A Pimp's Notes by Giorgio Faletti Page B

the end of a short hallway is the door that leads into the cramped and crowded little theater. We pass through that door and find ourselves in the dim half-light, standing against the wall just to the left of the door. To our right is the mini-amphitheater, packed with people. The fact that they scheduled Giorgio Fieschi for tonight must mean that he’s making a name for himself in the world of Milanese comedy.
    As if these thoughts of mine had summoned him from behind the scenes, Giorgio appears from behind the black drapery that serves as both backdrop and curtain and makes his entrance onstage. There’s virtually no applause but you can detect a quickening sense of expectation. He starts the show by tossing off a few good offhand wisecracks about current events, the way they all do to break the ice. He follows that with fifteen minutes or so of excellent stock material that I’ve heard before, and the audience really starts warming up. Then he begins talking about himself, saying that he was born into a big family, that he had a lot of brothers, and that he hasn’t had an easy life. At this point, I expect one of those routines that churns out a tragicomic elegy to poverty. Instead he surprises me and everyone in the audience, by suddenly changing his voice and mouthing the subdued and emphatic tones of a child.
    … Oh yes, I come from a really big family. I remember in the mornings we always woke up at dawn and as soon as we were awake we said good morning all around, we’d say : buon giorno, Aldo , buon giorno, Glauco , buon giorno, Ugo , buon giorno, Silvio , buon giorno, Sergio , buon giorno, Giorgio , buon giorno, Amilcare , buon giorno, Gaspare , buon giorno, Anselmo , buon giorno, Massimo …
    With each greeting and name Giorgio swivels his head, changes voice, intonation, and facial expression. The audience has the impression that on the stage before them, they really are seeing all those people interacting. After a pause he turns to the audience.
    Around eleven thirty, we’d go out to begin the hard work of tilling the fields. At noon our mama would call us for the simple good food of our midday meal and we’d sit down around the table thanking the good Lord for that day’s gifts and then buon appetito, Aldo , buon appetito, Glauco , buon appetito, Ugo , buon appetito, Silvio , buon appetito, Sergio , buon appetito, Giorgio , buon appetito, Amilcare , buon appetito, Gaspare , buon appetito, Anselmo , buon appetito, Massimo …
    He offers the spectators a gesture of resignation and then, in a slightly more adult voice:
    I’ve never tasted a spoonful of hot soup in my life!
    Then he returns to the world of his character.
    And then, when evening came, weary but happy, we’d go to bed after brushing our teeth and, before falling asleep …
    By now the audience knows what’s coming and starts repeating along with him:
    … buona notte, Aldo , buona notte, Glauco , buona notte, Ugo , buona notte, Silvio , buona notte, Sergio , buona notte, Giorgio , buona notte, Amilcare , buona notte, Gaspare , buona notte, Anselmo , buona notte, Massimo … And then we’d close our eyes and fall into a peaceful sleep …
    Another pause for effect.
    … around four in the morning .
    Someone slips involuntarily into the kind of laughter that you simply can’t stop, the kind that has the power to spread to everyone else in the room, the kind that only talent—true talent—can trigger. Giorgio continues.
    One Sunday morning, the day on which we gave thanks for our good lives, we were in the courtyard of our farmhouse, and we were playing soccer, passing the ball from one to another and saying grazie, Aldo , grazie, Glauco , grazie, Ugo , grazie, Silvio , grazie, Sergio , grazie, Giorgio , grazie, Amilcare , grazie, Gaspare , grazie, Anselmo , grazie, Massimo …
    He breaks off and appears to look into the distance on his right.
    At a certain point we saw someone come slowly down the hill, heading in our direction. As