxwood hedges which outlined the pebbled avenues. The town, on the spur that jutted into the lake, was already in shadow, and on its roofs lingered vague streaks of pale blue light. The last light of day was for the landing stage opposite the gale and for the towers of the villa, which were warm yellow, toasted by time. The swallows made a marvelous uproar, going crazy low in the sky. Madaine was explaining to me that she was very much afraid of being bored during the winter, used as she was to Paris. She couldn’t say she exactly needed a secretary, let’s say rather a companion. Yes, some letters now and then to certain Swiss galleries from which she bought, and things of that kind. But fundamentally she was looking for a person of good taste with whom to exchange impressions, with whom to talk about intelligent matters. “
Naturally
,” she did not insist that I decide on the spot, I could give my answer tomorrow. But “
naturally
,” food and lodging. Would I like to have a look at my eventual bedroom? She called Constance.
For all the rest of October Madame was very busy in planning a non-realistic Ikebana, an extremely delicate balance ofautumn shades. The base was an antique gold-colored Belle Epoque vase, a 1906 glass, with a long, slender neck.
Madame left the responsibility of naming the composition up to me. All the fanciful compositions were titled, because one of the purposes of Ikebana was just to solicit names, to make concrete in words the sensation that the composition had excited in our souls. What struck me the most in that composition was “its heart of light,” I said, and Madame affirmed that she couldn’t have found a better name herself. To tell the truth, I began to possess a certain competence in this area. I had literally devoured
Ikebana: I’art des fleurs, Les fleurs et Vantique tradition japonaise, Ikebana et Hai-Kai
, and finally
La peinture japonaise
, a magnificent volume on glossy paper, all reproductions. At night, on the advice of Madame, I read Kawabata, who was “so Zen from the first to the last page.” It bored me to death, with all those idiotic women gazing sadly at winter landscapes, but I refrained from saying so in order not to appear materialistic. Madame detested materialism, and Kawabata was “
un petit souffle
who caressed the plains of the soul.”
With my October salary, which Madame insisted on paying in full even though I had not begun work at the beginning of the month, I bought myself a jacket of dark green buckskin, which I felt much in need of, and accessories in very red tortoise: powder box, comb, and cigar lighter combined. With advanced money I purchased a most elegant writing case, which seemed to me to be indispensable for a secretary of a certain level, and which contained a tiny silver papercutter, a lacquered fountain pen, a bottle of very
—And so school does not interest you? It is not your vocation?—
I said that as far as a vocation was concerned, I might even have followed it, but I had been graduated for two years already, and it still fell to me to do substitute teaching. And,dear God, I was
almost
twenty years old. I explained the concept of substituting, which Madame appeared to totally ignore, and to be concise said that the following week, when the teacher I was substituting for had finished her maternity leave, the principal would tell me that the school was very grateful for my most valuable assistance, good day and goodbye. And while at one time the pregnant ladies to be substituted for had sprouted like mushrooms, nowadays people think twice before having children, what with the cost of living, just imagine. I don’t know if she kept abreast of the statistics relative to births in Italy.
Dusk was falling over the lake, and from our position it really was a painting, anything but Dufy. The terrace overlooked the garden, full of lemon trees and cypresses, furrowed by the geometry of the boxwood hedges which outlined the pebbled avenues. The town, on the spur that jutted into the lake, was already in shadow, and on its roofs lingered vague streaks of pale blue light. The last light of day was for the landing stage opposite the gale and for the towers of the villa, which were warm yellow, toasted by time. The swallows made a marvelous uproar, going crazy low in the sky. Madaine was explaining to me that she was very much afraid of being bored during the winter, used as she was to Paris. She couldn’t say she exactly needed a secretary, let’s say rather a companion. Yes, some letters now and then to certain Swiss galleries from which she bought, and things of that kind. But fundamentally she was looking for a person of good taste with whom to exchange impressions, with whom to talk about intelligent matters. “
Naturally
,” she did not insist that I decide on the spot, I could give my answer tomorrow. But “
naturally
,” food and lodging. Would I like to have a look at my eventual bedroom? She called Constance.
For all the rest of October Madame was very busy in planning a non-realistic Ikebana, an extremely delicate balance ofautumn shades. The base was an antique gold-colored Belle Epoque vase, a 1906 glass, with a long, slender neck.
Madame left the responsibility of naming the composition up to me. All the fanciful compositions were titled, because one of the purposes of Ikebana was just to solicit names, to make concrete in words the sensation that the composition had excited in our souls. What struck me the most in that composition was “its heart of light,” I said, and Madame affirmed that she couldn’t have found a better name herself. To tell the truth, I began to possess a certain competence in this area. I had literally devoured
Ikebana: I’art des fleurs, Les fleurs et Vantique tradition japonaise, Ikebana et Hai-Kai
, and finally
La peinture japonaise
, a magnificent volume on glossy paper, all reproductions. At night, on the advice of Madame, I read Kawabata, who was “so Zen from the first to the last page.” It bored me to death, with all those idiotic women gazing sadly at winter landscapes, but I refrained from saying so in order not to appear materialistic. Madame detested materialism, and Kawabata was “
un petit souffle
who caressed the plains of the soul.”
With my October salary, which Madame insisted on paying in full even though I had not begun work at the beginning of the month, I bought myself a jacket of dark green buckskin, which I felt much in need of, and accessories in very red tortoise: powder box, comb, and cigar lighter combined. With advanced money I purchased a most elegant writing case, which seemed to me to be indispensable for a secretary of a certain level, and which contained a tiny silver papercutter, a lacquered fountain pen, a bottle of very
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