In the middle of lesson, my student pulls her desk up closer so we can understand each other better. In Italy, it’s best if you can touch whoever you’re talking to. Before traipsing into my classroom three weeks ago, Marilena had never studied English before. Her generation speaks French. She decided to pay for individual lessons so that we can produce only conversations that interest her personally. She’s too old to be bored with nonsense, she says. Supposedly it’s one of the benefits of being fifty-five.
As of yet, our conversations would not entertain a fly. There’s only so much you can do with the verb ‘to be’ and a handful of adjectives. ‘What is your favorite color?’ I ask in my slow-mo voice.
Marilena thinks a moment and answers me in Italian ‘Color? Dipende. For what? A room? A jacket? For eyes? Cream for a room. Black for a jacket. Green for a man’s eyes.’
‘No, I just mean, your favorite color, in general.’
‘But that’s impossible to say. Dipende. It depends if I’m in love or feeling angry. It depends if the color is for curtains or for flowers.’
Hmm. It ends up she likes blue when she’s in love. Orange when she’s angry. White is her favorite if we are discussing drapes. Yellow is her choice color for flowers. Except roses. Red is best for roses. Unless they are growing on a bush. Roses should be pink when in gardens.
I know I should have stopped her at her first word in Italian. After all, she is paying me to force her to use her thirty-word English vocabulary. I should have snapped my fingers and said in my mean governess voice, ‘English only please.’ But I couldn’t. I was more than impressed with my student’s ability to delve so deeply into the world of chromatic preference. Also, I am fascinated by the Italian dependence on the word dipende. For years, their incessant use of the word has filled me with wonder. In Italy, no simple question has a simple answer. Most things must be qualified, and virtually everything depends. Ask an Italian to take a stand on what you consider a clear-cut issue and what you’ll get is a good case of juggling.
After school, I met my friend, Francesca, for hot chocolate. Classes with Marilena, sweet as she is, always leave me in need of liquid energy.
‘It was a stupid question, really,’ Francesca argued, when I complained about my student’s inability to commit to a color. ‘She’s right that each shade has a special role in our lives.’
‘Fine,’ I sighed. ‘It’s a superficial question. But, I couldn’t very well ask the woman to discuss existential theories. She knows four words. And anyway, that’s not the point. Is it that Italians are unable to give straight answers or do you just avoid them on purpose?’ I asked.
‘Both, I suppose.’ Francesca smiled, ‘We say dipende because we are too creative a people to be tied to one possibility only. But, dipende. It could also be out of fear of what others will say. With several responses, there is a better chance of saying something acceptable.’
‘So you’re afraid someone will use your favorite color against you?’
‘The politicians always do.’
‘Luckily, I’m not a politician.’
‘Yes, but I am. And most Italians are.’
‘What is that supposed to mean?’
‘That we look for advantageous situations and then search for allies.’
I rolled my eyes and my friend explained. In Italy opinion caters to convenience. What could, should or must happen depends more on circumstance than on personal conviction. What is pleasurable today may be painful tomorrow. A friend today may be a foe tomorrow. In both world wars, for example, Italian diplomats switched sides when the going got rough. In 1945 it took them two weeks to tell the troops that the Germans had become enemy soldiers. Italians have learned the hard way never to commit too strongly to any one idea. It’s best to keep one’s options open. In this country, one never knows when the tides will change, and they always do. Italy has four seas to prove it.
‘Italians have non-negotiable loyalty to football clubs and their mothers. Everything else depends.’ Francesca concluded with a grin.
I looked at my friend and frowned. I just didn’t have the strength to consider the implications of that statement. What did it mean to live in a society where mothers and soccer teams merit the same level of loyalty?
But, at least one thing was certain. I should have ordered whipped-cream with my hot chocolate. I might have found some comfort in it. Why is it that as soon as I find the answer to a pressing cultural issue, another question pops up to disturb my new-found sense of order? No sooner is one mystery solved than another begins. That is how it is to live in Italy. It’s a nice country, but it offers no rest for the weary
