Chapter 1 No.1

Abitavano nello stesso sobborgo e ogni sera rincasavano insieme, dalle sartorie ove lavoravano, prima in tram poi a piedi. In tram era un divertimento per tutte: cicaleccio, motteggi, compiacenze d'essere osservate e d'osservare le meno belle di loro; ma nel tratto a piedi seguivano le confidenze d'amore e le espansioni sentimentali; mutava il tono. E l'Ida, la più giovane delle tre, interloquiva di rado; si sentiva a disagio per un misto di timidezza e d'orgoglio.

Il suo innamorato guidava autocarri nel Carso, non era in trincea come quelli delle amiche, e discorrendone le pareva di provocarle a ripetere: - Fortunata te! -, quasi non avesse da star in pena lei pure.

?Fortunata te!?. C'era fors'anche, in fondo a queste parole, la punta ironica, l'acredine di un'altra invidia - lei faceva all'amore con uno di miglior condizione che i loro innamorati -; e non voleva mostrare di accorgersene. Se però taceva o tentava invano di sviare il discorso solito, l'Ida bene spesso bolliva dentro e stentava a frenarsi, a non prorompere:

- Fatela finita una volta con i piagnistei e con le spacconate!

Che noia, tutti i giorni! L'Olga si martoriava negli stenti e nei pericoli della trincea, accresciuti con fantasia egoista per concludere che solo il pensiero di lei sosteneva il suo caro a superarli. L'Adriana.... Eh! dopo che al suo Gustavo gli avevan dato la medaglia di bronzo, non si campava più, con lei, che dietro sacchi di sabbia, in mezzo a cavalli di Frisia, contro a reticolati, incontro a mitragliatrici - tac tac tac! - e bombe a mano, e sotto a shrapnel e - bum! - a palle da trecentocinque. Si sarebbe detto che tante maledizioni fossero state inventate non per meritar l'inferno a Guglielmo II, ma per far onore a lei sola, la bionda Adriana, che aveva per innamorato un giovane di fegato - e nessuno lo negava.

Quando poi ricevevano lettere, pretendendo non fossero scritte con libera volontà, le commentavano a loro modo, leggevano tra le righe le più strambe rivelazioni, le interpretavano a rovescio. ?Non mi manca nulla? doveva significare che morivano di fame. ?Per adesso non si combatte? significava - tac! tac! tac! e bum! bum! - battaglia e strage.

- E te, Ida? Cosa ti scrive il tuo Giulio? - spesso le chiedevano, forse anche per mortificarla, chè lei riceveva meno lettere.

Rispondeva senza scomporsi:

- Niente. Dice che fa il servizio di trasporto e che sta bene, e io credo a quel che dice.

- Fortunata te!

- Fortunato lui!

Ma una sera le fecero scappare davvero la pazienza. Fu così: lei che aveva trepidato e trepidava non ignara dei pericoli che pur Giulio correva, lei che a Giulio gli voleva un bene grande, non sempre si sottraeva all'ipotesi di una disgrazia; ma cotesta paura la teneva in sè, nel suo segreto; non ne avrebbe discorso nemmeno con sua madre, quasi per una ripugnanza di una tristezza colpevole o di un malaugurio.

Invece l'Adriana e l'Olga, che in sentimento d'amore pretendevano dar legge al mondo, non solo non rifuggivano dall'immaginare morti i loro innamorati: ne discorrevano per vantare la passione che esse ne proverebbero. E le frasi e le esclamazioni tragiche, per quanto potesse essere sincero il sentimento che le suggeriva, urtavano i nervi all'Ida come una finzione, una falsità.

L'Adriana affermò:

- Se Gustavo, che è troppo coraggioso, troppo! troppo!, ci restasse, oh, io non mi farei suora; vorrei che tutti vedessero, capissero il mio dolore e mi compiangessero. Uno uguale non lo troverei più! Nessun altro, mai più!

- E io - lamentò l'Olga con un'aria e una voce che pareva la Duse -, io diventerei matta! Lui, la mia vita, perderlo così? Non saper nemmeno dove fosse sepolto? Matta, state pur sicure; mi getterei dalla finestra!

Breve pausa. Poi:

- E tu, Ida?

Ebbene: questa domanda, questo distaccarsi dal pensiero orribile e passare a interrogar lei, quasi a provarla in una gara in cui prevedevano resterebbe inferiore, la disgustò del tutto.

- Tu cosa faresti se perdessi il tuo Giulio? - insistette l'Adriana.

E all'Ida brillarono gli occhi. L'eccitava il bisogno di un contrasto comico. Scoppiò a ridere, tanto era enorme ciò che le scappava detto, e disse:

- Oh! Per me, morto un papa, fatto un altro!

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