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A House In Naples
For years
the brothels of Naples were more numerous and claimed more devotees than the
statues of San Gennaro, the city's patron saint. They provided respite for
wives, solace to the clergy and instruction for the young. In small towns
new ladies on their circuits were picked up at the station and, looking like
disdainful duchesses, were given a tour in
open carriages to allow idlers to
size them up.
Most
houses were identifiable by unassuming glass doors and shuttered windows, hence
the name Case Chiuse. But this sensible arrangement eventually acquired an
implacable foe in the shape of a female legislator. Within ten years and almost
unnatural tenacity she succeeded in abolishing this venerable institution and
drove all the ladies into the streets. But that's getting ahead of the story.
While on
a work assignment in Naples I found the locals unusually friendly.
They learned how to handle foreigners. For centuries Greeks, Normans,
Germans and Spaniards were attracted to that lush region. They arrived as
conquerors and were soon beguiled by its people. Still a stranger needs a
few weeks to settle in and allow the city to work its charms. This is
where, in my case, the Case Chiuse came in.
One
evening I opened the glass door of one of the better establishments, which
a colleague recommended and entered a marble corridor feeling like
Pinocchio in the land of sugarplums. At the end of the corridor I opened
another door, which led into a large waiting room where I was greeted by a
standing ovation. But I soon realized that I was not the object
of the applause. A grinning old man, escorted by a young woman, was
waving at the group as he slowly made his way down a staircase on arthritic
limbs. As I sat, another client explained to me that the patriarch had been
upstairs for more than one hour. The room appeared to be the antechamber
of a government agency, which, in fact, it was. About twenty men sat on
renaissance style chairs against walls decorated with erotic paintings. A
middle-aged woman sat on a platform behind a lectern. She wore a tailored suit,
her shiny black hair combed tightly into a bun, heavily made up and somehow
genderless and denatured.
Her
handsome face might have been privy to every vice and desired but totally
indifferent to all. It was impossible to conceive her as ever being
young or thriving anywhere except an urban environment. She kept up a
brisk repartee with the men, scolding and cajoling. She rebuked slackers,
questioning their manhood, extolled the competence of the ladies, hinting
about unmentionable practices taking place upstairs, chastising their avarice,
warning one that his son might walk through the door at any moment, advising
another to hurry home to discover what his wife was up to. I entertained a
fleeting fantasy about how it might be with her, but quickly repressed it. Some
clients gave back as much as they got. A few were obviously regulars. I
affected an air of casual indifference, but worried that my composure might
quickly shatter if she started to pick on me. I noted how her withering remark
promptly sobered two drunken American sailors who made a noisy and clumsy
appearance.
A brass
statue of Mercury in flight dominated the center of the room.It was fondled by each of the ladies as they
entered and his erect penis was burnished to a golden glow. Then I became
aware of another activity in a corner of the room. A young soldier, with a
wistful expression, almost lost in his ill fitting greygreen uniform of
the Italian Army was surrounded by a group of ladies taking turns lifting
their skirts in front of him and wiggling on his lap. He accepted the
good-natured teasing with composure and it appeared to be tolerated by the madam as well. The same
informant explained to me that the soldier had been sitting in the same corner
for a couple of hours, without the cash to invite one of the ladies upstairs.
I was so
absorbed by this tableau that I failed to notice her arrival. She had a
flourishing body, her breasts and hips tightly held in a black sequined dress,
tasseled just below herknees and
buttoned up to her neck. She had a pretty and benign face, somehow uncorrupted
by the base commerce around her. She looked incongruous, a placid southern
housewife all dolled up for the County Fair. Yet her dark dewy eyes emanated a
dense sexuality that propelled me toward her in order to preempt a bid by
another client.
As we
climbed the stairs she turned to me and smiled “ Where are you from?"
"
From London, England " I lied. I had been warned that an American
origin adversely affected the fee and reasoned that a pinched British gentleman
might fare a little better.
" I
thought you had an English accent. I had a boyfriend who lived in Southampton.
Are you here as a tourist? "
That was
an auspicious beginning. " Yes I am " I replied. She tapped my
arm " Then you came to the right place!"
"
About you, Neapolitan ? " I said.
"
No. I'm from Palermo" I knew that island. Sicilians, unlike
Neapolitans, seldom sang nostalgic songs about their homeland. I dropped the
subject.
"
Did you see the old man?"
I nodded.
She laughed. " He gets in twice a week "
We walked companionably along the
corridor to her room, like old friends renewing our acquaintance.
She
opened the door to her bedroom. Heavy shutters and black velvet curtains sealed
off all light and noise from the street. Two large oval mirrors hung
on each side of the bed. A narrow rug of coarse fabric was spread at
the foot of the bed, presumably to accommodate clients in a hurry who might not
take off their shoes. A bidet and a chest of drawers completed the furnishings.
"
:Lie down and relax " she said amiably as she unbuttoned her dress. I did
so gratefully. She dispensed with the ritual questions about preferences,
an inquiry which was not only embarrassing but an effective
detumescent. Could one ask out loud to reach down or all her dark and
forbidden expertise that I might be her acolyte, her willing
accomplice? It seemed bad form, particularly for a British gentleman.
There was no need. In the next
few minutes the harmonics generated on that bed deepened my insight about the
motivation behind the graffiti I examined the day before in Pompeii’s red light
district.
I knew
now why Hannibal's hardy veterans tarried there, tragically, too
long. They survived Alpine passes, treacherous ravines and hostile tribes
only to be enervated by the likes of Chloe, Lydia or Katia. That
cloistered chamber had become a portal to ageless practices, an
incantation to stir dormant fantasies.
Eventually
we went back down. But as we started across the waiting room I saw the little
soldier still sitting in his corner with a look expectant and stoic. It was the
look of those who till the soil and watch with resignation as rogue clouds dump
hail on the crops. The same look of those who watched mailed intruders;
false prophets and local tyrants come and go. The look of those who
endured.
Impulsively,
I gave my companion three times the normal tariff and asked her to make him
happy as well. The amount would have entitled him to a tryst limited only by
hisstamina if not her creativity.
I saw her
last as she approached him and on my way out I felt rather smug. I did give
willingly, without stint but not in full view of the congregation.
I strode
into the night aglow with a sense of welfare and optimism. Shops were closing.
The sirocco, the African wind, moistened and tamed by the Mediterranean.
lingered among the magnolias and eucalyptus.
Its
scented breath crept languidly along the street to mingle with the fragrance of
the cafes. I walked past darkened vestibules where huddled couples still
whispered pledges,entreaties,
reproaches, denials, assurances, blandishments. Love's timeless rituals. I
walked past the Galleria now empty and still except for five elderly men.
One was setting forth final arguments with large gestures to a nodding listener
and to a man who appeared to act as referee. Another looked at his watch
and a fifth, his back to the others, studied the enormous glass ceiling.
Life's Alpha and Omega, I thought, in two short blocks.
When
I reached the lungomare I could hear the powerful contractions of the sea
over the beach, A great arc of sky was now visible with Leo most dominant.
The men of Pompei might have gazed at the same sky and its reassuring geometry
and quizzed the winking stars. I only knew for certain they were then
moved to sing the praises of the partners who briefly shared their journey. I
then headed for my hotel full of hope and exaltation.
Al Staffetti
Al Staffetti, 260 Sarles, Pleasantville N.Y 10570
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