Chapter 4

plywonderedwhyshedidnotcomeround.Hehateddiscomfortandyearnedforsympathy,butshrankfrommentioninghisdifficultiesinthetownincasetheywereputdowntohisownincompetence.Spiridionewastold,andrepliedinaphilosophicalbutnotveryhelpfulletter.Hisothergreatfriend,whomhetrustedmore,wasstillservinginEritreaorsomeotherdesolateoutpost.And,besides,whatwasthegoodofletters?Friendscannottravelthroughthepost. Lilia,sosimilartoherhusbandinmanyways,yearnedforcomfortandsympathytoo.Thenighthelaughedathershewildlytookuppaperandpenandwrotepageafterpage,analysinghischaracter,enumeratinghisiniquities,reportingwholeconversations,tracingallthecausesandthegrowthofhermisery.Shewasbesideherselfwithpassion,andthoughshecouldhardlythinkorsee,shesuddenlyattainedtomagnificenceandpathoswhichapractisedstylistmighthaveenvied.Itwaswrittenlikeadiary,andnottillitsconclusiondidsherealizeforwhomitwasmeant. “Irma,darlingIrma,thisletterisforyou.IalmostforgotIhaveadaughter.Itwillmakeyouunhappy,butIwantyoutoknoweverything,andyoucannotlearnthingstoosoon.Godblessyou,mydearest,andsaveyou.Godblessyourmiserablemother.” FortunatelyMrs.Herritonwasinwhentheletterarrived.Sheseizeditandopeneditinherbedroom.Anothermoment,andIrma’splacidchildhoodwouldhavebeendestroyedforever. LiliareceivedabriefnotefromHarriet,againforbiddingdirectcommunicationbetweenmotheranddaughter,andconcludingwithformalcondolences.Itnearlydrovehermad. “Gently!gently!”saidherhusband.Theyweresittingtogetherontheloggiawhentheletterarrived.Heoftensatwithhernow,watchingherforhours,puzzledandanxious,butnotcontrite. “It’snothing.”Shewentinandtoreitup,andthenbegantowrite—averyshortletter,whosegistwas“Comeandsaveme.” Itisnotgoodtoseeyourwifecryingwhenshewrites—especiallyifyouareconsciousthat,onthewhole,yourtreatmentofherhasbeenreasonableandkind.Itisnotgood,whenyouaccidentallylookoverhershoulder,toseethatsheiswritingtoaman.Norshouldsheshakeherfistatyouwhensheleavestheroom,undertheimpressionthatyouareengagedinlightingacigarandcannotseeher. Liliawenttothepostherself.ButinItalysomanythingscanbearranged.ThepostmanwasafriendofGino’s,andMr.Kingcroftnevergothisletter. Soshegaveuphope,becameill,andallthroughtheautumnlayinbed.Ginowasdistracted.Sheknewwhyhewantedason.Hecouldtalkandthinkofnothingelse.Hisonedesirewastobecomethefatherofamanlikehimself,anditheldhimwithagripheonlypartiallyunderstood,foritwasthefirstgreatdesire,thefirstgreatpassionofhislife.Fallinginlovewasamerephysicaltriviality,likewarmsunorcoolwater,besidethisdivinehopeofimmortality:“Icontinue.”HegavecandlestoSantaDeodata,forhewasalwaysreligiousatacrisis,andsometimeshewenttoherhimselfandprayedthecrudeuncouthdemandsofthesimple.Impetuouslyhesummonedallhisrelativesbacktobearhimcompanyinhistimeofneed,andLiliasawstrangefacesflittingpastherinthedarkenedroom. “Mylove!”hewouldsay,“mydearestLilia!Becalm.Ihaveneverlovedanyonebutyou.” She,knowingeverything,wouldonlysmilegently,toobrokenbysufferingtomakesarcasticrepartees. Beforethechildwasbornhegaveherakiss,andsaid,“Ihaveprayedallnightforaboy.” Somestrangelytenderimpulsemovedher,andshesaidfaintly,“Youareaboyyourself,Gino.” Heanswered,“Thenweshallbebrothers.” Helayoutsidetheroomwithhisheadagainstthedoorlikeadog.Whentheycametotellhimthegladnewstheyfoundhimhalfunconscious,andhisfacewaswetwithtears. AsforLilia,someonesaidtoher,“Itisabeautifulboy!”Butshehaddiedingivingbirthtohim.