Maria Olimpia “The precepts and the contradiction”

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Voce narrante Giuliana Poleggi Quaranta 

“If I can’t walk it’s because I don’t feel safe, I lack a support … I need a cane … I think it’s a psychological problem … as if, lacking support in life, I can’t go on anymore … even physically, materially…”

I did not know what to answer to my gentle and graceful friend whose name reminded me, at the same time, of the powerful Greek goddesses of Olympus and the homonymous Countess of Holland, by the famous Ariosto’s chivalric poem, twice rescued, by Orlando, the valiant paladin.

I hadn’t heard her on the phone for a long time. In person? … Not even talking about it … Me, work commitments … and she?

She, who was used to visit me often with a battered white Fiat Cinquecento, had begun to be seen less when her little car had had serious trouble and her husband had been careful not to spend money on it or to allow her to use their family car, considering its use by his wife, a mere “convenience” of which she could very well have done without.

Then, it was she to have some problems. When I realized that she was having some walking difficulties, gracefully, and using the utmost discretion, I took the liberty to advised her to ask a neurologist for a consultation, and at the possible earliest. She replied that her husband had brought her to an orthopedist who had not found any pathology … I still remain of the opinion that an orthopedist was not the specialist to be consulted…

Marcello Castori, “Small bunch of flowers” pen-nib studio

They lived in a large villa, which she had inherited, located on the outskirts of the village and surrounded by a beautiful planted park / garden.

After getting married, all her career ambitions extinguished, Maria Olimpia, who had always remained at home to take care of the family, had dedicated herself with affection and devotion to her loved ones. I often heard her talking about recipes, sewing, knitting, cleaning jobs … Not that I had a maid at home, they were all things that I also did but of which, personally, I rarely spoke because, considering these tasks simply part of the monotonous family everyday life, I have always thought that among women we could, indeed we should, talk about something else.

Sometimes instead she would tell me about her life before, when, as a girl, she lived with her parents in a nice apartment in the center of Florence… of the exclusive boutiques where she went to shop with her mother … of her friendships with girls from the good Tuscan bourgeoisie … of their holidays … of the summers spent in the villa in the village, after stays at the sea or in the mountains … Before … everything before her wedding.

Her husband, who came from a mountain village in northeastern Italy, had hung up his hat, as they say, and had settled in the house of his future in-laws, treated like a son.

When they tell me that they are more evolved in the north, I always reply that this is a commonplace to dispel: people evolve through education and that north, center or south have nothing to do with it.

Apart from that we should first understand what is meant by evolution. Because if we want to abuse this word to talk about separations, divorces, ladies going to nightclubs … we too have “evolved” enough, even too much.

According to what she told me, the idea I had of his family was that of rather obtuse people, attached to property, bigoted, even envious of the beautiful Tuscan girl, of an excellent family who had not introduced herself overnight… and not even empty-handed …

Their basic concept was: “What’s yours is mine, and what’s mine is mine.” Alfredo Panzini’s “Il padrone sono me” kept coming to my mind as she talked to me about  her husband’s concept regarding their possessions. “His” house in the mountains and “our” villa in the village, “his” woods and “our” furniture, “our” gold, “our” paintings … when “ours” meant everything she had inherited or had been given to her by her family of origin.

That was how the jewels her parents had given her, those precious objects that, when she wore them, his mother and his sister looked at, with undisguised envy and greed, ended up at the pawnshop to pay his back taxes and when, some time passed, she had asked for them to be redeemed he had replied: “Not at all… forget it!”, breaking her heart not so much for their intrinsic value, which was not negligible, but for the emotional one, really priceless …as everything was the memory of a circumstance, of a ceremony… a tangible act of her family’s love.

Obviously this would not have happened with “his” stuff, that was untouchable to the point that, before the wedding, her mother-in-law had even demanded she to sign a document stating that she had nothing to claim in the future regarding her husband’s property, thus renouncing all her possible inheritance rights.

Yet her parents had opened their doors to him without any prejudice, indeed they had welcomed their son-in-law with respect and generosity.

But wasn’t she the rich one? Wasn’t she the one who should have taken precautions?

When her mother died, her father left the apartment in the Tuscan capital and, with the other son, they moved to their quiet villa in the small town.

The two of them, instead, once married, had rented an apartment in Florence. All her friends had bought their own house but them because he was afraid of taking out mortgages, of getting into debt. Of course, if her family had contributed … otherwise … better to pay the rent than to take risks … in any case, there was always the villa where they could have moved …

So it was that, to get rid once and for all of the not indifferent expense of the rent, after a few years, they too had arrived in the village.

She stood out for her beautiful tailored dresses and the unmistakable Florentine accent, he for the four dogs that he regularly took for a walk in the surrounding countryside making indignant the owners of the land where the animals left their excrements that he was careful not to collect.

It had been useless to claim that four dogs were too many, that allowing them to enter, leave and live quietly inside the house, to go up and down and to sit undisturbed on chairs, sofas and beds, as well as not being hygienic it was not even right for her that, in addition to the normal household chores, she also had to clean what they soiled. Dogs were allowed to do anything, except to complain that the house was not in order,  not clean…

Marcello Castori, “First flare” watercolour studio

Her father, still a handsome man despite his age, had occupied a very prestigious position during his working life and now, retired, he received a substantial annuity. Cohabitation allowed the family to move forward comfortably and to graduate the two children as the elderly parent generously made his money available.

Her husband, who with entrepreneurial ambitions, had resigned from a secure job to set up his own business, had not been able to manage it and was not sailing in good waters. It was more and more frequent that his father-in-law’s money also served to pay the debts and the expenses related to his work. Over time this also became normal, at some point, even due.

What seemed to bother him particularly was the presence of her younger brother who, when they arrived, had found in the villa, where he lived with his father and a Romanian caregiver, hired to do the housework, who had settled in house more as a mistress than a servant. A short woman, stocky build, ugly and rough in her manner but very sure of herself who had worked hard on the young gentleman in the certainty of becoming the owner of the beautiful house with park and who was very upset when the newcomers, after having cleared all of her entitlements, told her they no longer needed her services.

His brother-in-law, a good devil, perhaps even naive, even though he lived in what was his parents’ house, and therefore also his, had made no objection, on the contrary, he tried to cause as little trouble as possible. He had never married. He had always remained in the family. Very skilled at repairing engines, he was involved in mechanical work and since he did not have a workshop of his own, he strove to satisfy the requests of friends and acquaintances by making home repairs with spare parts he found and recycled at car-wreckers, from damaged vehicles.

When, after a few years, the father got ill with Alzheimer’s, medical visits, drugs, checks of all kinds, but above all dedication, and daily care, became a difficult, heavy and painful task.

Maria Olimpia wouldn’t have asked for external aid, she had decided that it would be she who would have taken care of her father and all of the further tasks that inevitably would have been added to those already existing. He, the “prince consort” was completely disinterested in it, obviously money aside. To avoid misunderstandings, he had hurried to advise her to take the protection of her father, mentally incapable, in order to be able to manage both the pension and accompaniment, and the family assets safely. She had done so only because it was necessary and, despite the avid pressures of him, with the intention of not harming the legitimate rights of her brother and of nothing to take away from what was the only bond that remained with her family.

At a certain point her brother had fallen ill and, in about fifteen days, had died. Maybe to remove the inconvenience …

She went out less and less. I rarely heard her by phone. I perceived her  difficulty in taking care of a loved one who scarcely recognized her, her suffering in fighting a battle lost on all fronts from the very beginning.

When she had come to help her daughter in the choice of the dress to wear for the discussion of the degree thesis, I noticed she had changed… very much.

Marcello Castori, “Suggestions by Egon Schiele”

Then her father was also dead. A lack in all senses. The absence of that person, now unrecognizable, in the room bare of unnecessary furnishings to make it easier to be cleaned, the no longer having the day marked by his timetables, by his needs of sick man, not having to watch him any more during the nights and the non spending, lying on the bed next to his, entire afternoons observing his every slightest movement … now, suddenly, it seemed to her to have nothing to do, almost regretted all that stirring, that chasing the life of a person who had already been dead for some time, since when one day he had suddenly turned to her, asking her: “Who are you? What do you want from me? I want to go to my house … “.

Everything had changed: the house that suddenly seemed empty to her: less commitments, less money, less everything …

With the death of his father, in fact, the not indifferent income of his precious annuity had also vanished and now it was really difficult to take on with her husband earnings. He, always bad-tempered, had become even more grumpy as if it was her fault the real culprit of their economic situation.

Now, with a lot of criterion and sense of the economy, she wore her mother’s  clothing, articles of very good quality and excellent workmanship but certainly dated that she, good in sewing, re-adorned and adapted to her size.

I, who lacking them, have always nourished a great admiration for people’s manual abilities, looked at the clothing sold years earlier to the mother, completely transformed by her skilled hands.

I had seen them again one evening of celebration in the square. There had been a solemn procession. I had noticed them because he had raised the tone of his voice and all the people had turned to their side. The reason? Maria Olimpia, who had to get into the car, had been wrong and after having entered the driver side, she was almost curled up there while trying to get off the car, confused and clumsy under the eyes of the people intrigued by the harsh words of her husband who had immediately flown into a fury. I approached. She, in great embarrassment, was apologizing: “… I did not really realize. I’ll immediately pass on the other side … sorry … “. To apologize? Regarding what? When he had seen me, he had immediately changed the tone of his voice. After accompanying her on the opposite side of the car, I had helped her getting inside it, then we said goodbye while he was saying to me: “Have you seen, lady? A queue was formed … “” And so? … I don’t see the problem … I think civil people can wait and give time, to a lady, to get into her car … “. In fact, nobody was claiming. This mean, absurd scene had saddened and irritated me.

I saw her again some days later. Neither she nor I mentioned that evening, however, taking a cue from her name, and from Orlando Furioso, I joked about the need for a paladin to protect us. According to the joke, she replied: “Eh, yes, okay, at sixty … maybe thirty years ago …”

One day she told me that her son had moved away. To make it brief, the boy, who could no longer bear his father’s despotism, perhaps unconsciously, had preferred to accept a job abroad and thus free himself from a parental bond that oppressed him.

Shortly after, her daughter, engaged to a good young man, she too had decided to leave and live with her boyfriend.

Her husband got very upset by this decision. Bigot as he was, he did not conceive of the union of two people outside the “sacred bond of the religious marriage” except, as he did, to perpetrate injustices and abuses within it. As if Almighty God, through the holy blessing of their wedding, had concurrently granted him the power of life and death.

Marcello Castori, “Suggestions by Gorgio De Chirico”

I met him almost every Sunday at the afternoon Mass to which he regularly came alone. He always took Communion. When I saw him, I could not help but reflect upon this man’s religiosity, made up of much appearance and little substance, of his married life, at least as his wife described it to me … on the contradiction of his unbalanced behavior between his Creed and his conduct exactly contrary to the teachings of Christ.

To then feel guilty. Who was I to judge?

Once I asked her why she didn’t come to Mass too, Maria Olimpia told me about their discussions regarding attending the Sunday celebration. When they were younger and lived in the Tuscan city, she, busy with the family duties, would have preferred to participate in the afternoon function, after having freed herself from all the household chores. That could also have been for them an opportunity to go out together, take a walk, meet some friends. He, at that time, had instead perched on his unshakeable decision to go to the first mass in the morning. Except, once arrived in the village, completely to change his mind going there in the afternoon. But then she would not have been able to accompany him busy as she was to take care of her father that she certainly could not leave alone at home.

He had studied in a religious college, but certainly not enough, or he had a short memory for having forgotten the words of Jesus Christ: “Not whoever says to me”My Lord …my Lord “will enter the Kingdom of Heaven, but he who makes the will of my Father who is in Heaven. ” Matthew 7:21.

He diligently observed all the religious precepts, as an obligation, and it was certainly the lack of coherence between his spiritual life and his family life that caused his children to be completely disinterested in religion. In his repeated habit of blaming her for everything he deemed wrong, he charged her wife with the aversion to the devotional practices of their children, accusing her for not being a good Catholic, of not having given them, through good example, a good Christian education!

He hadn’t asked himself questions, he hadn’t stopped to look for the reason, he had simply decided that she was responsible.

Maria Olimpia believed in God, above all, in His infinite goodness and mercy. She told me to listen to the Mass broadcasted on television, since she could not go there in person, to pray when she had time and to recite the Holy Rosary when she had the time or she felt the need. I replied that Our Lord, who sees in the depths of the heart of each of us, accepted her humble simplicity and certainly liked her much more than many hypocritical genuflections … “This people honors me with their lips, but their heart is away from me.” Mark 7: 6

Lately only the two remained in the large decaying villa … and the Lord’s four dogs: the true masters of the house, to which two cats had also been added. All of them free to go and come and towards whom she could not afford any ban or reproach. She had realized to count less than them …

Some time ago she had phoned me. I hadn’t seen her for a long time. She had been very kind to me, as always. We had talked about painting. She was very keen on it and, when she could, she delighted to paint. She had invited me to her even if she knew I would never have gone because I’m afraid of dogs. Hers  had seemed to  me almost a request for help. She had told me about very urgent works to be done at her home that she, of her own pocket, should have paid because he, when there was money to be paid, told her that the villa was hers and that it was she, the owner, that had to take charge of it …. that her husband immediately raised his voice even before she could object and that he silenced her whenever the matter was not to his liking. She confided to me that she had almost finished the money left to her by her parents and that she wanted to take advantage of the public funds available to the owners for the renovation works. She asked me contacts and suggestions that, for the little I knew, willingly and with great sincerity, I gave her. In the end, not requested, I gave her a further advice: “Maria Olimpia, learn you too to raise your voice!” She replied that it was not easy, that he was always right. “It’s true, he is right!” Silence.

Marcello Castori, “The controversies of sensitivity”

I knew I disoriented her, perhaps I had offended her.

I felt her in difficulty, clearly she was, I imagined what she was thinking so I made my words clear: “Remember that you stay at your home!” And to better reiterate the concept, I articulated better the words while repeating her: “The house is yours! … He tells you too … but not only when you have to pay! …”

Before our conversation had ended, at the time of reattaching the phone, she said to me: “… I embrace you … my dearest friend … I love you …”.

Maria Olimpia died suddenly.

During those days I did not find myself in the village and I was informed, by chance and, only to happened funerals.

Once back home, I could not help but express my condolences to the husband and children of her met on a Sunday afternoon in front of the gate of their villa.

Three months had passed since my friend’s disappearance. He leaned on a stick: “I need support, I don’t feel safe … you know … after Maria Olimpia’s death I too didn’t feel so well … this was her cane … do you remember?” I replied only with a nod of my head … Of course I remembered…

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