The Dark Heart of Italy (41 page)

Back in your flat the light is sliced thin through the shutters. You pull them up and walk out onto the balcony. The neighbours are on theirs, opposite, and shout ‘
salve
’. There are children everywhere. There’s something in the light. It’s the cusp between night and day and swallows are beginning to give way to the bats. It’s this light which is incredible. It bounces off the ‘Parma yellow’, the city’s favourite colour. Everything seems gentle and reposed. The reason those Thomas Jones paintings from the eighteenth century are so moving is because it’s obvious that here was a Welshman who had found, in Italy, a completely new type of light. The colours might be the same, but they’re infused with that placid, serene light which northern Europeans spend their whole lives yearning for.

There’s something about the pace of life which makes living more enjoyable. You take your foot off the pedal which doesn’t
mean (the usual stereotype) that you lie in a field of corn strumming a mandolin and sucking on a flask of wine. It’s just that you’re less driven. It’s as if you allow things the time and space to take their natural turn, not out of idleness but because you truly savour whatever it is you’re doing now and don’t yearn to rush off and do something different. There’s less need to be frantic if you’re simply happy where you are. You can allow coincidences to come and find you rather than haring around trying to fulfil some ambition. Everything is thus more surprising and more spontaneous. Life just appears – I don’t really know how to describe it – less forced, more natural somehow.

Although you’ve been away for months you don’t even need to call anyone to know where they’ll be tonight. You remember when you first came here, you used to be amazed at the way people went out, always in groups, always with the same people week after week. In Britain, most people would be happy if they saw close friends more than once a month. The friendship wouldn’t be any less close for that, but it’s very different. People live so far apart. You pick them off one by one because they’ve all moved away or abroad and you’ll have a reunion, all together, only when someone gets married or dies. In Parma, though, you would meet the same people in an almost ritualistic way: the same places and faces, the same old stories being told for the umpteenth time. You don’t ever need to make a date, a time and a place, to see everyone. It’s as if you all meet at the usual place out of a willing submission to habit. That’s what
compagnia
means: having a pack of friends that you see week in, week out. Most pensioners in Parma still see, daily, the people they sat next to at school. The durability of an Italian friendship is breathtaking and creates something else which I had, at first, belittled. I used to be irritated by what I perceived as the impunity or confessionalism of Italian society whereby nobody is ever punished for wrong-doing. But through friendship I saw that there’s simply more understanding in Italy and that that isn’t a bad thing. There’s an acceptance, even anticipation, of human weakness and rather than shy away from people when they do wrong, people stand by them. There’s a perma
nence to family and friendships which is much rarer in Anglo-Saxon societies and consequently there is, there has to be, more understanding and empathy about our many short-comings. If you never leave home (or, at least, your home town) you’re forced to confront issues, rather than run away from them. What I used to call confessionalism is actually candour. Relationships between friends or between relatives in Italy simply appear more intimate, more profound.

Later that night when we’re all at the usual dark grotto, a bottle of wine on the table, you realise, listening to the endless stories and laughter, that there’s another Italian word which doesn’t really have an adequate translation in English and which is the enjoyable flip-side of that solidity:
estrosità
. It means flair, elan, whimsy, fancy. It’s the ability to be capricious and creative, to adapt to every situation. And the amazing thing about this compagnia is that so many of them (despite having busy, full-time jobs and families) are deeply involved in voluntary work. The quiet guy with a long goatee in the corner dresses up as a clown once a week for children in the oncology department of the city’s hospital; the girl sitting next to him goes to a
casa di riposo
, an old-people’s home, every week to help feed the geriatric patients. They never talk about it but you know they do it, and you know that it’s par for the course in Italy. My contempt for all the corruption has, in recent years, been replaced by a sense of being humbled by the sheer humanity of this community.

Life just feels more sophisticated here. The next day all of us go up to the mountains. We’re in the middle of nowhere, in some country villa which is as rustic as it is stylish. There are chickens clucking around antique wheelbarrows. We sit outside in the shade and can hear, from miles away, the sound of someone playing the guitar, entertaining friends with old folk songs. Filippo is passing round tiny thimbles of the chilled Erba Luigia liqueur which his grandmother has made and we start joining in the songs, old De André numbers. A couple of people have gone for a walk in the woods to pick wild strawberries for tonight’s dinner. That refinement, that delicacy with which friends enjoy the sim
plest, most innocent pleasures together, is incomparable. And for all the complications, Italian life can sometimes seem incredibly simple. Sometimes I don’t even hear the noise of my gnashing molars.

1
Parole, Parole, Parole

1. James T. Boulton, ed.
   The Letters of D. H. Lawrence
   , vol. 1 (Cambridge, 1979)
   
2. Carlo Levi,
   Christ Stopped at Eboli
   (London, 1947)
   
3. Marco Rogari,
   Burocrazia Fuorilegge
   (Milan, 2001)
   
4. Corrado Stajano,
   L’Italia nichilista
   (Milan, 1982)
   
5. Jacob Burckhardt,
   The Civilization of the Renaissance in Italy
   (London, 1990)
   
6. Luigi Barzini,
   The Italians
   (London, 1964)
   
7. Ernesto Galli della Loggia,
   L’identità italiana
   (Bologna, 1998)
   
8. Dante,
   The Divine Comedy
   (trans. Peter Dale, London, 1996)
   
9. Carlo Ginzburg,
   The Judge and the Historian
   (London, 1999)
   
10. Luigi Pirandello, “So It Is (If You Think So)” in
    Six Characters in
    Search of an Author and Other Plays
    (trans. Mark Musa, London, 1995)
    
11. Maurizio Dianese and Gianfranco Bettin,
    La Strage
    (Milan, 1999)
    
12. Pier Paolo Pasolini,
    Lettere Luterane
    (Turin, 1976)
    
13. Leonardo Sciascia,
    L’Affaire Moro
    (Milan, 1994)
    
14. Umberto Eco,
    Sette anni di desiderio
    (Milan, 1983)
    
15. Donald Sassoon,
    Contemporary Italy
    (New York, 1997)
    
16. Carlo Levi,
    Le mille patrie
    (Rome, 2000)
    

2 ‘The Mother of All Slaughters’

1. Giovanni Fasanella, Claudio Sestieri, Giovanni Pellegrino,
   Segreto di
   Stato
   (Turin, 2000)
   
2. Leonard Weinberg and William Lee Eubank,
   The Rise and Fall of
   Italian Terrorism
   (Boulder, 1987)
   
3. Claudio Pavone,
   Una Guerra Civile
   (Turin, 1992)
   
4. Leonard Weinberg and William Lee Eubank,
   The Rise and Fall of
   Italian Terrorism
   (Boulder, 1987)
   
5. Franco Ferraresi,
   Minacce
   alla
   Democrazia
   (Milan, 1995)
   
6. Robert Putnam, ‘Atteggiamenti politici dell’alta burocrazia nell’ Europa occidentale’ (Rivista Italiana di Scienza Politica 3, no 1, 1973)
   
7. Sergio Zavoli,
   La Notte della Repubblica
   (Milan, 1992)
   
8. Alessandro Silj,
   Never Again Without a Rifle
   (New York, 1979)
   
9. Ibid
   
10. Maurizio Dianese and Gianfranco Bettin,
    La Strage
    (Milan, 1999)
    
11. Corriere della Sera
    (13 December 1969)
    
12. Maurizio Dianese and Gianfranco Bettin,
    La Strage
    (Milan, 1999)
    
13. Ibid
    
14. Giorgio Bocca,
    Il Filo Nero
    (Milan, 1995)
    
15. Ernesto Galli della Loggia,
    L’identità italiana
    (Bologna, 1998)
    

3 Penalties and Impunity

1. Alan Friedman,
   Agnelli and the Network of Italian Power
   (London, 1988)
   

4 ‘The Sofri Case’

1. Dario Fo,
   Accidental Death of an Anarchist
   , trans Ed Emery (London, 1992)
   
2. Adriano Sofri,
   Memoria
   (Bari, 1990)
   
3. Daniele Biacchessi,
   Il Caso Sofri
   (Rome, 1998)
   
4. Giorgio Bocca in
   La Repubblica
   (21 July 1982)
   
5. Franco Ferraroti,
   L’ipnosi
   della
   violenza
   (Milan, 1980)
   
6. Maurizio Dianese and Gianfranco Bettin,
   La Strage
   (Milan, 1999)
   
7. Giovanni Fasanella, Claudio Sestieri, Giovanni Pellegrino,
   S
   egreto di
   Stato
   (Turin, 2000)
   

5 The Means of Seduction

1. Italo Calvino,
   La speculazione edilizia
   (Milan, 1994)
   
2. Quoted in Edward Murray,
   Fellini the Artist
   (New York, 1976)
   
3. Pier Paolo Pasolini,
   Lettere
   Luterane
   (Turin, 1976)
   
4. Italo Calvino,
   La speculazione edilizia
   (Milan, 1994)
   
5. Quoted in Ernesto Galli Della Loggia,
   L’identità italiana
   (Bologna, 1998)
   
6. The Economist
   (April 24 May 4 2001)
   

6 Clean Hands

1. Eurostat,
   Enterprises in Europe
   (Brussels, 1996)
   
2. Quoted in
   The New York Review of Books
   (October 18, 2001)
   
3. Carlo Pirovano ed., Italia moderna: la difficile democrazia (Milan, 1985)
   
4. Ibid
   
5. Corriere della Sera
   (3 May 1992)
   
6. Paul Ginsborg,
   L’Italia del tempo presente
   (Turin, 1998)
   
7. Corriere della Sera
   (29 May 1992)
   
8. Il Giornale
   (27 January 1994)
   

7 Miracles and Mysteries

1. Quoted in John Cornwell, Breaking Faith (London, 2001)
   
2. Henry James Letters
   . 4
   Volumes
   . Ed. by Leon Edel (Cambridge USA, 1984)
   
3. Charles Dickens,
   Pictures from Italy
   , Ed. by Kate Flint (London, 1998)
   
4. Espresso
   (number 40, 1981)
   
5. Paul Ginsborg,
   Italy and Its Discontents
   (London, 2001)
   
6. Tina Anselmi,
   Commissione Parlamentare d’Inchiesta sulla Loggia
   Massonica P2
   (Rome, 1984)
   

8 An Italian Story

1. Alexander Stille,
   Excellent Cadavers
   (London, 1995)
   

10
I Morti

1. Corriere della Sera
   , (19 January 2002)
   
2. La Repubblica
   , (20 April 2002)
   
3. Giovanni Guareschi,
   The Little World of Don Camillo
   (New York, 1977)
   
4. Henry James,
   Italian Hours
   (London, 1995)
   
5. Umberto Eco,
   Sette anni di
   desiderio (Milan, 1983)
   
6. Ibid
   

Revised Postscript

1. See Perry Anderson’s discussion of the adjective in the
   London
   Review of Books
   (21 March 2002)
   
2. Massimo Carlotto,
   The Colombian Mule
   (London, 2004)
   
3. Marcello Fois,
   The Advocate
   (London, 2004)
   
4. Luigi Pirandello, ‘So It Is (If You Think So)’ in
   Six Characters in
   Search of An Author and Other Plays
   (trans. by Marti Musa London, 1995)