Schlein calls Salis, but she always says ‘perhaps’. And the reason isn’t caution

Elly Schlein, secretary of the PD, asks her to unite the centre, and Silvia Salis, mayor of Genoa, replies each time with a ‘no’ that sounds like a ‘maybe’ and a ‘maybe’ that sounds like a ‘no’, then a ‘well…’, then a ‘who knows’. Schlein, who never lets her irritation show on her face, smiles politely. Only the tip of her nose, ever so slightly, curls up. The mayor of Genoa smokes blue Winstons, and yet in a year and a half of rallies, live broadcasts, red-carpet appearances and walkabouts, there isn’t a single photograph, not a single frame, in which she appears with a cigarette between her fingers.

What does exist, however, is a meticulously accurate photograph from the night of victory, with his son in his arms and his gaze fixed on the horizon, like a Marianna of the Ligurian Republic; and there are images of him walking down the street with two trade unionists from the FIOM, with the stride and radiance of Pellizza da Volpedo’s The Fourth Estate. There are the carefully crafted interviews, the appearance on Fabio Fazio’s programme and the previews of the book, “E’ già domani”, distributed yesterday to the newspapers with tailor-made precision, with each daily receiving the chapter best suited to its readers: the pages on assisted reproduction in *La Repubblica*, the working-class, communist father in *Domani*... A craft of image-making that elsewhere is called ‘communication’ and which, in his case, bears a closer resemblance to cabinet-making.

Such precision in framing the story, however, is accompanied by absolute vagueness in her words. A unifying figure for the centre? “Not as far as I’m aware” (whilst at the Nazareno a different response was given: “I might consider it”). A candidate in the primaries? “No, not at the moment”. Even the title of the book, which was already the election campaign slogan, sounds to the ear like a variation on C’è ancora domani, Paola Cortellesi’s film, with a subtle yet revealing difference: because the film’s protagonist, in the end, leaves the house and goes to vote, whilst the mayor declares that her ‘tomorrow’ has already arrived and, in the meantime, remains on the doorstep. “I might.” Everything about her is expressed in the conditional tense, and one might be tempted to mistake this for the shyness of a political novice, for the caution of someone still finding their feet in the role, or for the institutional seriousness of someone who wants to stay in Genoa to serve as mayor – a position to which she was elected only very recently. It is quite the opposite. A former PD minister who knows her well says: “It is an ambition so vast that it finds no place in any definite tense; too great for the present, which would force her to choose, and too impatient for the future, which would force her to wait.” So she takes refuge in the conditional, the only form in the Italian language in which one can desire all things at once without having to give any of them up. Childhood friends recall a little girl who announced she wanted to be mayor when she grew up—the only prophecy of her life uttered in the simple future tense, and one which, in fact, came true right on schedule. At CONI, where she was an executive alongside Giovanni Malagò, they recall the same drive, and she herself, again using the conditional tense in her book, hints that she could even have become president of CONI.

The conditional, in short, is the tense of those who want too much, because choosing one thing means giving up the others, and the mayor desires them all with equal intensity – all the others. For months, Silvia Salis has been harbouring the fantasy of a third candidate – a figure outside the centre-left leadership contest, called upon to resolve the duel between Elly Schlein and Giuseppe Conte. Then the new electoral law required coalitions to nominate their candidate for Prime Minister before the vote, and Providence, in politics, was abolished by law – at least until the Constitutional Court decides to reinstate it. So now, at the Nazareno – the PD’s headquarters – as Il Foglio reported last week, word is getting round through back channels that the mayor ‘might’ even be considering the proposal to unite the centre, a move that would strengthen Schlein and keep Salis in the running without actually entering her into the contest. Yet Genoa’s ambition immediately suggests a second thought. Forming a federation means burning oneself out to help Schlein, whilst remaining in limbo – with one foot in and one out – preserves intact the figure who will be needed should the centre-left emerge from the polls with one of those ‘non-victories’ for which the PD has held the recipe since 2013. And at the Nazareno, noses are turning up once again.

The mayor is dithering, in short, to the extent that she is presenting her book throughout Italy, from Genoa to Florence, but not in Rome – there is still no date – where she would be pressed repeatedly about her intentions. She is dithering. And not for fear of losing. But for fear of winning too little. In recent days, moreover, someone has taken the trouble to explain to the mayor that uniting the centre is a more arduous task than it seems, because the centre, strictly speaking, does not exist; what exist are small centrist groups, each with its own founder, its own symbol and its own legitimate hope of securing a seat. There is the Civic Project led by Alessandro Onorato, Rome’s Councillor for Major Events, which – even taking into account the Sicilian contribution of Ismaele La Vardera, a regional MP – is polling at around 0.7 per cent according to Alessandra Ghisleri’s surveys. There is ‘Più Uno’ led by Ernesto Maria Ruffini, former director of the Revenue Agency, and Franco Gabrielli, former Chief of Police, which pollsters cannot even detect. There are Enzo Maraio’s Socialists, at 0.6 per cent. All things considered, the only solid contenders remain Italia Viva – that is, Matteo Renzi – and +Europa. Stitching all these doilies together into a tablecloth, and then dividing up the places at the table amongst the embroiderers, would require a method that no one has yet invented and the patience of a United Nations Secretary-General – with the added complication that, at the UN at least, there are rules in place. The mayor understands this perfectly well. And that is yet another reason to remain in the conditional. It may well be, of course, that all this running round the ring will come to nothing – neither the federation, nor the call to arms, nor the providential ‘non-victory’ – and that the mayor will simply remain the mayor, a fate that some in Genoa would not consider all that cruel. But even in that case, nothing should be wasted. Marianna with the child, the procession from Quarto Stato, Fazio’s lights, the book previews handed out like place cards at a wedding reception – all this is already stage material, and the mayor has her own director at home: her husband, Fausto Brizzi, who, not coincidentally, wrote Notte prima degli esami. The screenplay could be penned by Paola Cortellesi, who is already quite familiar with the future. And in the final shot, with the cameras rolling and nothing left to lose, the protagonist could finally light one of her blue Winstons.