‘Si fa per dire…’

Martina and I piled into an already crowded café in hopes of a corner table. Once a month we meet there to talk, sip cappuccino, and perhaps jot a line or two in our ‘Be Bohemian’ notebooks. We were actually both quite busily writing, when someone at the bar burst suddenly into flames. Not literally of course, but it’s the best way to describe the explosive verbal exchange that occurred when the barman served up a lukewarm cappuccio that the customer called ‘cold.’As soon as the barman offered to restore world peace by providing another cup, the customer stepped back, took his final sip, and said. ‘No, no. It’s not necessary. Si fa per dire.’ With that, he turned and headed for the door, restoring all semblance of placidity in the place. The barista, entirely unmoved by the episode, quickly collected the cup and saucer from the counter-top and went back to his task.  I sat watching the exchange with some measure of fascination. In English, complaining is a catalyst for change. If you’re an English speaker and you tell the barman that your cappuccino is cold, it means you’re intent on getting another cup. In English, we talk in hopes of making things happen. In Italian, you make things hap-pen so you can talk about them. This guy didn’t want a refill—catching the mistake was gratification enough. And that’s where the phrase si fa per dire comes into play. Translated literally as ‘one does so that one may say,’ it’s often used as ‘Oh, never mind, I just thought you should know.’ A tell-tale Italian expression, si fa per dire expresses unconformity and magnanimity at the same time ‘You’re wrong and I want the world to know it—but don’t worry about fixing the mess. The cleaners are coming tomorrow.’ For me, the phrase illustrates the in-born Italian ability to overlook trite daily inadequacies. In Italy, it’s essential that the culprit admit the error of his ways, but there is no real de-sire to punish the perpetrator. In this country, it’s the confession that counts. Once that’s over with, it’s best to leave people to their business.   ‘Martina, why do you think Italians make such a show of protesting over things they don’t really care about?’‘They care, they just don’t expect their protests to produce immediate effects.’‘In English, complaints are always a means to an end.’‘Not here,’ my friend thought. ‘Maybe it’s because Italians have quite a feminine psyche.’‘What does that mean?’’It’s like what psychologists say. Women speak to find understanding. If a woman complains that it’s raining, she simply wants you to understand that she’s getting wet. She doesn’t want you to run for an umbrella necessarily. Men never quite get that. Her goal is not to solve the problem, but to share it. The same is true for Italians. They speak to share the pain and glory; not in hopes of achiev-ing results.’‘So does that mean that English speakers think more like men do?’‘Maybe in a way,’ she mused. ‘In English, speech is the preliminary step to problem-solving. Catch an English-speaker voicing complaints and the driving force behind the gripe will be the idea that “something must be done.” Italians, on the other hand, often opt for the filibuster—talk an issue to death so that nothing whatsoever will be done about it.’ The thought struck us both as immensely funny, and Martina and I interrupted our laughter only long enough to order two hot chocolates from our already disapproving waiter. He met our request with reluctance. Couldn’t we see that it was too early in the year for hot chocolate? With the sun as hot as it was, we should know better than to rush the season. I greeted his grimace with ruffled feathers. ‘So, does all this mean you can’t make it for us?‘Of course we can make it,’ he said with surprise. ‘Si fa per dire.’Right. How quickly one forgets. In Italy, inappropriate choices must be disputed at all costs. Light must be shed on suspicious behav-iors. But no worries. Around here, chocolate sins are very readily forgiven.