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The final word

Hayley Reid

Detective Ingravallo concludes, or so it would appear, that Liliana’s killer is Enea Retalli. Assunta, Liliana’s maidservant, must have told her lover about Liliana’s wealth, Ingravallo presumes. He therefore decides to visit the home of Assunta in the hope that she will confirm his supposition.

Nothing, however, goes according to plan. Assunta says that she knows nothing; Ingravallo heatedly insists that she does and threatens to take her away. Assunta, in a moment of high emotional tension, cries: «No, nun so’ stata io!» (RR II 276). This cry of denial throws Ingravallo right off his tracks: «Il grido incredibile bloccò il furore dell’ossesso».

Assunta’s denial has been given many interesting interpretations. Amigoni, with a Freudian reading, suggests that her denial is really a confession of guilt. The woman in fact does not respond to Ingravallo’s question, instead she responds to the repressed thoughts of her subconscious. A simple reading of Assunta’s response is that she knows the killer’s name but by saying it she would reveal her involvement. Thus her cry could be interpreted as a confession to her possible involvement, or it could simply mean that she was innocent.

Whether Assunta is the killer or partner in crime, or whether or not she is innocent, cannot be established at this point in the narration. Ingravallo can no longer be sure of anything and appears to be paralysed by the realisation of being so very wrong: «Quella piega nera verticale tra i due sopraccigli dell’ira, nel volto bianchissimo della ragazza, lo paralizzò, lo indusse a riflettere: a ripentirsi, quasi».

That vertical fold which grabs the detective’s attention should not be overlooked. It has been compared to that of the female genitalia from which the adventure of every human being begins, but it could also hint to a fold in the tissue of the narration (Dombroski 1999). De Benedictis describes the finale as the freezing of the male in his fear of castration when confronted by female genitalia (De Benedictis 1991). It is this fold in Assunta’s forehead which blocks Ingravallo’s attempt to make her confess, and causes him to reflect, to repent almost.

So the novel ends on the words repent and almost. But what is it that Ingravallo is repenting of exactly? It could be that he is sorry for unjustly accusing Assunta. But then isn’t his kind of regret – a form of paralysis – too strong to be just for that? Thoughts and ideas in this novel fly against the wind, or rather, according to the wind, as we learn in the close of chapter VII (RR II 185). Ingravallo could be repenting of something which happened a long time ago: in another novel, even.

Assunta’s father is dying before Ingravallo’s eyes, and it is suggested by Pedullà (Pedullà 1997a) that, being confronted by death, Ingravallo is made to reflect on himself and his own life. It is this self-reflection perhaps that causes him to regret his past actions and thoughts: he may be repentant for the way he is seen and thought of by others. He may be regretting ever having taken a career as detective, as character: as a dramatis persona who works futilely to restore order in a novel. Inspector Ingravallo has indeed toiled in his job, in the full knowledge that explicit truth is unobtainable, that only dreams, tales and lies can be expected.

Perhaps Ingravallo has come to realise that the guilt does not lie in Assunta and her associates, but in society. Those deprived youths have been abandoned by the state, church and society, and have no choice but to fight for their own survival. The middle classes eat, drink, spend, enjoy life. Are the middle classes not guilty for having no concern for Assunta & co.? Perhaps the inspector is finally sorry for having been supporting and working for the bourgeoisie, the new fascist bourgeoisie, who have in fact proved to be more guilty than the accused.

Ingravallo had placed Liliana on a pedestal, in the beginning; her image was that of a beautiful, refined, pure, madonna-like lady. That image then got corrupted by the testimonies given by the many witnesses to her life, miseries and madness, all showing that she was not the innocent, virginal woman whom he had imagined. Is he now sorry for ever having believed in that image? It is suggested by Blumenfeld (Blumenfeld 1999) that he is not only repenting of his theory of Liliana, but of all women in general, of that other theory of his, the cherchez la femme of his style of investigation: «e poi pareva pentirsi, come d’aver calunniato ’e femmene, e voleva mutare idea. Ma allora si sarebbe andati nel difficile. Sicché taceva pensieroso, come temendo d’aver detto troppo» (RR II 17).

Every object, person, word is held responsible for the crime at Via Merulana, no man is innocent in this novel, not even the victim Liliana. Is Gadda in any way regretting the fact that he has built a system which condemns everything and anything? Does he feel guilty for having emptied all the contents of the world? Sorry for having made the world so complicated, humoristic and despicable: despicable for having come into contact with his senses, humours and thoughts?

Gadda most definitely does not regret the use of humour in his work, as comedy appears to him to be necessary, a necessary component in the tragedy which is life. But Ingravallo is not at all a comical figure, he never once expresses amusement. Could Gadda be sorry for having made Ingravallo so non-comical and even tragic? Gadda, in this novel, focuses on every form and expression of life: smiles, smells, fantasies, dreams, order, chaos, injustice, generosity, cynicism, commotion, hunger. Does he regret his use of the promiscuous, of the baroque, which for him is life itself?

There is no saviour in this novel, as the winning force here is fascism. Gadda had willingly chosen to fight in the first world war, and had even more willingly placed trust in fascism. Is Gadda regretting his former belief in fascism? in the duties of citizenship? in an organised, duty-bound Italy?

Gadda could be regretting his very role as writer, of having ever written this novel, or any other narrative for that matter. One guesses that writing for Gadda was more important than living, but here in Quer pasticciaccio one also senses his tiredness. Was Gadda tired, as well as repentant, so much as to let the pen drop and the paralysis set in?

Gadda after Quer pasticciaccio will never write another thing, there will only be silence. Well, almost.