Cabaret

For Christopher

MYSELF
,
FREDA
LIPPI
(NÉE
CASTRO
)
FIAMMA
, my sister

PAOLO
BALBINI
, the Detective

ALBERTO
LIPPI
, the ventriloquist
SIGNORA
DOROTEA
POMPI
, proprietor of the Onoranze Funebri Pompi

PESCO
, Fiamma’s chauffeur

PIERINO
, my parrot

POLIBIO
NASO
, a fool, becomes Fiamma’s husband
UNCLE
BIRILLO
, my mother’s brother
AUNT
NINFA
, Birillo’s wife

SIGNOR
NABORE
TONTINI
, my downstairs neighbor cast

THE
PALUMBO
TWINS
, exotic dancers at the Berenice cabaret club
LUI
MASCARPONE
, doorman and general factotum at the Berenice
GLORIA
FANTORELLI
, snake charmer at the Berenice
DARIO
MORMILE
, impresario of the Berenice
AMALTEA

} some of Alberto’s voices

GENOVEFFA

MALCO
, Alberto’s dummy

MAMMA
, my beautiful mamma, who perishes in a car accident
MARIA
ASSUNTA
, the superintendent of our building in the Via Giulia
SIGNOR
FRANGIOSA
, one of our neighbors
PORZIO
POMPI
, Signora Dorotea’s husband
RUPERTO
, Fiamma’s first love

NORBERTO
, another of Fiamma’s early boyfriends
SIGNOR
SALTINI
, padrone of the Magnolia cabaret club, where Mamma sang

MIMI
FINI
, the female impersonator at the Magnolia
IVO
, the double bass player in Mamma’s band
VITTORIO
BRUSCHI
, Mamma’s agent

NORMA
, Vittorio’s secretary

VALENTINA
, Vittorio’s strapping mistress

SIGNOR
RUSSO
, newspaper vendor

SIGNORA
FOGNANTE
, tripe seller

PAPA
GIOVANNI

SIGNORA
SEMIFREDDO

} neighbors in our building in the Via Giulia

SIGNORA
MANTELLI

REMO
, son of Maria Assunta, my first love
RAFFAELLO
, Aunt Ninfa’s hairdresser
SIGNORA
PUCILLO
, Aunt Ninfa’s mother
DRUSILLA
MORELLI
, the sadistic physiotherapist DR.
BONCODDO
, my first psychiatrist
NICODEMO
, Dr. Boncoddo’s lover

DR.
FARRANDA
, Dr. Boncoddo’s boss
SIGNOR
FELICE
, Signora Pucillo’s paramour
TELMA
MACCARRONE
, Signora Pucillo’s love rival
GREGORY
THE
GREAT
, the first pope buried by Signora Dorotea’s forebears

SAINT
PETER
, appears as himself

CALIPSO
LONGO
, receptionist at the funeral parlor
SIGNORA
FORTUNA
, my first corpse
SIGNOR
CREMOSO
, ice cream vendor and would-be lover of Fiamma

MISENO
NUMITORE
, another of Fiamma’s contestants
CUNIBERTO
MORETTI
, a relief pallbearer and vendor of vanilla pods, one of my first dates

ERNESTO
PORCINO
, inventor of weeping eyeballs, and my first would-be lover

LORETTA
, Signora Dorotea’s sister
SIGNORA
PORCINO
, Ernesto’s wife

THE
PORCINI
, Ernesto’s children

SIGNOR
SETTEBELLO
, a corpse

CLODIA
STROZZI
, my roommate on the cruise liner, the Santa Domenica

THE
GREAT
FANGO
, the magician on the cruise
MEL
CARTOUCHE
, the international artiste
RULA
ARGENTI
, the source of the dysentery outbreak
FANTASIA
SPIGA

NERO
PUPA

} third-class passengers

NICOLETTA
BELLINI

SIGNOR
STUFO
, a corpse

SIGNORA
STROZZI
, Clodia’s mother
SIRO
, Signora Dorotea’s holiday romance
SIGNORA
DRUSILLA
LIPPI
, Alberto’s mother

NUNZIATA
, Alberto’s sister

TUSCO
GOZZINI
, the notorious gangster
CARLO
MARTELLO
, the butcher in the Campo dei Fiori
GIANGIACOMO
CAMPOBASSO
, the hairdresser
MANILIA
PIETRAPERTOSA
, the lemon vendor
FAUSTO
PAZZI

BERNEDETTA
SORBOLITO

} bystanders in the Campo

CRISPINO
MONGILLO

BRINI
, security guard at the Banca di Roma
NINO
, a talking hamster

POLIBIO
JUNIOR
, Fiamma’s son

MAX
CALDERONE
, an alias used by the Detective
MAFALDA
FIRPOTTO
, a corpse whose body sprouts violets and who is hailed as a saint

SISTER
PRISCA
, mother superior of the Santa Fosca convent
PADRE
BONIFACIO
, priest to the sisters of Santa Fosca
MISS
OLGA
MOLLICA
, singer at the Berenice
SIGNORA
AGNELLO
, a corpse

THE
BUCO
TWINS
, proprietors of an undertaker’s in the Via Ombrone

VERONIQUE
KAPOOR
, my stage name

FRANCO

SELMO
D’
ANGELO

} members of the jazz band at the Berenice
LABBRA
FINI

BEATA
FRESCA
, cocktail waitress at the Berenice
VALERIA

} victims of the fire, and my neighbors in the sanitarium
NERISSA

NURSE
SPADA
, a nursing sister on the ward
LOLA
, Labbra Fini’s girlfriend

DR.
PICCANTE
, another psychiatrist
NELLO
TONTINI
, son of my downstairs neighbor
GLORIA
, Pierino’s mate

MIMOSA
PERNICE
, Uncle Birillo’s mistress
PERDITA
STELLATA
, proprietress of the pre-owned clothes stall
SELMO
MANFREDI
, the fishmonger

I
struggled up the stone steps clutching a plucked chicken to my chest. Squashed under my arm was the carton containing the new wig and the squeakers; my basket was laden with raspberries, red peppers,
pancetta
, and broad beans; and as I fumbled for my key in the string bag containing the library books, it came to my attention that my front door was cordoned off by tape. What could be going on? Was there wet paint? Nobody told me there was to be maintenance. I hesitated, and a tall man appeared in my doorway.

“Signora Lippi?”

I nodded.

“Please come inside, and try to remain calm.” He pushed the tape aside to allow me in. There was scarcely room for us both in the narrow passage. I could smell the garlic and the anchovies from his lunch on his breath.Tiny globules of sweat clung to his upper lip. In the dim light he was inhaling me, and his eyes were glued to my chicken.They were a little bloodshot, and filled with hunger. His suit was rumpled. It was clear he was a detective.

“What is it?” I asked faintly. “Is it Fiamma?” My sister was scornful of the dangers she faced, but I had long lived in dread of a moment like this one.

“It’s your husband, signora,” he breathed, allowing my heart to start beating again. Fiamma was safe.

“He has been taken,” the Detective continued, “and your apartment has been ransacked.”

“Taken?” I repeated, not understanding him.

“He has been seized. Disappeared. You know the way things are, signora; it is unlikely you will ever see him again.” Alberto seized! It hardly seemed likely. I had heard about such disappearances, of course, but why would anybody want Alberto? It had to be a mistake. If he had been taken, they would soon realize their error and release him. I had no doubt he would be back in time for his supper, and this being Saturday, he would be expecting chicken with scorched pepper sauce.

As my brain raced ahead to tonight’s dinner, the Detective seemed to expand and fill the passage completely. I became aware, as we faced each other, that his body was now touching mine and his breathing was slow and heavy. The appearance of a second man emerging from the parlor filled the corridor beyond capacity. I was struck by the way the second man’s earlobes had continued growing down the sides of his neck until they reached almost to his shoulders.

“I’ve finished, sir,” he said, and pointed with his head to the clear plastic bag he was carrying. “Just some items we’re taking away as evidence, signora.” I couldn’t be sure, but I thought I could detect some items of my underwear in the bag. What could they want with those?

The man in charge grappled for some time with his hand in his pocket. It felt as though he was examining my thighs, but it was only because we were all pressed so closely together. His subordinate was in fear for his wallet, I could tell.

After a delay, during which time seemed to warp and stretch, he finally fished out a card and handed it to me. Like his suit, it was crumpled and slightly damp. Although the writing was smudged, I could make out the words, “Paolo Balbini,
Polizia
Municipale,
Roma 17,” and a number at headquarters.

“It is unlikely they will try to contact you, signora,” he said, “but if they do, or even if they do not, you have my number.”

Finally they squeezed out past me onto the more spacious landing. The backward glances Signor Balbini threw me showed how much it hurt him to leave. I said nothing, but shut the door behind them.

My brain, and my mouth, seemed both to have dried up.

It felt like a dream. Just a few minutes ago everything had been normal. It was Saturday. I had gone into work for a couple of hours—there had been a number of murders during the night, and Signora Dorotea needed my assistance in mask-ing some bullet holes and reconstructing a nose that had been blown off in an explosion. Then I met Fiamma for coffee at Bobrini’s. She had just returned from a fact-finding mission to Bolivia, and was covered in ulcers from poisoned fish served at the official banquet. She couldn’t face any food, so I ate all the
pasticcini
myself and I have to say they were delicious.Then she was driven away by her chauffeur, Pesco, to an emergency summit at the Ministry, and I ran my errands. I returned my library books, and picked out three new ones, collected Alberto’s order from the theatrical trickster’s in the Corso, took my funeral suit into the dry cleaner’s, and then did my shopping at the market stalls in the Campo dei Fiori.

Every Saturday was the same. Now this.

I walked through the rooms with the feeling I was acting a part in a film. Everything was in such a mess. It was as though a huge and hideous monster had swallowed my contents and regurgitated them, partially digested. It was awful, but worse was to come: when I stumbled into the parlor, I found Pierino’s cage overturned and empty. Frantically I searched the ruins, but he was gone. I ran to the windows, squinting into the sunlight, to try and spot him, but there was no sign of him. Opposite, slouching in the doorway of the Belbo Forno, I identified the form of Detective Balbini. He was looking up at me, and hurriedly I slammed the shutters.

I had to find Pierino. I didn’t know how long he had been missing, but there was a chance he could still be nearby. I flew down the stairs and out into the street. I didn’t bother to lock the doors; any thief who could find something of value among the chaos was welcome to it.

I raced into the Campo, scattering the flocks of flea-bitten pigeons. The market had closed up by now, for today I had been later than usual, but its slimy traces remained: pigs’ eyes and poultry claws, fish tails and innards, frothing puddles, guts and gore. The stench was terrible after the sun had been on it. I prayed Pierino had not landed near any of the butchers’ stalls: some of them, I knew, would take a cleaver to anything. I looked about me for traces of azure feathers; thankfully there weren’t any.