In the midst of this storm of passions, Marcovaldo was trying to teach his children the positions of the celestial bodies.
'That's the Great Bear: one, two, three, four, and there, the tail. And that's the Little Bear. And the Pole-Star that means North.'
'What does that one over there mean?'
'It means C. But that doesn't have anything to do with the stars. It's the last letter of the word COGNAC. The stars mark the four cardinal points. North South East West. The moon's hump is to the west. Hump to the west, waxing moon. Hump to the east, waning moon.'
'Is cognac waning, Papa? The C's hump is to the east!'
'Waxing and waning have nothing to do with that: it's a sign the Spaak company has put there.'
'What company put up the moon then?'
'The moon wasn't put up by a company. It's a satellite, and it's always there.'
'If it's always there, why does it keep changing its hump?'
'It's the quarters. You only see a part of it.'
'You only see a part of COGNAC too.'
'Because the roof of the Pierbemardi building is higher.'
'Higher than the moon?'
And so, every time the GNAC came on, Marcovaldo's stars became mixed up with terrestrial commerce, and Isolina transformed a sigh into a low humming of a mambo, and the girl of the garret disappeared in that cold and dazzling are, hiding her response to the kiss that Fiordaligi had finally summoned the courage to blow her on his fingertips, and Filippetto and Michelino, their fists to their faces, played at strafing: Tat-tat-tat-tat… against the glowing sign, which, after its twenty seconds, went off.
'Tat-tat-tat… Did you see that, Papa? I shot it out with just one burst.' Filippetto said, but already, outside the neon light, his warlike mania had vanished and his eyes were filling with sleep.
'If you only had!' his father blurted. 'If if had only been blown to bits! I'd show you Leo the lion, the Twins…'
'Leo the lion!' Michelino was overcome with enthusiasm. 'Wait!' He had an idea. He took his slingshot, loaded it with gravel, of which he always carried a reserve pocketful, and fired a volley of pebbles, with all his strength, at the GNAC.
They heard the shower fall, scattered, on the tiles of the roof opposite, on the tin of the drainpipes, the tinkle at the panes of a window that had been struck, the gong of a pebble plunging down on the metal shield of a street- light, a voice from below: 'It's raining stones! Hey, you up there! Hoodlum.' But at the very moment of the shooting the neon sign had turned off at the end of its twenty seconds. And everyone in the attic room began counting mentally: one two three, ten eleven, up to twenty. They counted nineteen, held their breath, they counted twenty, they counted twenty-one twenty-two, for fear of having counted too fast. But no, not at all: the GNAC didn't come on again; it remained a black curlicue, hard to decipher, twined around its scaffolding like a vine around a pergola. 'Aaaah!' they all shouted and the hood of the sky rose, infinitely starry, above them.
Marcovaldo, his hand frozen halfway towards the slap he meant to give Michelino, felt as if he had been flung into space. The darkness that now reigned at roof-level made a kind of obscure barrier that shut out the world below, where yellow and green and red hieroglyphics continued to whirl, and the winking eyes of traffic-lights, and the luminous navigation of empty trams, and the invisible cars that cast in front of them the bright cone of their headlights. From this world only a diffuse phosphorescence rose up this high, vague as smoke. And raising your eyes, no longer blinded, you saw the perspective of space unfold, the constellations expanded in depth, the firmament turning in every direction, a sphere that contains everything and is contained by no boundary, and only a thinning of its weft, like a breach, opened towards Venus, to make it stand out alone over the frame of the earth, with its steady slash of light exploded and concentrated at one point.
Suspended in this sky, the new moon-rather than display the abstract appearance of a half-moon-revealed its true nature as an opaque sphere, its whole outline illuminated by the oblique rays of a sun the earth had lost, though it retained (as you can see only on certain early-summer nights) its warm color. And Marcovaldo, looking at that narrow shore of moon cut there between shadow and light, felt a nostalgia, as if yearning to arrive at a beach which had stayed miraculously sunny in the night.
And so they remained at the window of the garret, the children frightened by the measureless consequences of their act, Isolina carried away as if in ecstasy, Fiordaligi, who, alone among all, discerned the dimly lighted garret and finally the girl's lunar smile. Their Mamma recovered herself: 'Come on now, it's night. What are you doing at the window? You'll catch something, in this moonlight!'
Michelino aimed his slingshot up high. 'Now I'll turn off the moon!' He was seized and put to bed.
And so for the rest of that night and all through the night following, the neon sign on the other roof said only SPAAK-CO, and from Marcovaldo's garret you could see the firmament. Fiordaligi and the lunar girl blew each other kisses, and perhaps, speaking to each other in sign language, they would manage to make a date to meet.
But on the morning of the second day, on the roof, in the scaffolding that supported the neon sign, the tiny forms of two electricians in overalls were visible, as they checked the tubes and wires. With the air of old men who predict changes in the weather, Marcovaldo stuck his head out and said: 'Tonight there'll be GNAC again.'
Somebody knocked at the garret. They opened the door. It was a gentleman wearing eyeglasses. 'I beg your pardon, could I take a look at your window? Thanks.' And he introduced himself: 'Godifredo, neon advertising agent.'
'We're ruined! They want us to pay the damages!' Marcovaldo thought, and he was already devouring his children with his eyes, forgetting his astronomical transports. 'Now he'll look at the window and realize the stones could only have come from here.' He tried to ward this off. 'You know how it is, the kids shoot at the sparrows. Pebbles. I don't know how that Spaak sign went out. But I punished them, all right. Oh yes indeed, I punished them! And you can be sure it won't happen again.'
Signor Godifredo's face became alert. 'Actually, I'm employed by 'Tomahawk Cognac', not by Spaak. I had come to examine the possibility of a sign on this roof. But do go on: I'm interested in what you're saying.'
And so it was that Marcovaldo, half an hour later, concluded a deal with Tomahawk Cognac, Spaak's chief rival. The children should empty their slingshots at the GNAC every time the sign was turned on again.
'That should be the straw that will break the camel's back,' Signor Godifredo said. He was not mistaken: already on the verge of bankruptcy because of its large advertising outlay, Spaak and Co. took the constant damaging of its most beautiful neon signs as a bad omen. The sign that now sometimes said COGAC and sometimes CONAC or CONC spread among the firm's creditors the impression of financial difficulties; at a certain point, the advertising agency refused to make further repairs if arrears were not paid; the turned-off sign increased the alarm among the creditors; and Spaak went out of business.
In the sky of Marcovaldo the full moon shone, round, in all its splendor.
It was in the last quarter when the electricians came back to clamber over the roof opposite. And that night, in letters of fire, letters twice as high and broad as before, they could read TOMAHAWK COGNAC, and there was no longer moon or firmament or sky or night, only TOMAHAWK COGNAC, TOMAHAWK COGNAC, TOMAHAWK COGNAC, which blinked on and off every two seconds.
The worst hit was Fiordaligi; the garret of the lunar girl had vanished behind an enormous, impenetrable
AUTUMN
15. The rain and the leaves
At his job, among his various other responsibilities, Marcovaldo had to water every morning the potted plant in the entrance hall. It was one of those green house-plants with an erect, thin stalk from which, on both sides, broad, long-stemmed, shiny leaves stick out: in other words, one of those plants that are so plant-shaped, with leaves so leaf-shaped, that they don't seem real. But still it was a plant, and as such it suffered, because staying there, between the curtain and the umbrella-stand, it lacked light, air, and dew. Every morning Marcovaldo discovered
