During university I had the great fortune of living right above a Venetian canal. The apartment’s floor was uneven in places and its mosaics rippled as if someone were slowly pulling them from under your feet. There were high gothic windows and the sound of boats knocking together to rock you to sleep. It was perfect. The only sore spot was the spot of mould growing on the sitting room ceiling.
Illustration by Leo Cardini
By December it had flourished into a furry modern art tapestry. Quaint, possibly, but I’m not particularly fond of sprout-your-own mildew wall-hangings. “Do you think you’ll be able to paint the wall before Christmas?” I asked my boyfriend Claudio in my tenth request for white-wash.
“E’ difficile. It’s difficult,” he told me. The wall would need to be isolated or it would just happen again. There would be dust and the smell of paint which would undoubtedly give the cat allergies. We’d have to break the wall and get permission from the neighbours—and maybe even the city. That mould might mean we’d have to restore the whole palazzo.
If you’re a creative person full of bright ideas about how the world should work, be prepared to hear your share of è difficile. Not that eliminating mildew is that creative an idea, but it does stretch beyond the realm of standard daily routine and thus falls into the è difficile category.
My gut reaction was to scold, bribe and argue that fungus away. Just in time, I remembered that è difficile is not actually a negative reaction. Italians like difficult things. It gives them a chance to show how smart they are. E’ difficile is simply the Italian way of throwing the bait. Bite at the hook and you’re a goner. Argue your point and all you’ll get is ten more minutes of tirade.
You want to do that? Don’t you realise how difficile that is? This is Italy. Things are hard here. There are laws in the civil code against this. We’ll need a notary for sure. Whatever it is, it will cost too much. Whatever it is, we don’t make enough. It is not done. It simply cannot be. This is not the New World, you know. We’ve fought wars here. We’ve been invaded. Italy is a conquered country. The Greeks, the Spanish, the Arabs, the French, the Austrians. We can’t do that. E’ difficile.
Yes, well, I’ve been hit with obscure historical references long enough to know that there is nothing Italians like more than a bit of history. It makes the word stew meatier. For an Italian, history justifies all modern day behaviour. If your boyfriend doesn’t feel like painting the ceiling, his motives can be traced to the fact that the Visigoths conquered Venice during the Barbarian era.
Don’t worry if you don’t know who the Visigoths are. The point is, if justifications can be fished from the jaws of history, then solutions can be found there as well. You have to fight fire with fire. So if you know nothing about the Roman Empire, look it up. It’s the key to unlocking all Italian potential. No matter how difficile an enterprise, mention l’impero romano and the winds will change. Having once ruled the western world makes for modern day optimism. Used sparingly, Ancient Rome opens all difficult doors.
“Do you think you’ll be able to paint the house by Christmas?”
“E’ difficile.”
“You know, I’m always so impressed by the Romans’ capacity to build such amazing roads.”
“By Christmas, you say? Hmm. I’ll see if my brother will help me.”
See? E’ difficile is just a signpost on the road to somewhere. Don’t let the barricades fool you. In this country, there’s always a way through. So when you encounter the expression, nod and avoid argument. After all, the only way to win with Italians is to trick them. It’s a very anti-English speaking principle, I know. But sometimes, difficult times and mouldy walls call for desperate measures.
