Italians rarely have middle names, but if my friend Paola had one, it would be ‘Intimidating.’ She realizes I feel this way and doesn’t mind it in the least. I truly like her, and she knows that, too. So different from my own phlegmatic nature, capable people impress me. This may be why I’ve chosen to make my home in Italy. If you want to surround yourself with striking individuals who confound you with their cavalier skill, take the back seat and strap yourself in-no matter who’s driving, they’ll be gearing up to get somewhere fast.
As with many Italian women, Paola’s face hardened early, yet she has kept her indisputable attractiveness longer than most of us foreign gals do. Perhaps the whole race is lucky that way. And with Italian life expectancy at the top of the world’s charts, it appears that they’re in it for the long haul. ‘Foreign women bloom and wither in a few years time,’ Paola says. ‘Per le donne Italiane, beauty is a personal responsibility that’s life-long. In this country, more than elsewhere, loveliness is a moral commitment.’ Paola smiles at me, as I consider her comparison, unsure. ‘Let’s just say,’ she adds, ‘that with all the crumbling buildings around, Italian women have learned a thing or two about maintenance.’
In response, I can’t help notice another of her national talents: the ability to combine controversy and flippant humor. I do my best to match her, ‘I hope you realize that, in English, we’d say you’re a “high maintenance” woman…in looks and temperament.’
She smiles again, her mouth tight but not insincere. ‘The whole of Italy is high maintenance, not just me. Where do you think I learned it?’ She stops a moment, thinking, ‘See, this is why ci diamo da fare. Italy has so many needs. And so do its people. Chi si ferma è perduto. Those who stop are lost. Still, no matter how hard we work, there’s always some crumbling ancient wall to worry about.’
Hmm. Collapsing ruins aside, ‘ci diamo da fare’ is a string of words that should be kept in a jewel box when not in use. The phrase has luster because ‘we give ourselves something to do’ is by no means the same as ‘we get things done.’ Giving oneself something to do implies self-generated flair. It’s the hero who goes into the maze on purpose, for what fills an afternoon better than a labyrinth with a monster in the middle? Boredom does not suit a race as naturally perceptive as the Italians.
In many of the country’s regions, the pace of life resounds with heavy slowness that mimics the speed with which tower bells swing while they announce mid-day meals. Paunchy bureaucratic attitudes and palazzos whose facades are covered in scaffolding for decades give the impression that procrastination is the only real work happening behind desks and at construction sites. But as Paola says, appearance does not always resemble reality. In truth, the country is brimming with individuals che si fanno in quattro, splitting themselves four ways to make things work. There is a reason for this: with as many distractions as Italy provides, ubiquity may well be the only answer.
‘Let’s tell ourselves the truth,’ Paola continued, nearing the end of our discussion. ‘L’Italia è femmina.’ As enigmatic as women themselves, this statement has since occupied both sides of my brain. It should have come as no surprise for in the language itself, most countries are female. Besides Belgium, I cannot think of a single nation whose name calls for the masculine article. But this is not what Paola meant by the metaphor. To her, only ‘una femmina’ can be so many things at once, for nothing male can ‘multi-task’ as well as Italy does.
Innumerable citizens diversify their incomes, working one job above board and two under the table. And even Italy’s self image is multi-faceted: sure of itself and falling apart at the seams, she alternates her persuasive sense of superiority with neurotic self-reproach about being inferior. Courted by European tourists and snubbed by their politicians, Italy is many things at once. That’s why, despite the happy-go-lucky stereotype they project to the world, in many ways, Italians si fanno in quattro. Around here, you need at least four brains to avoid being taken advantage of. And at least eight eyes to witness the beauty Italy allows us all to so freely exploit.
But speaking of eyes, you, me and the fencepost will be at the beach in the blink of one. And sometime before then, this paper will find you as you brave your last moments of the mid-summer scramble. Whatever’s still open will be shutting its shades in two days’ time, so get moving and finish things up before the holidays.
Un po’ bisogna darsi da fare.
