A Tranquil Star by Primo Levi Read Free Book Online Page A

Livia scrapes the verdigris from the pans.”
    â€œThat’s nonsense. As I told you back in Milan, here peopleeither do nothing or do the job they were born to. Besides, Rabelais isn’t a character, and he’s never been here: what he says he must have heard from Pantagruel, or some other fibber in his court.”
    They had left the waterfall behind and were advancing over a broad, slightly undulating plateau. Suddenly, with incredible speed, the sky darkened; within a few moments a violent whirlwind had arisen, and it began to rain and hail. James explained to Antonio that it was always like this here: the weather was never insignificant. There was always something that made it worthy of description. It was either dazzling with colors and aromas or shaken by raging tempests; sometimes there was scorching heat, at other times rock-splitting cold. Northern lights and earthquakes were frequent, and bolides and meteors fell every night.
    They took shelter in a shed, and Antonio realized uneasily that someone was already there: uneasily because the someone didn’t have a face. Under his beret only a convex, spongy pink surface was visible, the lower part covered by a badly shaved beard.
    â€œDon’t pay any attention to him,” said James, who had seen the horror appear on Antonio’s face. “There are a lot of them like that here, but they don’t last long. They are unsuccessful characters: sometimes they get by for a season, maybe even less. They don’t speak, they don’t see, and they don’t hear, and they disappear in the space of a few months. Those who do last, however, like (we hope) you and me, resemble the weather here—they have something singular about them,and so in general they’re interesting and sympathetic, even if they tend to repeat themselves. Here, for example: take a look through that window and tell me if you recognize anyone.”
    Beside the shed there was a low wooden building with a thatched roof, and on the door hung a sign: on one side had been painted a full moon, and on the other a stormy sea from which emerged the broad back of a whale with its tall spout of vapor. Through the window you could see a smoky, low-ceilinged interior, illuminated by oil lamps: there was a table in the foreground, littered with mugs of beer, both empty and full, and around it four hot, excited figures. From outside one could hear only an indistinct roar.
    Antonio, inspired by his ambitions as a reader, considered for a long time but couldn’t figure it out. “You’re asking too much. If I could at least hear what they’re saying…”
    â€œOf course I’m asking too much. But it was only to give you a preliminary idea of our environment. The thin balding one with his back to us, who pays and doesn’t drink, is Calandrino; * opposite him, the fat greasy one, with the three days’ beard, is the Good Soldier Sweik, who drinks and doesn’t pay. The elderly fellow on the left, with the top hat and those tiny eyeglasses, is Pickwick, and the last, with eyes like coals, skin like leather, and his shirt unbuttoned, who doesn’t drink and doesn’t pay, doesn’t sing, doesn’t pay attention to the others, and says things that no one is listening to, is the Ancient Mariner.”
    As suddenly as it had darkened, the sky cleared, and a fresh, warm wind arose; the wet earth exhaled an iridescent fog that the breeze tore to shreds, and it dried up in a flash. The two resumed their walk. On both sides of the street appeared, in no apparent order, thatched huts and noble marble palaces, villas great and small, shady parks, temple ruins, giant housing projects with laundry hung out to dry, skyscrapers and tin-and-cardboard hovels. James pointed out to Antonio the garden of the Finzi-Contini, the house of Buddenbrooks and that of Usher side by side; Uncle Tom’s cabin and the Castle of Verona with the falcon, the deer, and