Ernesto by Umberto Saba

Author:Umberto Saba
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: New York Review Books
Published: 2017-03-05T16:00:00+00:00

As always Ernesto kept his promise. And the man, who for the occasion had removed his kerchief revealing Gypsy-black hair, even managed to kiss him lightly on the cheek. But the boy now knew that there was only one way he could free himself of him—to leave Signor Wilder’s employ, or better still to get himself fired.

Now, and more than ever since the new boy was seated across the desk from him, Ernesto preferred outdoor work—work that took him to the port and to the city’s suburbs. But though he was healthy, he wasn’t robust, despite Ischirogeno—the new tonic then in fashion, which the old doctor and Signora Celestina had tried to substitute for the unrivaled cod-liver oil. Walking all day, especially now that it was summer, fatigued him. “I’m falling asleep on my feet when I get home,” he had told the man one day, complaining—as the reader may recall—about having to go to school evenings when he’d rather go to bed and sleep. School was actually closed then for vacation. Still, on returning from work Ernesto would feel, as he’d tell his mother, exaggerating more than a little, “I’m dead tired.”

Signor Wilder allowed him a petty-cash account for purchasing small items as well as for tram fare. Ernesto never misused the money. He was aware of his boss’s stinginess, and for the most part, tired as he’d be, he preferred walking. From the time the tram was no longer drawn by horses, he found using it unpleasant. He would have liked having a carriage, though. Every so often, forgetting that he was a Socialist, he would imagine being in one drawn by two horses with a liveried servant in the box. Beside him (as he made business calls for Signor Wilder) would be his old aunt, the one with the money. They would both be well dressed, his aunt looking like an elderly gentlewoman, himself, like a well-loved son. However, not having a carriage, he had recently begun to use the tram more often (there were still a few horse-drawn cars left—the very last), particularly when he had to go all the way out to Roiano, the suburban town with the fountain, where among Signor Wilder’s various customers there were bakers and confectioners in arrears. Every Friday Ernesto would submit his weekly expenses to Signor Wilder, who, it must be said, reimbursed him without any questions. But just the Friday he had decided to free himself from the man, contrary to his usual manner, Signor Wilder made an inopportune comment about Ernesto’s too frequent (in his opinion) tram “outings.” And he said it in a very nasty way. It was fate speaking a second time, and once again through Signor Wilder, who it seemed had been given “the mission” of first facilitating and then aiding the breakup of his employee’s relationship with the man. Ernesto said nothing at that moment. But as soon as he returned to his small office, he took a sheet of letterhead stationery and writing quickly, though without clearly resigning, penned a nasty letter to Signor Wilder.

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