The Gulf Between by Maxine Alterio

Author:Maxine Alterio
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780143773320
Publisher: Penguin Random House New Zealand
Published: 2013-04-07T16:00:00+00:00

25

On a sweltering Saturday after the children returned from school we congregated for lunch on a shady section of the terrace. Rosa ladled her adaptation of gazpacho into our bowls, filling them to the brim, making it difficult to dip in our soup spoons without slices of cucumber and onion slopping over the side and onto the tablecloth. Matteo bent over his and slurped up the excess, a habit of Ernesto’s.

‘Manners, Mattie.’ I handed him a chunk of bread.

‘Sorry, Mamma, I didn’t think.’

‘Manners are important,’ I said, unable to let it go.

‘They don’t buy food or a home,’ Ernesto countered. ‘Chase the money, boy.’

‘I’m Mattie’s papa, not you,’ Ben said. ‘I tell him what to do.’

‘Leave it, Ben, leave it,’ I said.

Ben banged his spoon against his plate. ‘Enough of the bolshie remarks, Julia.’

Annoyed that he had spoken crossly to me in front of everyone I mulled over various responses intended to restore my dignity but decided not to utter a single one. I didn’t want to argue with him. We were supposed to support each other. I felt Ernesto’s eyes on me, sensed in him a degree of satisfaction at causing disharmony. He appeared to thrive on it.

Ilaria suggested at our next rendezvous that we discuss Italy’s political and economic circumstances leading up to the war. ‘It will assist you to come to grips with the challenges we citizens grapple with in this city,’ she said.

‘Great. I’m keen to learn more about the place and the people.’

On a personal level I hoped the anecdotes she was about to tell me might throw some light on what had shaped the Morettis. Still irritated at Ernesto instructing Matteo to worship money, and smarting over Ben’s put-down, I shook two cigarettes from a packet and offered her one. I had hoped to give up totally, but increasingly I found myself craving the momentary calm a smoke brought.

Ilaria lit hers and then mine. ‘I’ll start with the politicians,’ she said, streaming smoke through her expansive nostrils. ‘The majority amassed debt on the country’s behalf for selfish reasons. Either they owned or held shares in the companies they championed, or they wanted to increase the profits of those registered in the names of family members. And they called in favours to ensure they were elected.’

‘Similar arrangements occur in England,’ I said. ‘Politics is an old boys club.’

Ilaria drew on her ciggie. When she resumed speaking, it was with force. ‘For decades our nation operated on the wrong side of red. With few natural resources and an uneven tax system, as well as high rates of poverty and illiteracy, we lurched from crisis to crisis. A strong sense of regionalism didn’t help.’

‘A volatile mix,’ I said in poorly executed Napoletano.

Ilaria’s eyes blazed with fervour. I pictured her addressing a street rally, megaphone in her hand.

‘We need to look to the past to understand the present,’ she said. ‘During the 1890s, significant investments from countries such as Germany, France and Britain enabled our leaders to finance the construction of railway lines.

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