You don’t even know your father’s name! As unlikely as this may strike us, we must take it literally to play the scene. It is only the first of a series of discoveries of the many things most people would take for granted, but which you know nothing of—an extreme version of any teenage girl’s ache to know more of the secrets of life. These unknowns pile up so quickly here that we realize that when you came rushing out the door, you were filled to bursting with questions of immediate emotional urgency. They’ve been pent-up for a  long time, and now you must know, this is the moment. There is also another factor, constantly at the edge of your consciousness, that makes this the moment. That is your distanced flirtation with a handsome young man at church, which has reached the point of his following you home after mass. ^(I) Nothing remotely like this has ever happened to you before, and while it’s exciting it’s also very troubling—how will you handle this? Some reckoning is in the offing. With all this churning inside you, we can say that getting your questions answered is your primary objective in this scene. But there are two obstacles. The outer one is your father’s mysterious and obstinate guardedness, which can turn hostile if queried too insistently. And the inner one is your own love for, and utter dependence on, your father, now complicated by this new, forbidden factor, with its accompanying terror of disclosure and divided loyalties.

When your father cuts you off with “A te che importa?“, bringing to an end the impetus of the scene’s first movement, it is clear that you must change tactics. The score says so: it gives you a pause, a fermata over silence, for you to regroup and start a different line of questioning in a more deliberate tone. But exactly what tone? Shy and tentative? Firm and determined? You decide. Try both, and any other that feels possible, bearing in mind that all these choices have to finally add up to a coherent personality. Whatever your choice: “[All right], if you don’t want to tell me about yourself . . .” but he again cuts you off: “You never go out?” “Only to church.” “All right, then.” In this exchange, you two singing actors are entirely in charge of timing and tone. And you see that it’s not easy to hold his attention. He’s preoccupied; you must try to make him listen, but it’s touchy—watch him closely. You begin again, your phrasing the same but set higher in the range: “If not of yourself, at least let me know something of my mother.” For in all your young life, you’ve learned nothing of her, from either your father or Giovanna.