Ntoni got back on a Sunday, and went from door to door saluting his friends and acquaintances, the centre of an admiring crowd of boys, while the girls came to the windows to look at him; the only one that was not there was Mammy Tudda’s Sara.
“She has gone to Ognino with her husband,” Santuzza told him. “She has married Menico Trinca, a widower with six children, but as rich as a hog. She married him before his first wife had been dead a month. God forgive us all!”
“A widower is like a soldier,” added La Zuppidda; “a soldier’s love is soon cold; at tap of drum, adieu, my lady!”
Cousin Venera, who went to the station to see if Mammy Tudda’s Sara would come to say good-bye to Padron ’Ntoni’s ’Ntoni, because she had seen them talking to each other over the vineyard wall, hoped to put ’Ntoni out of countenance by this piece of news. But time had changed him too—“Out of sight, out of mind”—‘Ntoni now wore his cap over his ear.
“I don’t like those flirts who make love to two or three people at a time,” said the Mangiacairubbe, pulling the ends of her kerchief tighter under her chin, and looking as innocent as a Madonna. “If I were to love anybody, I’d stick to that one, and would change, no, not for Victor Emmanuel himself, or Garibaldi, even.”
“I know whom you love!” said ’Ntoni, with his hand on his hip.
“No, Cousin ’Ntoni, you don’t know; they have told you a lot of gossip without a word of truth in it. If ever you are passing my door, just you come in, and I’ll tell you the whole story.”
“Now that the Mangiacarubbe has set her heart on Padron ’Ntoni’s ’Ntoni, it will be a real mercy for his cousin Anna if anything comes of it,” said Cousin Venera.
’Ntoni went off in high feather, swaggering with his hand on his hip, followed by a train of friends, wishing that every day might be Sunday, that he might carry his pretty shirts out a-walking. That afternoon he amused himself by wrestling with Cousin Pizzuti, who hadn’t the fear of God before his eyes (though he had never been for a soldier), and sent him rolling on the ground before the tavern, with a bloody nose; but Rocco Spatu was stronger than ’Ntoni, and threw him down.
In short, ’Ntoni amused himself the whole day long; and while they were sitting chatting round the table in the evening, and his mother asked him all sorts of questions about one thing and another, and Mena looked at his cap, and his shirt with the stars, to see how they were made, and the boys, half asleep, gazed at him with all their eyes, his grandfather told him that he had found a place for him, by the day, on board Padron Fortunato Cipolla’s bark, at very good wages.
“I took him for charity,” said Padron Fortunato to whoever would listen to him, sitting on the bench in front of the barber’s shop. “I took him because I couldn’t bear to say no when Padron ’Ntoni came to ask me, under the elm, if I wanted men for the bark. I never have any need of men, but ‘in prison, in sickness, and in need one knows one’s friends’; with Padron ’Ntoni, too, who is so old that his wages are money thrown away.”.
“He’s old, but he knows his business,” replied, old Goosefoot. “His wages are by no means thrown away, and his grandson is a fellow that any one might be glad to get away from him—or from you, for that matter.”
“When Master Bastian has finished mending theProvvidenzawe’ll get her to sea again, and then we sha’n’t need to go out by the day,” said Padron ’Ntoni.
In the morning, when he went to wake his grandson, it wanted two hours to dawn, and ’Ntoni would have preferred to remain under the blankets; when he came yawning out into the court, the Three Sticks were still high over Ognino, and the Puddara * shone on the other side, and all the stars glittered like the sparks under a frying-pan. “It’s the same thing over again as when I was a soldier and they beat the reveille on deck,” growled ’Ntoni. “It wasn’t worth while coming home, at this rate!”
“Hush,” said Alessio. “Grandpapa is out there getting ready the tackle; he’s been up an hour already,” but Alessio was a boy just like his father Bastiànazzo, rest his soul! Grandfather went about here and there in the court with his lantern; outside could be heard the people passing towards the sea, knocking at the doors as they passed to rouse their companions. All the same, when they came to the shore, where the stars were mirrored in the black smooth sea, which murmured softly on the stones, and saw here and there the lights of the other boats, ’Ntoni, too, felt his heart swell within him. “Ah,” he exclaimed, with a mighty stretch of his arms, “it is a fine thing to come back to one’s own home. This sea knows me.” And Pa-dron ’Ntoni said, “No fish can live out of water,” and “For the man who is born a fish the sea waits.”
* The Great Bear.
On board, the bark they chaffed ’Ntoni because Sara had jilted him. While they were furling the sails, and theCarmelawas rowed slowly round and round, dragging the big net after her like a serpent’s tail, “‘Swine’s flesh and soldier’s faith last but a little while,’ for that Sara threw you over,” they said to him.
“When the Turk turns Christian the woman keeps her word,” said Uncle Cola.
“I have plenty of sweethearts, if I want them,” replied ’Ntoni; “at Naples they ran after me.”
“At Naples you had a cloth coat and a cap with a name on it, and shoes on your feet,” said Barabbas.. .
“Are the girls at Naples as pretty as the ones here?”
“The girls here are not fit to hold a candle to those in Naples. I had one with a silk dress, and red ribbons in her hair, an embroidered corset, and gold epaulets like the captain’s. A fine, handsome girl who brought her master’s children out to walk, and did nothing else.”
“It must be a fine thing to live in those ports,” observed Barabbas.
“You on the left there, stop rowing!” called out Padron ’Ntoni..
“Blood of Judas! You’ll send the bark onto the net,” shouted Uncle Cola from the helm. “Will you stop chattering! Are we here to scratch ourselves or to work?”
“It’s the tide drives us up,” said ’Ntoni.
“Draw in there, you son of a pig; your head is so full of those queens of yours that you’ll make us lose the whole day,” shouted Barabbas.
“Sacrament!” replied ’Ntoni, with his oar in the air. “If you say that again I’ll bring it down on your head.”
“What’s all this?” cried Uncle Cola from the helm. “Did you learn when you were a soldier not to hear a word from anybody?”
“I’ll go,” said ’Ntoni.
“Go along, then! With Padron Fortunato’s money he’ll soon find another.”
“Prudence is for the master, patience for the man,” said Padron ’Ntoni.
’Ntoni continued to row, growling all the while, as he could not get up and walk away; and Cousin Mangiacarubbe, to put an end to the quarrelling, said it was time for breakfast.
At that moment the sun was just rising, and a draught of wine was pleasant in the cold air which began to blow. So the boys began to set their jaws at work, with flask between their knees, while the bark moved slowly about inside the ring of corks.
“A kick to whoever speaks first,” said Uncle Cola.
Not to be kicked, they all began to chew like so many oxen, watching the waves that came rolling in from the open sea and spreading out without foam, those green billows that on a fair sunny day remind one of a black sky and a slate-colored sea.
“Padron Cipolla will be swearing roundly at us to-night,” said Uncle Cola; “but it isn’t our fault. In this fresh breeze there’s no chance of fish.”
First Goodman Mangiacarubbe let fly a kick at Uncle Cola, who had broken silence himself after declaring the forfeit, and then answered:
“Since we are here, we may as well leave the net out a while longer.”
“The tide is coming from the open; that will help us,” said Padron ’Ntoni.
“Ay, ay!” muttered Uncle Cola meanwhile.
Now that the silence was broken, Barabbas asked ’Ntoni Malavoglia for a stump of a cigar.
“I haven’t but one,” said ’Ntoni, without thinking of the recent quarrel, “but I’ll give you half of mine.”
The crew of the bark, leaning their backs against the bench, with hands behind their heads, hummed snatches of songs under their breath, each on his own account, to keep himself awake, for it was very difficult not to doze in the blazing sun; and Ba-rabbas snapped his fingers at the fish which leaped flashing out of the water.
“They have nothing to do,” said ’Ntoni, “and they amuse themselves by jumping about.”
“How good this cigar is!” said Barabbas. “Did you smoke these at Naples?”
“Yes, plenty of them.”
“All the same, the corks are beginning to sink,” said Goodman Mangiacarubbe.
“Do you see where theProvvidenzawent down with your father?” said Barabbas to ’Ntoni; “there at the Cape, where the sun glints on those white houses, and the sea seems as if it were made of gold.”
“The sea is salt, and the sailor sinks in the sea,” replied ’Ntoni.
Barabbas passed him his flask, and they began to mutter to each other under their breath against Uncle Cola, who was a regular dog for the crew of the bark, watching everything they said and did; they might as well have Padron Cipolla himself on board.
“And all to make him believe that the boat couldn’t get on without him,” added Barabbas; “an old spy. Now he’ll go saying that it is he that has caught the fish by his cleverness, in spite of the rough sea. Look how the nets are sinking; the corks are quite under water; you can’t see them.”
“Holloa, boys!” shouted Uncle Cola; “we must draw in the net, or the tide will sweep it away.”
“O-hi! O-o-o-hi!” the crew began to vociferate, as they passed the rope from hand to hand.
“Saint Francis!” cried Uncle Cola, “who would have thought that we should have taken all this precious load in spite of the tide?”
The nets shivered and glittered in the sun, and all the bottom of the boat seemed full of quicksilver.
“Padron Fortunato will be contented now,” said Barabbas, red and sweaty, “and won’t throw in our faces those few centimes he pays us for the day.”
“This is what we get,” said ’Ntoni, “to break our backs for other people; and then when we have put a few soldi together comes the devil and carries them off.”
“What are you grumbling about?” asked his grandfather. “Doesn’t Padron Fortunato pay your day’s wages?”
The Malavoglia were mad after money: La Longa took in weaving and washing; Padron ’Ntoni and his grandsons went out by the day, and helped each other as best they could; and when the old man was bent double with sciatica, he stayed in the court and mended nets and tackle of all kinds, of which trade he was a master. Luca went to work at the bridge on the railroad for fifty centimes a day, though ’Ntoni said that wasn’t enough to pay for the shirts he spoiled by carrying loads on his back—but Luca didn’t mind spoiling his shirts, or his shoulders either; and Alessio went gathering crabs and mussels on the shore, and sold them for ten sous the pound, and sometimes he went as far as Ognino or the Cape of the Mills, and came back with his feet all bloody. But Goodman Zuppiddu wanted a good sum every Saturday for mending theProvvidenza; and one wanted a good many nets to mend, and rolls of linen to weave, and crabs at ten sous the pound, and linen to bleach, too, with one’s feet in the water, and the sun on one’s head, to make up two hundred francs. All Souls was come, and Uncle Crucifix did nothing but promenade up and down the little street, with his hands behind his back, like an old basilisk.
“This story will end with a bailiff,” old Dumbbell went on saying to Don Silvestro and to Don Giammaria, the vicar.
“There will be no need of a bailiff, Uncle Crucifix,” said Padron ’Ntoni, when he was told what old Dumb-bell had been saying. “The Malavoglia have always been honest people, and have paid their debts without the aid of a bailiff.”
“That does not matter to me,” said Uncle Crucifix, as he stood against the wall of his court measuring the cuttings of his vines; “I only know I want to be paid.”
Finally, through the interposition of the vicar, Dumb-bell consented to wait until Christmas, taking for interest that sixty-five francs which Maruzza had managed to scrape together sou by sou, which she kept in an old stocking hid under the mattress of her bed.
“This is the way it goes,” growled Padron ’Ntoni’s ’Ntoni; “we work night and day for old Crucifix. When we have managed to rake and scrape a franc we have to give it to old Dumbbell.”
Grandfather, with Maruzza, consoled each other by building castles in the air for the summer, when there would be anchovies to be salted, and Indian figs at ten for eight centimes; and they made fine projects of going to the tunny-fishing, and the fishing for the sword-fish—when one gains a good sum by the day—and in the mean time Cousin Bastian would have put theProvvidenzain order. The boys listened attentively, with elbows on their knees, to this discourse, as they sat on the landing, or after supper; but ’Ntoni, who had been in foreign ports, and knew the world better than the others, was not amused by such talk, and preferred going to lounge about the tavern, where there was a lot of people who did nothing, and old Uncle Santoro the worst of them, who had only that easy trade of begging to follow, and sat muttering Ave Marias; or he went down to Master Zuppiddu’s to see how theProvvidenzawas getting on, to have a little talk with Barbara, who came out with fagots for the fire under the kettle of pitch, when Cousin ’Ntoni was there.
“You’re always busy, Cousin Barbara,” said ’Ntoni; “you’re the right hand of the house; it’s for that your father doesn’t want to get you married.”
“I don’t want to marry anybody who isn’t my equal,” answered Barbara. “Marry with your equals and stay with your own.”
“I would willingly stay with your people, by Our Lady! if you were willing, Cousin Barbara.” *
“Why do you talk to me in this way, Cousin ’Ntoni? Mamma is spinning in the court; she will hear you.”
“I meant that those fagots are wet and won’t kindle. Let me do it.”
“Is it true you come down here to see the Mangiacarubbe when she comes to the window?”
“I come for quite another reason, Cousin Barbara. I come to see how theProvvidenzais getting on.”
“She is getting on very well, and papa says that by Christmas she will be ready for sea.”
As the Christmas season drew on the Malavoglia were always in and out of Master Bastiano Zuppiddu’s court. Meanwhile the whole place was assuming a festive appearance; in every house the images of the saints were adorned with boughs and with oranges, and the children ran about in crowds after the pipers who came playing before the shrines, with the lamps before the doors; only in the Malavoglia’s house the statue of the Good Shepherd stood dark and unadorned, while Padron ’Ntoni’s ’Ntoni ran here and there like a rooster in the spring. And Barbara Zuppidda said to him:
“At least you’ll remember how I melted the pitch for theProvvidenzawhen you’re out at sea.”
Goosefoot prophesied that all the girls would want to rob her of him.
“It’s I who am robbed,” whined Uncle Crucifix. “Where am I to get the money for the lupins if ’Ntoni marries, and they take off the dowry for Mena, and the mortgage that’s on the house, and all the burdens besides that came out at the very last minute? Christmas is here, but no Malavoglia.”
Padron ’Ntoni went to him in the piazza, or in his own court, and said to him: “What can I do if I have no money? Wait till June, if you will do me that favor; or take the boat, or the house; I have nothing else.”
“I want my money,” repeated Uncle Crucifix, with his back against the wall. “You said you were honest people; you can’t pay me with talk about theProvvidenza, or the house by the medlar-tree.”
He was ruining both body and soul, had lost sleep and appetite, and wasn’t even allowed to relieve his feelings by saying that the end of this story would be the bailiff, because if he did Padron ’Ntoni sent straightway Don Giammaria or Don Silvestro to beg for pity on him; and they didn’t even leave him in peace in the piazza, where he couldn’t go on his own business without some one was at his heels, so that the whole place cried out on the devil’s money. With Goosefoot he couldn’t talk, because he always threw in his face that the lupins were rotten, and that he had done the broker for him. “But that service he could do me!” said he, suddenly, to himself; and that night he did not sleep another wink, so charmed was he with the discovery. And he went off to Goosefoot as soon as it was day, and found him yawning and stretching at his house door. “You must pretend to buy my debt,” he said to him, “and then we can send the officers to Malavoglia, and nobody will call you a usurer, or say that yours is the devil’s money.”
“Did this fine idea come to you in the night,” sneered Goosefoot, “that you come waking me at dawn to tell it me?”
“I came to tell you about those cuttings, too; if you want them you may come and take them.”
“Then you may send for the bailiff,” said Goose-foot; “but you must pay the expenses.”
Before every house the shrines were adorned with leaves and oranges, and at evening the candles were lighted, when the pipers played and sang litanies, so that it was a festa everywhere. The boys played at games with hazel-nuts in the street; and if Alessio stopped, with legs apart, to look on, they said to him:
“Go away, you; you haven’t any nuts to play with. Now they’re going to take away your house.”
In fact, on Christmas eve the officer came in a carriage to the Malavoglia’s, so that the whole village was upset by it; and he went and left a paper with a stamp on it on the bureau, beside the image of the Good Shepherd.
The Malavoglia seemed as if they all had been struck by apoplexy at once, and stayed in the court, sitting in a ring, doing nothing; and that day that the bailiff came there was no table set in the house of the Malavoglia.
“What shall we do?” said La Longa. Padron ’Ntoni did not know what to say, but at last he took the paper, and went off with his two eldest grandsons to Uncle Crucifix, to tell him to take theProv-videnza, which Master Bastiano had just finished mending; and the poor old man’s voice trembled as it did when he lost his son Bastianazzo. “I know nothing about it,” replied Dumb-bell. “I have no more to do with? the business. I’ve sold my debt to Goosefoot, and you must manage it the best way you can with him.”
Goosefoot began to scratch his head as soon as he saw them coming in procession to speak to him.
“What’ do you want me to do?” answered he; “I’m a poor devil, I need the money, and I can’t do anything with the boat. That isn’t my trade; but if Uncle Crucifix will buy it, I’ll help you to sell it. I’ll be back directly.”
So the poor fellows sat on the wall, waiting and casting longing glances down the road where old Goosefoot had disappeared, not daring to look each other in the face. At last he came limping slowly along (he got on fast enough when he liked, in spite of his crooked leg). “He says it’s all broken, like an old shoe; he wouldn’t hear of taking it,” he called out from a distance. “I’m sorry, but I could do nothing.” So the Malavoglia went off home again with their stamped paper.
But something had to be done, for that piece of stamped paper lying on the bureau had power, they had been told, to devour the bureau and the house, and the whole family into the bargain.
“Here we need advice from Don Silvestro,” suggested Maruzza. “Take these two hens to him, and he’ll be sure to know of something you can do.”
Don Silvestro said there was no time to be lost, and he sent them to a clever lawyer, Dr. Scipione, who lived in the street of the Sick-men, opposite Uncle Crispino’s stable, * and was young, but, from what he had been told, had brains enough to put in his pocket all the old fellows, who asked five scudi for opening their mouths, while he was contented with twenty-five lire.
The lawyer was rolling cigarettes, and he made them come and go two or three times before he would let them come in. The finest thing about it was that they all went in procession, one behind the other. At first they were accompanied by La Longa, with her baby in her arms, as she wished to give her opinion, too, on the subject; and so they lost a whole day’s work. When, however, the lawyer had read the papers, and could manage to understand something of the confused answers which he had to tear as if with pincers from Padron ’Ntoni, while the others sat perched up on their chairs, without daring even to breathe, he began to laugh heartily, and the Malavoglia laughed too, with him, without knowing why, just to get their breath. “Nothing,” replied the lawyer; “you need do nothing.” And when Padron ’Ntoni told him again that the bailiff had come to the house: “Let the bailiff come every day if he likes, so the creditors will the sooner tire of the expense of sending him. They can take nothing from you, because the house is settled on your son’s wife; and for the boat, we’ll make a claim on the part of Master Bastiano Zuppiddu. Your daughter-in-law did not take part in the purchase of the lupins.” The lawyer went on talking without drawing breath, without scratching his head even, for more than twenty-five lire, so that Padron ’Ntoni and his grandson felt a great longing to talk too, to bring out that fine defence of theirs of which their heads were full; and they went away stunned, overpowered by all these wonderful things, ruminating and gesticulating over the lawyer’s speech all the way home. Maruzza, who hadn’t been with them that time, seeing them come with bright eyes and rosy faces, felt herself relieved of a great weight, and with a serene aspect waited to hear what the advocate had said. But no one said a word, and they all stood looking at each other.
“Well?” asked Maruzza, who was dying of impatience.
“Nothing! we need fear nothing!” replied Padron ’Ntoni, tranquilly.
“And the advocate?”
“Yes, the advocate says we need fear nothing.”
“But what did he say?” persisted Maruzza.
“Ah, he knows how to talk! A man with whiskers! Blessed be those twenty-five lire!”
“But what did he tell you to do?”
The grandfather looked at the grandson, and ’Ntoni looked back at his grandfather. “Nothing,” answered Padron ’Ntoni; “he told us to do nothing.”
“We won’t pay anything,” cried ’Ntoni, boldly, “because they can’t take either the house or the Provvidenza. We don’t owe them anything.”
“And the lupins?”
“The lupins! We didn’t eat them, his lupins; we haven’t got them in our pockets. And Uncle Crucifix can take nothing from us; the advocate said so, said he was spending money for nothing.” There was a moment’s silence, but Maruzza was still unconvinced.
“So he told you not to pay?”
’Ntoni scratched his head, and his grandfather added:
“It’s true, the lupins—we had them—we must pay for them.”
There was nothing to be said, now that the lawyer was no longer there; they must pay. Padron ’Ntoni shook his head, muttering:
“Not that, not that! the Malavoglia have never done that. Uncle Crucifix may take the house and the boat and everything, but we can’t do that.”
The poor old man was confused; but his daughter-in-law cried silently behind her apron.
“Then we must go to Don Silvestro,” concluded Padron ’Ntoni.
And with one accord, grandfather, grandchildren, and daughter-in-law, with the little girl, proceeded once more in procession to the house of the communal secretary, to ask him how they were to manage about paying the debt, and preventing Uncle Crucifix from sending any more stamped paper to eat up the house and the boat and the family.
Don Silvestro, who understood law, was amusing himself by constructing a trap-cage, intended as a present for the children of “her ladyship.”
He did not do as the lawyer did, he let them talk and talk, continuing silently to sharpen his reeds and fasten them into their places. At last he told them what was necessary. “Well, now, if Madam Maruzza is willing to put her hand to it, everything may be arranged.” The poor woman could not guess where she was to put her hand. “You must put it into the sale,” said Don Silvestro to her, “and give up your dotal mortgage, although you did not buy the lupins.”
“We all bought the lupins together,” murmured the poor Longa. “And the Lord has punished us all together by taking away my husband.”
The poor ignorant creatures, motionless on their chairs, looked at each other, and Don Silvestro laughed to himself. Then he sent for Uncle Crucifix, who came gnawing a dried chestnut, having just finished his dinner, and his eyes were even more glassy than usual. From the very first he would listen to nothing, declaring that he had nothing to do with it, that it was no longer his affair. “I am like the low wall that everybody sits and leans on as much as he pleases; because I can’t talk like an advocate, and give all my reasons properly, my property is treated as if I had stolen it.” And so he went on grumbling and muttering, with his back against the wall, and his hands thrust into his pockets; and nobody could understand a word he said, on account of the chestnut which he had in his mouth. Don Silvestro spoiled a shirt by sweating over the attempt to make him understand how the Malavoglia were not to be called cheats if they were willing to pay the debt, and if the widow gave up her dotal rights. The Malavoglia would be willing to give up everything but their shirts sooner than go to law; but if they were driven to the wall they might begin to send stamped paper as well as other people; such things have happened before now. “In short, a little charity one must have, by the holy devil! What will you bet that if you go on planting your feet like a mule in this you don’t lose the whole thing?”
And Uncle Crucifix replied, “If you take me on that side I haven’t any more to say.” And he promised to speak to old Goosefoot. “For friendship’s sake I would make any sacrifice.” Padron ’Ntoni could speak for him, how for friendship’s sake he had done as much as that and more; and he offered him his open snuffbox, and stroked the baby’s cheek, and gave her a chestnut. “Don Silvestro knows my weakness; I don’t know how to say no. This evening I’ll speak to Goosefoot, and tell him to wait until Easter, if Cousin Maruzza will put her hand to it.” Cousin Maruzza did not know where her hand was to be put, but said that she was ready to put it immediately.
“Then you can send for those beans that you said you wanted to sow,” said Uncle Crucifix to Don Silvestro before he went away.
“All right! all right!” replied Don Silvestro. “We all know that for your friends you have a heart as big as the sea.”
Goosefoot, while any one was by, wouldn’t hear of any delay, and screamed and tore his hair and swore they wanted to reduce him to his last shirt, and to leave him without bread for the winter, him and his wife Grace, since they had persuaded him to buy the debt of the Malavoglia, and that those were five hundred lire, one better than another, that they had coaxed him out of, to give them to Uncle Crucifix. His wife Grace, poor thing, opened her eyes very wide, because she couldn’t tell where all that money had come from, and put in a good word for the Malavoglia, who were all good people, and everybody in the vicinity had always known they Were honest. And Uncle Crucifix himself now began to take the part of the Malavoglia. “They have said they will pay; and if they don’t they will let you have the house; Madam Maruzza will put her hand to it. Don’t you know that in these days if you want your own you must do the best you can?” Then Goosefoot put on his jacket in a great hurry, and went off swearing and blaspheming, saying that his wife and old Crucifix might do as they pleased, since he was no longer master in his own house.
That was a black Christmas for the Malavoglia. Just then Luca had to draw his number for the Conscription—a low number, too, like a poor devil as he was—and he went off without many tears; they were used to it by this time. This time, also, ‘’Ntoni accompanied his brother, with his cap over his ear, so that it seemed as if it were he who was going away, and he kept on saying that it was nothing, that he had been for a soldier himself. That day it rained, and the street was all one puddle.
“I don’t want you to come with me,” repeated Luca to his mother; “the station is a long way off.” And he stood at the door watching the rain come down on the medlar-tree, with his little bundle under his arm. Then he kissed the hands of his mother and his grandfather, and embraced Mena and the children.
So La Longa saw him go away, under the umbrella, accompanied by all his relations, jumping from stone to stone, in the little alley that was all one puddle; and the boy, who was as wise as his grandfather himself, turned up his trousers on the landing, although he wouldn’t have to wear them any more when he got his soldier-clothes. “This one won’t write home for money when he is down there,” thought the old man; “and if God grants him life he will bring up once more the house by the medlar-tree.” But God did not grant him life, just because he was that sort of a fellow; and when there came, later on, the news of his death, a thorn remained in his mother’s heart because she had let him go away in the rain, and had not accompanied him to the station.
“Mamma,” said Luca, turning back, because his heart bled to leave her so silent, on the landing, looking like Our Lady of Sorrows, “when I come back I’ll let you know first, and then you can come and meet me at the station.”
And these words Maruzza never forgot while she lived; and till her death she bore also that other thorn in her heart, that her boy had not been present at the festa that was made when theProvvidenzawas launched anew, while all the place was there, and Barbara Zuppidda came out with the broom to sweep away the shavings. “I do it for your sake,” she said to Padron ’Ntoni’s ’Ntoni; “because it is your Providence.”
“With the broom in your hand, you look like a queen,” replied ’Ntoni. “In all Trezza there is not so good a housewife as you.”
“Now you have taken away theProvvidenza, we shall not see you here any more, Cousin ’Ntoni.”
“Yes, you will. Besides, this is the shortest way to the beach.”
“You come to see the Mangiacarubbe, who always goes to the window when you pass.”
“I leave the Mangiacarubbe for Rocco Spatu. I have other things in my mind.”
“Who knows what you have in your mind—those pretty girls in foreign parts, perhaps?”
“There are pretty girls here, too, Cousin Barbara, and I know one very well.”
“Really?”
“By my soul!”
“What do you care?”
“I care! Yes, that I do; but she doesn’t care for me, because there are certain dandies who walk under her window with varnished boots.”
“I don’t even look at those varnished boots, by the Madonna of Ognino! Mamma says that varnished boots are only fit to devour the dowry and everything else; and some fine day I shall go out with my distaff, and make him a scene, that Don Silvestro, who won’t leave me in peace.”
“Do you mean that seriously, Cousin Barbara?”
“Yes, indeed I do!”
“That pleases me right well,” said ’Ntoni.
“Listen; let’s go down to the beach on Monday, when mamma goes to the fair.”
“On Mondays I never shall have a chance to breathe, now that theProvvidenzahas been launched.”
Scarcely had Master Turi said that the boat was in order, than Padron ’Ntoni went off to start her with his boys and all the neighbors; and theProvvidenza, when she was going down to the sea, rocked about on the stones as if she were sea-sick among the crowd.
“This way, here!” called out Cousin Zuppiddu, louder than anybody; but the others shouted and struggled to push her back on the ways as she rocked over on the stones. “Let me do it, or else I’ll just take the boat up in my arms like a baby, and put her in the water myself.”
“Master Turi is capable of doing it, with those arms of his,” said some one; or else, “Now the Malavoglia will be all right again.”
“That devil of a Cousin Zuppiddu has lucky fingers,” they exclaimed. “Look how he has put her straight again, when she was like an old shoe.” And in truth theProvvidenzadid seem quite another boat-shining with new pitch, and with a bright red line along her side, and on the prow San Francesco, with his beard that seemed to have been made of tow, so much so that even La Longa had made peace with theProvvidenza, whom she had never forgiven, for coming back to her without her husband; but she made peace for fright, now that the bailiff had been in the house.
“Viva San Francesco!” called out every one as theProvvidenzapassed; and La Locca’s son called out louder than anybody, in the hope that now Padron ’Ntoni would hire him by the day, instead of his brother Menico. Mena stood on the landing, and once more she cried for joy; and, at last, even La Locca got up like the rest, and followed the Malavoglia.
“O Cousin Mena, this is a fine day for all of you,” said Alfio Mosca to her from his window opposite. “It will be like this when I can buy my mule.”
“And will you sell your donkey?”
“How can I? I’m not rich, like Vanni Pizzuti; if I were, I swear I wouldn’t sell him, poor beast! If I had enough to keep another person, I’d take a wife, and not live here alone like a dog.”
Mena didn’t know what to say, and Alfio added: “Now that theProvvidenzahas put to sea again, you’ll be married to Brasi Cipolla.”
“Grandpapa has said nothing about it.”
“He will. There’s still time. Between now and your marriage who knows how many things may happen, or by what different roads I shall drive my cart? I have been told that in the plain, at the other side of the town, there is work for everybody on the railroad. Now that Santuzza has arranged with Master Philip for the new wine, there is nothing to be done here.”
Meanwhile theProvvidenzahad slipped into the sea like a duck, with her beak in the air, and danced on the green water, enjoying its coolness, while the sun glanced on her shining side. Padron ’Ntoni enjoyed it, too, with his hands behind his back, and his legs apart, drawing his brows together, as sailors do when they want to see clearly in the sunshine; for it was a fine winter’s day, and the fields were green and the sea shining and the deep blue sky had no end. So return the sunshine and the sweet winter mornings for the eyes that have wept, to whom the sky has seemed black as pitch; and so all things renew themselves like theProvvidenza, for which a few pounds of tar and a handful of boards sufficed to make her new once more; and the eyes that see not these things are those that are done with weeping and are closed in death.
“Bastianazzo is not here to see this holiday!” thought Maruzza, as she went to and fro, arranging things in the house and about the loom—where almost everything had been her husband’s work on Sundays or rainy days—and those hooks and shelves he had fixed in the wall with his own hands. Everything in the house was full of him, from his water-proof cape in the corner to his boots under the bed, that were almost new. Mena, setting up the warp, had a sad heart, too, for she was thinking of Alfio, who was going away, and would have sold his donkey, poor beast! for the young have short memories, and have only eyes for the rising sun; and no one looks westward save the old, who have seen the sun rise and set so many times.
“Now that theProvvidenzahas put to sea again,” said Maruzza at last, noticing that her daughter was still pensive, “your grandfather has begun to go with Master Cipolla again; I saw them this morning, from the landing, before Peppi Naso’s shed.”
“Padron Fortunato is rich, and has nothing to do, and stays all day in the piazza,” answered Mena.
“Yes, and his son Brasi has plenty of the gifts of God. Now that we have our boat, and our men no longer need to go out by the day to work for others, we shall get out of this tangle; and if the souls in Purgatory will help us to get rid of the debt for the lupins, we shall be able to think of other things. Your grandfather is wide-awake, don’t you fear, and he won’t let you feel that you have lost your father. He will be another father to you.”
Shortly after arrived Padron ’Ntoni, loaded with nets, so that he looked like a mountain, and you couldn’t see his face. “I’ve been to get them out of the bark,” he said, “and I must look over the meshes, for to-morrow we must rig theProvvidenza.”
“Why did you not get ’Ntoni to help you?” answered Maruzza, pulling at one end of the net, while the old man turned round in the middle of the court, like a winder, to unwind the nets, which seemed to have no end, and looked like a great serpent trailing along.
“I left him there at the barber’s shop; poor boy, he has to work all the week, and it is hot even in January with all this stuff on one’s shoulders.” Alessio laughed to see his grandfather so red, and bent round like a fish-hook, and the grandsire said to him, “Look outside there; there is that poor Locca; her son is in the piazza, with nothing to do, and they have nothing to eat.” Maruzza sent Alessio to La Locca with some beans, and the old man, drying his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt, added:
“Now that we have our boat, if we live till summer, with the help of God, we’ll pay the debt.”
He had no more to say, but sat under the medlar-tree looking at his nets, as if he saw them filled with fish.
“Now we must lay in the salt,” he said after a while, “before they raise the tax, if it is true it is to be raised. Cousin Zuppiddu must be paid with the first money we get, and he has promised that he will then furnish the barrels on credit.”
“In the chest of drawers there is Mena’s linen, which is worth five scudi,” added Maruzza.
“Bravo! With old Crucifix I won’t make any more debts, because I have had a warning in the affair of the lupins; but he will give us thirty francs for the first time we go out with theProvvidenza.”
“Let him alone!” cried La Longa. “Uncle Crucifix’s money brings ill luck. Just this last night I heard the black hen crowing.”
“Poor thing!” cried the old man, smiling as he watched the black hen crossing the court, with her tail in the air and her crest on one side, as if the whole affair were no business of hers. “She lays an egg every day, all the same.”
Then Mena spoke up, and coming to the door, said, “There is a basketful of eggs, and on Monday, if Cousin Alfio goes to Catania, you can send them to market.”
“Yes, they will help to pay the debt,” said Padron ’Ntoni; “but you can eat an egg yourselves now and then if you feel to want it.”
“No, we don’t need them,” said Maruzza, and Mena added, “If we eat them they won’t be sold in the market by Cousin Alfio; and now we will put duck’s eggs under the setting hen. The ducklings can be sold for forty centimes each.” Her grandfather looked her in the face, and said:
“You’re a real Malavoglia, my girl!”.
The hens scratched in the sand of the court, in the sun, and the setting hen, looking perfectly silly, with the feather over her beak, shook herself in a corner under the green boughs in the garden, along the wall, there was more linen bleaching, with a stone lying on it to keep it from blowing away. “All this is good to make money,” said Pa-dron ’Ntoni, “and, with the help of God, we shall stay in our house. ‘My house is my mother.’”
“Now the Malavoglia must pray to God and Saint Francis for a plentiful fishing,” said Goose-foot meanwhile.
“Yes, with the times we’re having,” exclaimed Padron Cipolla, “they must have sown the cholera for the fish in the sea, I should think.”
Mangiacarubbe nodded, and Uncle Cola began to talk of the tax that they wanted to put on salt, and how, if they did that, the anchovies might be quiet, and fear no longer the wheels of the steamers, for no one would find it worth his while to fish for them any more.
“And they have invented something else,” added Master Turi, the calker: “to put a duty on pitch.” Those to whom pitch was of no importance had nothing to say, but Zuppiddu went on shouting that he should shut up shop, and whoever wanted a boat mended might stuff the hole with his wife’s dress. Then they began to scold and to swear.
At this moment was heard the scream of the engine, and the big wagons of the railway came rushing out all of a sudden from the hole they had made in the hill, smoking and fuming as if the devil was in them. “There!” cried Padron Fortu-nato, “the railroad one side and the steamers the other, upon my word it’s impossible to live in peace at Trezza nowadays.”
In the village there was the devil to pay when they wanted to put the tax upon pitch. * La Zup-pidda, foaming at the mouth, mounted upon her balcony, and went on preaching that this was some new villany of Don Silvestro, who wanted to bring the whole place to ruin, because they (the Zup-piddus) wouldn’t have him for a husband for their daughter; they wouldn’t have him even for a companion in the procession, neither she nor her girl! When Madam Venera spoke of her daughter’s husband it always seemed as if she herself were the bride.
Master Turi Zuppiddu tramped about the landing, mallet in hand, brandishing his chisel as if he wanted to shed somebody’s blood, and wasn’t to be held even by chains. The bile ran high from door to door, like the waves of the sea in a storm. Don Franco rubbed his hands, with his great ugly hat on his head, saying that the people was raising its head; and seeing Don Michele pass with pistols hanging at his belt, laughed in his face. The men, too, one by one, allowed themselves to be worked up by their womankind, and began hunting each other up, to try and rouse each other to fury, losing the whole day standing about in the piazza, with arms akimbo and open mouths, listening to the apothecary, who went on speechifying, but under his breath, for fear of his wife up-stairs, how they ought to make a revolution if they weren’t fools, and not to mind the tax on salt or the tax on pitch, but to clear off the whole thing, for the king ought to be the people. Instead, some turned their backs, muttering, “He wants to be king himself; the druggist belongs to those of the revolution who want to starve the poor people.” And they went off to the inn to Santuzza, where there was good wine to heat one’s head, and Master Cinghialenta and Rocco Spatu made noise enough for ten.