A room in a hospital. A body swathed in bandages from head to foot lies on an orthopaedic bed. The only part uncovered is the mouth, which is open. One arm in plaster is held up, with the elbow raised at an acute angle, by a pulley, with traction weights. A nun is alongside, trying unsuccessfully to undo the hooks on the pulley. Then she tries to straighten the body. She joins the hands on the chest and attempts to squeeze the jaws together to close the mouth. The door is thrown open and a man enters. He's a man of about forty in a rather crumpled grey suit, and he's carrying a suitcase.
MAN – No, not like this, no!
NUN – Who are you?
MAN – I'm a member of the family.
NUN – I was here when he passed away, ten minutes ago.
MAN – Ten minutes ago?
NUN – But excuse me, who are you?
MAN – I'm his brother.
NUN – Signor Enrico?
MAN – How did you know my name?
NUN – Your brother pronounced your name before he passed away. They were his last words.
MAN – My name?
NUN – If your name's Enrico.
MAN – My name's Enrico.
NUN – He said: Enrico, my brother Enrico. And then he died.
MAN – But are you really sure about that?
NUN – Excuse me, but why shouldn't I be? I could hardly have invented your name.
MAN – Oh... so... well, I don't doubt you. But when did it happen?
NUN – Yesterday at 2 pm. He came in with serious head wounds, he had internal bleeding too, but he didn't die from those, it was the burns. He had third degree burns over his whole body. But didn't they tell you that, didn't they inform you?
MAN – I didn't know anything.
NUN – Oh, my God! Then how did you come to be here?
MAN – I came to visit him, I was travelling. I've had a very long journey. I got to his house and the porter told me: your brother's in the central hospital, best if you run. I hadn't seen him for many years.
NUN – I'm preparing the mortuary chapel. We need to transfer the body, this room has to be free by this evening. Would you like to come down with me?
MAN – No, I'd like to stay here on my own with my brother.
NUN – Perhaps it'd be better if a nurse comes and keeps you company.
MAN – No, I'd like to stay here on my own with my brother.
The nun leaves and closes the door. The man puts his suitcase down on the floor. He sits on it. Then he gets up and goes to the foot of the bed.
– So this!
– Oh no, it can't end like this!
– Don't you agree it can't end like this?
– And now what do I do?
He begins pacing the room.
– Tell me, what do I do?
– Tell me, what do I do?
He sits in a little armchair at the end of the room and lights a cigarette.
– I know smoking's not allowed, but I need a cigarette.
He begins smoking, his head resting on one hand.
– Tell me, what do I do?
– Don't you know how to answer?
– Don't be a bastard.
He smiles as if he were thinking about what he said.
– Yes, bastard seems an appropriate word.
He laughs briefly.
– Don't you know how to answer, bastard?!
He jumps to his feet.
– OK, I'll tell you what to say, just be kind enough to listen. And please don't be considerate, please be your arrogant self, the everlasting know-it-all, the smart alec, have the guts to speak in your beautiful, arrogant, contemptuous voice, the one you liked to use at particular times, your typical, hateful voice: I'm sorry, it was your fault, Enrichetto.
He leaps back, brings his hands to his chest as he yells.
– Mine?! It was my fault?!!
He stamps his feet.
– And don't call me Enrichetto!, I won't tolerate you calling me Enrichetto!
– You always called me Enrichetto, even in front of papa you called me Enrichetto. And he'd smile to himself, do you think I didn't realize? Oh no, I realized, how couldn't I be aware, it was just I always pretended not to be.
– Why did I always pretend not to be? Only you could ask a question like that. A question like that is absolutely typical of your way of seeing things, of your way of thinking about other people, because you... because you've always thought about other people like that. Thinking only of yourself. You, as an example to the world! Like the centre of the world.
– Because I was sorry, that's why. But not sorry for myself, not that you'll be able to understand, that's probably too much for your brain; I was sorry for him. Exactly that, I was sorry for him. It hurt me that he smiled about me, it hurt me because I understood his solitude. He was alone, quite alone, because you didn't understand him and I, who did, was no use to him because he didn't understand me. Otherwise he wouldn't have laughed up his sleeve on hearing me called Enrichetto. That was an oblique way of saying poor Enrichetto. Not Enrico, but "poor Enrichetto"... poor little thing, he's so naïve, so timid, so inexperienced, so unprepared for the world... he'll never make it, he needs protecting, poor Enrichetto. Then as an adult I remained Enrichetto and the "poor" disappeared, but the concept was the same. Enrico just for special occasions: let me introduce my son Enrico, now then, Enrico is excellent, I can't be there but you can count on Enrico. What a good chap Enrico, always willing, always helpful, always loveable... Poor Enrico.
– Like when mamma died. I'd like to know what you understood. I'm not saying what you felt, because that would be asking too much, no, I'd like to know what you understood, go on, confess.
– You're not saying anything, coward? Then I'll tell you what you understood. You didn't understand a thing, do you know the expression? You didn't understand a thing.
– No, in fact, you understood one thing. One thing's easy to understand even for people with no understanding. And you took hold of it delicately, that thing, that tube. Between your index finger and thumb. And you turned it upside down with a useless, rhetorical flourish, because even a fool could grasp how empty it was. And how! That pitiful woman, her eyes rolled up to the ceiling, bed jacket slid down, one arm sticking out of bed and dangling on the floor. And you take the tube in your hand and turn it over! But what did you expect would come out, eh? Fool!
– Poor mamma. Your words, on that occasion, I remember them well, I've got an indelible memory: poor mamma. And you wiped away a tear. Eh, that's right, as far as you were concerned everyone was "poor".
– Fool!
Continues in the print edition. Order now.
Translated by Siân Williams from I dialoghi mancati (The Lost Dialogues).
