Furbizia - a way of life

Sally came into the kitchen where I was chopping up zucchini for the sauce that would go with my pasta. I’d bought farfalle, butterflies, my favourite shape. 

She announced “there’s no word for liar in Italian.” I paused, knife suspended in mid-air. This didn’t seem plausible. I also guessed she had had some kind of disagreement with her new, and already on the wane boyfriend, Carlo.

It had all started out so idyllically. They’d met at one of the army bases where we were teaching conscripts. It was, in fact, the last year when military service would be compulsory. The poor boys didn’t want to be there nor did they want to be taught English. We got the feeling that the army i.e. the Italian state, therefore the tax payer, was footing the bill for these lessons because they really had no idea how to keep the boys occupied, other than cleaning weapons and running laps.

 

Carlo had approached her at lunch time and invited her to the officers’ canteen for lunch. He extolled the qualities of the food, it was the best army mensa in the capital. He was joking. The food was prepared by the conscripts, most of whom couldn’t cook.

He then invited her to his place for a ‘proper dinner.’ He made pasta with tuna, lemon and parsley. It has since become a summer favourite. He then took her to the famous keyhole up on the Aventine, and sealed the deal with a rose bought from one of the semi-permanently encamped rose sellers.

I continued chopping, and drizzled some oil into the frying pan. I set it on low. No word for liar? That couldn’t be right, I thought while Sally filled me in on the latest argument.

It wasn’t. I don’t know which dictionary she was using, but it turned out that there are as many words for liar as there are in most Western languages (to my knowledge).

Verb: mentire (to lie); Personal noun: bugiardo/bugiarda (liar); Dire una bugia (tell a lie); Una bugia bianca (a white lie) etc….

However, as things eventually ended up Carlo was more furbo than bugiardo. This concept ‘essere furbo’ had me baffled. It seemed negative yet solicited admiration. Being 'furbo' or 'furba' seems to be approved as a necessary 'quality' to get by in hard (and not so hard) times.

In my first flat,  our landlady at that time, the Signora Bulgarelli, charged rent on a 4-week basis, thus ekking out a thirteenth month of rent. When I told an Italian acquaintance this she nodded, smiled and commented “molto furba la Signora.” I could only deduce from her attitude that this was a good thing, and erroneously guessed, that in Italy everyone charged thirteen month’s rent. It was the furba thing to do.

 Furbo/furba translates as smart or clever but also cunning, crafty, shrewd or sly, depending on the situation and who it is being applied to. The expression 'fare il furbo' means to jump a queue. And, 'non fare il furbo' means "Don't try to get smart with me."

My second landlady, in my basement flat, decided one day to charge me for the annual servicing of the gas meter. I didn’t know it was something owners and not tenants paid so handed over twenty euros. Again, this was an example of furbizia, coupled to the fact that she’d got one up on someone who wasn’t in the know, an ingenuous foreigner. 

There is a saying “L’Italia è il paese dei furbi.” Italy is the land of the sly, crafty or shrewd.

La furbizia goes from the trivial such as the person who manages to slip in front of you in a queue (usual, and sometimes legitimate, excuses: I’m old; I’ve only got two items; I’m with my son, he’s 5 years old; I’m pregnant; my dog is waiting outside; I’m double-parked etc….) to the more serious such as getting an indemnisation for an invented invalidity (the financial police have nabbed blind people driving, for instance, or tetraplegics re-tiling roofs); or employing people without legal documents or paying them proper (if at all) wages; or renting 'in nero'. Pulling one over on the system has 'furbi' kudos, or so it would seem.

 Added to that are the legions of raccomandati  (the recommended) that take up office space with their jobs for life that they got because daddy is the boss or daddy is best pals with the boss but they didn’t actually have any qualifications pertinent to the job, or did get their university degree after ten years at university, eternally postponing exams. Most offices have at least one fanullone ( a do-nothing). Again they are the furbi, they have a job for life without trying and without having to do anything for it.

 Admirable, isn’t it?

Well, no, it isn’t.  

To quote (my translation) an esteemed Italian journalist and wit, Pezzolini: Italy goes on because of the ‘stupid’ people, ‘I fessi’. These people work, pay and die. Those who give the impression that they are making Italy work are the ‘furbi’, they don’t do anything, they spend a lot and they have a good time.” He also added that he was with the ‘fessi’.

 “L’Italia va avanti perché ci sono I fessi. I fessi lavorano, pagano, crepano. Chi fa la figura di mandare avanti l’Italia sono i furbi, che non fanno nulla, spendono e se la godono.”

It had little to do with intelligence, according to Pezzolini. It was more a question of the 'fessi' having principles and the 'furbi' having aims.

 As for Carlo, Sally's boyfriend, he was as 'furbo' as they come, he had a 'fidanzata' (long -standing girlfriend) back in his hometown of Modena.