‘The house won’t run away. All you need to do is keep your eye on it. Everyone keeps their eyes on things that matter to them.’ And once he added:
‘Aren’t you going to marry off your Mena now?’
‘I’ll marry her off when God wills,’ replied padron ’Ntoni; ‘if it were up to me I’d marry her off to-morrow.’
‘If I were you I’d give her to Alfio Mosca, he’s a good boy, honest and hard-working; and he’s looking for a wife all over the place, that’s his only fault. Now they say he’ll come back to the village, and I’d say he’s tailor-made for your grand-daughter.’
‘Didn’t they say he wanted to take your niece la Vespa?’
‘You too!’ Dumb bell began to shout. ‘Who says so? That’s all gossip; he wants to get his hands on my niece’s smallholding, that’s what he wants. A fine business, eh? What would you say if I sold your house to someone else?’
Here Piedipapera, who was always hanging around the square, and as soon as two or three people were having a discussion he tried to muscle in to act the broker, promptly poked his nose in as well.
‘Now la Vespa has Brasi Cipolla on her hands, since the marriage with St. Agatha went up in smoke, I’ve seen them with my own eyes, going together along the path by the stream; I’d gone there to look for two smooth stones for the plaster for that leaking trough. And she was acting so coy, the little flirt! with the corners of her handkerchief over her mouth, and saying to him:
‘By this blessed medal I’ve got here, it’s not true. Pooh! You make me sick when you talk to me about that doting old uncle of mine!’ She was talking about you, zio Crocifisso; and she let him touch her medal, and you know where she keeps it!’ Dumb bell was acting dumb, and shaking his head, dumbfounded. Piedipapera went on:
‘And Brasi said: ‘So what shall we do?’ ‘I don’t know what you’re going to do,’ answered la Vespa, ‘but if it is true that you love me, you won’t leave me in this state, because when I don’t see you my heart feels as if it’s split in two, like two segments of orange, and if they marry you to someone else I swear by this blessed medal I have here, that you’ll see something serious happen in this village, and I’ll throw myself into the sea with all my clothes.’ Brasi scratched his head, and went on:
‘As far as I’m concerned, I want nothing more; but what will my father do?’
‘Let’s leave the village,’ she said, ‘as if we were man and wife, and when the damage is done, your father will have to say yes. He has no other sons and he doesn’t know who to leave his property to.”
‘Pretty goings on, eh,’ Zio Crocifisso started to shriek, forgetting that he was deaf.
‘That witch has the devil tweaking her under her skirts! And to think that they wear the holy medal of the Virgin round their necks! Padron Fortunato will have to be told, and no two ways about it. We have our standards, don’t we? If padron Fortunato doesn’t keep a watch out, that witch of a niece of mine will quite simply rob him of his son, poor thing!’
And he ran off down the street like a mad man.
‘I beg of you, don’t say that I saw them,’ shouted Piedipapera, in pursuit. ‘I don’t want to put myself in the wrong with that viper of a niece of yours.’
In an instant zio Crocifisso had the whole village topsy turvy, and he even wanted to send the guards and don Michele to put la Vespa into custody; after all, she was his niece, and it was his duty to take care of her; and don Michele was paid for that, to watch over decent folks’ interests. People enjoyed seeing padron Cipolla running this way and that with his tongue lolling, and they relished the fact that that great ninny of a son of his should have got tangled up with la Vespa, while it seemed that not even Victor Emanuel’s daughter was good enough for him, because he had jilted the Malavoglia girl without even so much as a by your leave.
But there had been no black handkerchief for Mena, when Brasi jilted her; indeed now she had started to sing again while she was at her loom, or helping to salt anchovies on fine summer evenings. This time St. Francis really had sent good luck. There had been an anchovy season such as had never been seen, real bounty for the whole village; the boats returned laden, with the men singing and waving their caps from afar, to signàl to the women as they waited with their babies in their arms.
The retailers came in crowds from the town, on foot, on horseback, by cart, and Piedipapera didn’t have time to scratch his head. Towards evensong there was a positive market on the seashore, and shouts and racketting of all kinds. In the Malavoglia’s courtyard the light stayed on till midnight, almost like a party. The girls sang, and the neighbours came to help, because there was enough for everyone to earn something, and there were four rows of barrels all ready lined up along the wall, with their stones weighing down on top.
‘This is when I’d like Zuppidda here,’ exclaimed ’Ntoni, sitting on the stones so that he too could make weight, with his hands under his armpits.
‘Now you can see that we too are doing all right, and we don’t give a hang about don Michele and don Silvestro!’
The retailers pursued padron ’Ntoni waving their money. Piedipapera tugged him by the sleeve, saying to him:
‘Now is the time to make a profit.’ But padron ’Ntoni held out. ‘We’ll talk about it at All Saints; then the anchovies will get a better price. No, I don’t want any deposits, I don’t want to tie my hands! I know how things go.’ And he brought down his fist on the barrels, saying to his grandchildren:
‘This represents your house, and Mena’s dowry. ‘A man’s home is his castle.’ St. Francis has granted my prayers and allowed me to close my eyes content.’
At the same time they had laid in all the purchases for the winter, grain, beans and oil; and they had given the deposit to massaro Filippo for that bit of wine they had on Sundays.
Now they were no longer so worried; father-in-law and daughter-in-law resumed their counting of the money in the stocking, of the barrels lined up in the courtyard, and made their calculations to see how much was still needed for the house. Maruzza knew that money sou by sou, the money for the oranges and the eggs, what Alessi had brought back from the railway, what Mena had earned at her loom, and she would say that there was some from everybody.
‘Didn’t I say that the five fingers of the hand have to pull together to row a good oar?’ padron ’Ntoni would repeat. ‘We’re nearly there now.’ And then he would sit in a corner conferring with la Longa, and glancing towards St. Agatha who, poor thing, was only talked about by other people ‘because she had neither mouth nor will of her own’ and simply concentrated on working, singing to herself as birds do in their nests before dawn; and only when she heard the carts go by, in the evening, did she think of compare Alfio Mosca’s cart, which was going round the world, though there was no guessing quite where; and then she would stop singing.
Throughout the village all you could see was people with their nets around their necks, and women sitting on doorsteps pounding tiles; and there was a row of barrels in front of each door, so that just to walk down the street was a treat for the nose, and right from a mile outside the village you could sense that St. Francis had sent bounty; people talked of nothing except pilchards and brine, even in the chemist’s shop where they set the world to rights after their own fashion; and don Franco wanted to teach them a new method of salting anchovies, which he had read about in books. When they laughed in his face, he started to shout:
‘You’re just like cattle, you are! and you want progress! and the republic!’ People turned their backs on him, and left him there shrieking like a loon. Ever since the world began anchovies have been made using salt and ground tiles.
‘The usual story! That’s how my grandfather did it,’ the chemist continued to shout after them. ‘All you need to be donkeys is a tail! What can you do with people like this? and they make do with mastro Croce Callà, that nodding idiot, because he has always been the mayor; and they’d be quite capable of telling you that they don’t want a republic
because they’ve never had one!’ He then repeated all this to don Silvestro, in connection with certain discussions they had had in private, although don Silvestro hadn’t uttered, it’s true, but he had listened intently. And it was known that he was on bad terms with mastro Croce’s Betta, because she wanted to act the mayor, and her father had allowed himself to be led by the nose, so that to-day he said one thing and to-morrow another, just as Betta had wanted. And all he could say was:
‘I’m the mayor, by Jove!’ as his daughter had taught him; and she would rest her hands on her hips when talking with don Silvestro, saying reproachfully:
‘Do you think they will always let you lead that poor dear father of mine by the nose, to do your bidding and guzzle up the lot of them? because even donna Rosolina is going round saying that you’re gnawing away at the whole village! But you won’t eat me, because I’m not obsessed with marriage, and I look after my father’s affairs.’
Don Franco declared that without new men you couldn’t achieve anything, and it was pointless to go running to the big wigs, like padron Cipolla, who told you that by the grace of God he was quite well set up and didn’t need to act the unpaid public servant at all; or like massaro Filippo who thought of nothing except his smallholdings and his vines, and who paid attention only when there was talk of putting a tax on wine must.
‘Old-fashioned folk,’ don Franco concluded with his beard in the air. ‘People at home with cliques and factions. In this modern age you need new men.’ ‘We’ll send off to the kiln for another batch,’ quipped don Giammaria.
‘If things went as they should, we’d be swimming in gold,’ said don Silvestro; and that was all he would say.
‘You want to know what we need?’ said the chemist, in a low voice, casting a glance towards the back of the shop. ‘We need people like us!’
And after having whispered this secret in their ear, he ran on tiptoe to stand at the doorway, with his beard in the air, rocking to and fro on his short legs with his hands behind his back.
‘Fine people they would be,’ muttered don Giammaria. ‘You’ll find as many as you need in Favignana, or the other prisons, without having to go to any kiln. Go and tell Tino Piedipapera, or that drunkard Rocco Spatu, they are all in favour of the ideas of your time! All I know is that I’ve been robbed of twenty five onze, and nobody has gone to Favignana! Typical of these new times and new men!’
At that moment the Signora came into the shop, with her knitting in her hand, and the chemist promptly swallowed what he was about to say, and carried on muttering into his beard, while pretending to look at the people who were going to the fountain. At last, seeing that everyone had fallen suddenly so silent, don Silvestro said loudly and clearly that the only new men were padron ’Ntoni’s ’Ntoni and Brasi Cipolla, because he wasn’t in awe of the chemist’s wife.
‘You keep out of this,’ the Signora then rebuked her husband; ‘it’s not your business.’
‘I’m not saying anything,’ replied don Franco, smoothing his beard.
Now that he had the upper hand, with don Franco’s wife there, so that he could throw stones from behind the wall, the parish priest amused himself by irritating the chemist.
‘A fine lot, your new men! Do you know what Brasi Cipolla is doing, now that his father is after him to pull his ears because of la Vespa? He’s scuttling around hiding all over the place like a naughty schoolboy. Last night he slept in the sacristy; and yesterday my sister had to send him a plate of maccheroni when he was hiding in the chicken run because the great idiot hadn’t eaten for twenty four hours and was all over little chickens! And ’Ntoni Malavoglia, he’s another fine new man! His grandfather and all the rest of them sweat away to get back on their feet again; but whenever he can skive off with an excuse, he goes sauntering round the village, standing around outside the wine shop, just like Rocco Spatu.’
The council dissolved as it always did, without concluding anything, because everyone kept to their own opinions, and furthermore on that occasion the Signora was there, so that don Franco couldn’t give vent to his feelings in his own way.
Don Silvestro was cackling away, and as soon as the conversation broke up he too went off, with his hands behind his back and his head teeming with thoughts.
‘Just look at don Silvestro, he’s so much more sensible than you,’ the Signora said to her husband, while he was shutting up shop. ‘He’s a man with conviction, and if he has something to say he shuts it inside himself and doesn’t utter a word. The whole village knows he swindled twenty five onze out of donna Rosolina, but no one will say as much to his face, not to a man like that! But you will always be the kind of fool who can’t mind his own business; one of those asses who bray at the moon! a great chatterbox!’ ‘But what have I done, damn it?’ whinged the chemist, walking up the stairs behind her holding the lamp. Did she know what he had said? He did not usually venture on his endless ramblings in front of her. All he knew was that don Giammaria had gone off crossing himself over the square and muttering that they were a fine race of new men, like that ’Ntoni Malavoglia, ambling round the village at this hour!’
CHAPTER XI
Once, on his amblings, ’Ntoni Malavoglia had seen two young men who had set sail a few years earlier from Riposto in search of their fortunes, and who were now coming back from Trieste, or perhaps Alexandria, the one in Egypt, anyhow from a long way off, and they were spending at the wine shop more freely than compare Naso, or padron Cipolla; they would sit astride the tables and tell jokes to the girls, and they had silk handkerchieves in every jacket pocket; so that the whole village was in a state of ferment.
The only people at home that evening when he returned were the women, who were changing the brine in the barrels, and chatting in groups with the neighbours, sitting on the stones; and meanwhile they were passing the time by telling stories and riddles, just about good for the children who were listening wide-eyed, half-dazed with sleep. Padron ’Ntoni was listening too, keeping an eye on the dripping of the brine and nodding approval at those who told the best stories, and at the children who showed as much judgement as the adults in explaining the riddles.
‘The really good story,’ ’Ntoni then said, ‘Is the one about the foreigners who arrived to-day, with so many silk handkerchieves it hardly seems possible; and they don’t even look at their money when they take it out of their pockets. They’ve travelled half the world, they say, and Trezza and Aci Castello put together are nothing in comparison. I’ve seen as much too; and out there people spend their time enjoying themselves all day long, instead of sitting around salting anchovies; and the women are dressed in silk and laden with more rings than the Madonna of Ognina, and they go around the streets stealing all the handsome sailors.’
The girls blinked, and padron ’Ntoni too pricked up his ears, as when the children explained the riddles:
‘When I’m grown up,’ said Alessi, who was carefully emptying the barrels and passing them to Nunziata, ‘If I get married, I want to marry you.’
‘There’s plenty of time,’ said Nunziata, very gravely.
‘There must be big cities like Catania; the sort of place where you get lost if you don’t know them; and you feel stifled always walking between two rows of houses, without seeing sea or countryside.’
‘Cipolla’s grandfather has been there too,’ added padron ’Ntoni; ‘and he got rich there. But he didn’t come back to Trezza, and he just sends money to his children.’
‘Poor thing,’ said Maruzza.
‘Let’s see if you can guess this one,’ said Nunziata; ‘two shiners, two prickers, four hooves and one licker.’
‘An ox,’ said Lia quick as a flash.
‘You already knew it, you got there so fast,’ said her brother.
‘I’d like to go there too, like padron Cipolla’s father, and get rich,’ added ’Ntoni.
‘You leave all that be,’ said his grandfather, pleased because of the barrels he could see in the courtyard.
&nb
sp; ‘Now there are anchovies to be salted.’ But la Longa looked at her son with a heavy heart, and said nothing, because every time there was talk of leaving, a picture of those had had never returned loomed up before her eyes.
The rows of barrels were lining up nicely against the wall, and as each one was put in its place, with the stones on top, padron ’Ntoni would say:
‘There’s another one ready! And by All Saints’ Day they’ll all mean money.’
Then ’Ntoni laughed, like padron Fortunato when you talked to him about other people’s property.
‘Big money,’ he said scathingly; and he went back to thinking about those two foreigners who were going hither and thither, and stretching out on the wine shop benches, and ringing their change in their pockets. His mother looked at him as though she could read his thoughts; and the jokes they were telling in the courtyard didn’t raise a smile in her.
‘The person who eats these anchovies,’ began cousin Anna, ‘will be the son of a crowned king, as fair as the sun, who will walk for a year, a month and a day, with his white horse; until he arrives at an enchanted fountain of milk and honey; there, getting down from his horse to drink, he will find my daughter Mara’s thimble, carried there by the fairies when she was filling her jug; and as he drinks out of Mara’s thimble, the king’s son will fall in love with her; and he will walk for another year, a month and a day until he arrives in Trezza, and the white horse will take him right to the wash place, where my daughter Mara will be rinsing out the washing; and the king’s son will marry her and put the ring on her finger; and then he will put her on the back of his white horse, and carry her off to his kingdom.’
Alessi was listening open-mouthed, as though he could see the king’s son on the white horse, carrying Anna’s Mara behind him.
I Malavoglia Page 18
