by Isobel Chace
“You’re the Pearl Beyond Price!” Henry muttered in a strangled voice.
“How nice of you to say so!” Pearl said coolly.
Henry grinned. “But how did you get here?”
She opened her blue eyes very wide. “Mario came to Naples last night to get me,” she told him.
Henry blinked nervously. “I shouldn’t tell anyone else that!” he advised her.
“Why not?” she riposted. “It’s the truth!”
Henry cleared his throat thoughtfully. “I daresay Ruth was worried about you,” he managed.
Pearl patted his arm affectionately. “How nice you are!” she said with warm approval. “Do you always think the best of everyone?”
One look at Lucia’s furious face made Ruth take a quick step forward. She was touched that Mario’s aunt should feel so fiercely loyal to her and grateful too, but that volatile lady was highly unlikely to guard her tongue and Ruth knew from long experience how Pearl could colour anything in her own mind to suit herself. For a second, Ruth wished earnestly that she would never have to feel responsible for her young sister ever again, but then the moment passed and she remembered that Pearl had always been flattered and the centre of everyone’s attention. It was too much to expect her to resign her position to anyone as ordinary and undemanding as Ruth was without something of a struggle.
“Do let’s go!” Ruth said urgently.
To her relief, Mario began to collect the party together, packing them in to the cars to be taken into the centre of the village.
“I am sorry,” he said to Pearl, “but you will have to go with Henry. Lucia is afraid for her dress in such a vehicle, and we must also take Giulia and her husband with us.”
Pearl was prepared to argue the point. “But Giulia is the maid!” she exclaimed.
Mario’s face became stiff and unyielding. It was a look Ruth felt that she was beginning to know well and she was glad that, this time, it was nothing she had done which had inspired it.
“Giulia is one of my people,” he said, his voice totally devoid of any expression. “She has a right to my consideration.”
Pearl flounced out of the front door. “I am beginning to feel quite sorry for Ruth!” she muttered darkly.
“You need not!” Mario retorted sharply. “She is my wife!”
Pearl pouted her dislike of the idea. “Not yet she isn’t! Besides, you didn’t want to marry her!”
“Pearl!” Ruth exclaimed, shocked.
“Well, it’s true, isn’t it?” Pearl returned, trying hard to look indifferent to the consternation she had raided.
Mario laughed, thus successfully puncturing the highly charged atmosphere. “No, it is not true!” he said firmly. “And if it were, I hope you wouldn’t be so vulgar as to dwell on it?”
“No, of course not!” Pearl said quickly,
The whole party hurried into the waiting cars. Mario handed Ruth into the front seat of his own car, but Ruth could not bring herself to look at him as she thanked him. She wondered if anyone else had noticed that he had practically accused Pearl of vulgarity, and hoped not. Ruth felt slightly sick. She had thought of Pearl as being young and helpless, even rather naive, for so long that she found it painful to see her through other eyes.
“Pearl doesn’t mean half that she says,” she told him nervously as he got into the driving seat beside her.
He gave her a quick look. “As long as you realise that!” he said.
“She—she doesn’t think!” Ruth rushed on.
“No,” he agreed briefly.
“But she isn’t vulgar!” she protested.
Mario laughed. “I find her inexpressibly vulgar,” he said with calm certainty. “But she’s none the worse for that! ’
Ruth sighed. “I wish I could believe that,” she said. “I mean, I wish I could believe that you didn’t—didn’t—”
“I don’t!” Mario answered, irritated. “One does not marry vulgarity, however,” he added crushingly.
Ruth was hurt on Pearl’s behalf. She wished she understood better, but Mario was an enigma to her. How could he insist on going to Naples to bring Pearl to his home on the one hand, when he didn’t respect her at all, or so it seemed to Ruth, on the other? Ruth couldn’t imagine liking anyone that she didn’t respect, and yet he seemed to find it the easiest thing in the world!
The village was indeed en fete. Lucia eyed the coloured lights and the bonfires with intense satisfaction from the back of the car.
“What a pity it is,” she said, “that we couldn’t make all the old ceremonies for you!”
“It depends—” Ruth began.
“Nonsense!” Lucia said firmly. “They were very pretty customs! You will find out tonight!”
Ruth looked at Mario, her anxiety clear in her eyes. “You will stay close, won’t you?” she pleaded.
“As much as I can,” he assured her. “But tonight everyone will want to dance with the bride!”
Ruth was silent. It would leave him free to dance with Pearl, she thought, and wondered why she disliked the idea so much.
“But there are other things!” Lucia put in quickly. “There is the wedding dinner, many things!”
It seemed to Ruth that there was hardly room for them to push their way into the central square. The church was lit up on the one side and the fountain was playing with gay abandon on the other, while the children splashed in and out of it, dyeing the water bright red as an emblem of marriage. Somehow, the people were pushed back to make room for the cars and the priest himself opened the door for Ruth to alight. She hesitated for a minute, waiting for Mario as he came round the car and took her firmly by the hand. The buzz of excited noise in the crowd came to an abrupt end as one old woman, and then another, stepped forward and threw a handful of corn over their heads. Because Mario stood there with his head proudly held aloft, Ruth did so too, though the dust from the chaff got into her eyes and she began to wonder whether they weren’t going to be buried in the stuff.
“I’m sorry there’s so much of it,” Mario said in her ear. “Traditionally, only our mothers do this, but they are not here and we seem to have acquired rather a lot of substitutes!”
Ruth laughed. Truth to tell, she was beginning to enjoy herself. The heat and light from the bonfires attracted her and she loved the lined, leathery faces of the old women as they pressed in close to her. She thanked them all in her broken Italian, willingly grasping their hands as they shouted their good wishes into her ear.
The procession moved slowly but inexorably towards one end of the square where some trestle tables had been laid ready. The priest went anxiously ahead of them, clearing a path for them to travel towards the top of the centre table.
“You must sit here,” he told them.
“And taste the honey!” an old man called to them.
It was Mario’s turn to laugh. He dipped a spoon into the pot of honey on the table and held it out to Ruth. “Only half, mind!” he told her as her lips closed over it.
Her eyes danced. “What happens if I take more than my share?”
“I haven’t the remotest idea!”
He licked the spoon clean and joined in the laughter around them. The people pressed forward, all of them anxious to get a seat at the table where Mario and Ruth were sitting.
The meal that followed was a sumptuous affair. Ruth thought that the women must have spent the greater part of the day preparing it and was touched that they should take so much trouble. It was true that it was Mario’s money that had probably paid for it all, but it couldn’t pay for the love and esteem they had showered on him, and therefore on his wife, that night.
Two dishes in particular seemed to be essential to the feast: a thick kind of macaroni, called maccarruna di ziti, and stewed pork. Ruth was reminded immediately that both the Romans and the Etruscans had eaten pork at weddings and she liked the idea that the custom should have survived through so many centuries and changes. It made her feel more a part of the island of Mar
io’s people.
“When the wedding supper is held at home, plates of macaroni are sent to every household in the neighbourhood,” Mario told her. “At least that won’t be necessary tonight!”
Ruth glanced over to where Pearl was sitting. Her sister sat over the table, with her head drooping over hunched shoulders, picking at the food in front of her. She looked the picture of misery and Ruth felt uneasy at the sight. Sooner or later, if Pearl was unhappy, someone else would be called upon to pay the bill, and, just tonight, she didn’t want it to be her!
Mario’s glance followed Ruth’s eyes. “I’ll get Henry to dance with her as soon as the music begins,” he promised.
Ruth nodded. It wasn’t Henry that Pearl wanted to dance with, but she could hardly say so. She looked away and tried to forget all about her, but she couldn’t. Wherever she looked, there was Pearl, hunched up and miserable, and accusing Ruth in her misery because she had stolen Mario from her and was sitting beside him only because she was a cheat and a fraud.
And it was all true! Ruth gulped and choked. Mario cast her an anxious look and poured her out some wine.
“Why must you worry so much?” he asked her gently. “Do you think I cannot protect my wife?”
She shook her head. “No,” she admitted.
“Well then?” he prompted her.
“You might not want to,” she said diffidently.
He was plainly astonished. “Then you do not know Sicilians! The Verdecchio family is very old and very proud. Isn’t it enough for you to be one of us? Who would dare harm us?”
Ruth didn’t feel able to tell him. “I expect it’s the wine and the heat,” she said apologetically.
“We will call it that,” he agreed.
One of the other great landlords of the island, a man who had been to school with Mario and was a lifelong friend, rose to his feet, beating on the table for silence. “What happens now?” Ruth asked, startled.
Mario chuckled. “It’s as well your Italian isn’t very good,” he told her. “He’s about to give the canzuna!”
She was still puzzled. “What is that?”
“A kind of nuptial ballad,” he smiled. “This fellow is an expert, so beware!”
Ruth sat in a frozen silence until the last, lingering verses came to an end. Her Italian didn’t need to be very good, she thought, for her to gather the general sense of the improvised ballad. The look in the eyes of his hearers was more than enough to tell her that all she had ever heard about Sicily and Sicilians was true. They were delighted with Mario’s sudden romance. What better way was there to marry than to abduct one’s bride and refuse to send her back? This was the way it had always been! Had not Odysseus abducted Penelope from her father, Icarius, King of Sparta? And what had been Penelope’s reaction when her father had pursued them right into Ithaca? She had lowered her veil, signifying that she was going to follow her husband wherever he led! What a scandal it had been in those far off days when a man had lived with his wife’s people! Yet Penelope had set a world-wide fashion, followed by the new Signora Verdecchio that very day! A man’s strength should win him his bride, and Mario had done just that!
Happily, some of the innuendoes passed Ruth by, but the compliments to herself were subtle and pleased her. When the ballad came to a resounding close, she was flushed and, had she known it, lovely. When her features were still, she might look plain, but when her eyes lit with excitement, she had a warmth and vivacity which other, more beautiful, women often lack.
A violin began to scrape a tune on the other side of the square and within seconds all the musicians of the village had gathered together and started to play the traditional dances of ancient Sicily: the fasola, the puliciusa, the chiovu, and the papariana. There was hardly anyone left alive who knew the steps as they should have been danced, but nobody cared. At a wedding, nobody thought about these things!
Mario stood up and held out his hand to Ruth. She followed his lead, a little self-conscious at having to begin the dance. The cobbles of the square were uneven and hardly made for dancing, but it didn’t matter at all. Mario’s arms went round her and, following the intricate bars of music, they matched their steps together and crossed the square, at first alone, but then with a hundred other couples, young and old, following behind them.
Mario’s hands felt very strong on her back. He pulled her closer to him and she went gladly. She was no longer nervous or unhappy about the future. For this moment, she gave herself up to the exultant happiness of being his wife. Then the music came to an end and the moment with it.
“Signore, you may not monopolise the bride!” The laughing rebuke came between them and Mario reluctantly relinquished her to the next man in line. And so it went on, until Ruth felt she must have danced with every man there, as they each claimed the privilege of dancing with the bride.
She longed for Mario to come back and take her in his arms again, but he did not. Henry stood before her once, dancing stiffly to attention and barely in time to the music as they circled the square.
“I trust you will be very happy,” he said formally when the dance wore to a close.
“Thank you,” she answered demurely. She ought to say something more, she thought, but she could think of nothing that was appropriate. Her happiness lay in other hands than Henry’s. She searched the crowded square for a sight of Mario, half-hoping that he would come to her. And then she saw him and he was dancing with Pearl. And even as she looked, he bent his head and kissed her sister gently on the cheek.
CHAPTER EIGHT
RUTH tried to pretend to herself that she had not noticed. She turned back to Henry with an eager smile.
“Shall we dance the next one together too?” she asked him.
“If—if you like,” Henry agreed reluctantly. “But, to tell the truth, Mario has already warned me off!”
Ruth looked innocent. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” she said.
“Well, there was that day when I took you round the place,” he reminded her. “He didn’t like it!”
Ruth felt decidedly cross. “It wasn’t any of his business what I did!” she pointed out.
“He seemed to think it was!” Henry remembered. “And you weren’t married to him then! He’d probably throw me out of Sicily if I so much as look at you now!”
“I don’t believe it!” Ruth denied hotly. “If he felt like that, he wouldn’t agree to half the island dancing with me now, would he?”
“That is customary!” Henry returned. “But nobody has more than one dance with the bride, or hadn’t you noticed?”
“I can’t say that I have!” Ruth said ruefully. “My feet hurt!” she added.
“Well, there you are then!” Henry said thankfully. “Why don’t you sit down?”
“Because,” Ruth said flatly, “I don’t see why Mario should enjoy himself as he pleases if I can’t!”
Henry grinned reluctantly. “Facts of life,” he said.
“Oh, Henry!” Ruth exclaimed in despair.
“Don’t see why you should care,” Henry went on reasonably enough. “After all, he knew Pearl before he ever met you. It was a pretty low-down trick you played on him at that—”
Ruth turned on him angrily. “J didn’t do anything! All I did was come to Sicily to tell him what I thought of him for playing about with Pearl’s affections. And what happened? He forced me to marry him!”
“You know what?” Henry said wisely. “You’re jealous of Pearl!”
“I am not!”
“I think you are,” Henry went on imperturbably. “I’m not saying you haven’t good reason to be, because she—well, she has what it takes, hasn’t she? Anyone can see that.”
Ruth eyed him thoughtfully. “Do you mean that you’re attracted to her too?” she asked, almost eagerly.
He looked embarrassed. “She’s immensely pretty,” he said stiffly.
“Yes, isn’t she?” Ruth agreed. “And she’s having a miserable time really. Why don’t you
go and cheer her up?”
For a long moment he considered the matter. “I think I’d better not,” he said at last. “I don’t want to step on Mario’s toes twice over!”
“Damn Mario!” Ruth exploded.
“Yes, well, it’s all right for you,” he said. “He won’t do anything to you, but he was quite explicit as to what he would do to me! I wouldn’t like to risk it. He looks quite civilised and reasonable, but I never knew a Sicilian yet who was when it comes to women. They’ll stick a knife in you as soon as look at you if you so much as look at their sister!”
This gloomy thought seemed to depress him so much that Ruth hadn’t got the heart to argue with him.
“It isn’t fair,” she said.
But Henry wouldn’t have this. “I don’t think fairness comes into it,” he said objectively. “I rather admire them, actually. I mean, I couldn’t work myself up into a fury about nothing, if you know what I mean, but they do it with great verve and dash, don’t you think? I think if I were a woman I’d be rather flattered.”
Ruth missed her step, tripping over the cobbles. “Flattered? Henry, you don’t know what you’re talking about! Why should one be flattered by having to stay at home being grateful for the crumbs that fall one’s way?”
He looked embarrassed. “It isn’t as bad as that?”
“It seems every bit as bad as that to me!” she snapped.
“I can’t see why,” he objected. “If you want to know, I think you and Mario are very well matched!”
Ruth was shocked into silence. “I don’t go round kissing other people,” she muttered when the silence had become unbearable to her.
