Sicilian Stories

by Giovanni Verga

  Egli era davvero un brutto ceffo, torvo, ringhioso, e selvatico. Al mezzogiorno, mentre tutti gli altri operai della cava si mangiavano in crocchio la loro minestra, e facevano un po’ di ricreazione, egli andava a rincantucciarsi col suo corbello fra le gambe, per rosicchiarsi quel suo pane di otto giorni, come fanno le bestie sue pari; e ciascuno gli diceva la sua motteggiandolo, e gli tiravan dei sassi, finché il soprastante lo rimandava al lavoro con una pedata. Ei c’ingrassava fra i calci e si lasciava caricare meglio dell’asino grigio, senza osar di lagnarsi. Era sempre cencioso e lordo di rena rossa, ché la sua sorella s’era fatta sposa, e aveva altro pel capo: nondimeno era conosciuto come la bettonica per tutto Monserrato e la Carvana, tanto che la cava dove lavorava la chiamavano «la cava di Malpelo», e cotesto al padrone gli seccava assai. Insomma lo tenevano addirittura per carità e perché mastro Misciu, suo padre, era morto nella cava.

  Era morto così, che un sabato aveva voluto terminare certo lavoro preso a cottimo, di un pilastro lasciato altra volta per

  NASTY REDHEAD

  Nasty Redhead got his name from his red hair, and he had red hair because he was a spiteful, mean boy who gave every sign that he’d grow up to be a first-class scoundrel. So that everyone in the red sandpit called him Nasty Redhead, and even his mother, hearing him called nothing but that, had almost forgotten the name he’d been baptized with.

  Anyway, she only saw him on Saturday evenings, when he came home with his meager week’s pay. Since he was a nasty redhead, there was also reason to suspect he was secretly pocketing some of the money; being in doubt, and to avoid making a mistake, his older sister would give him a receipt in the form of blows on the head.

  But the owner of the pit had assured them that the pay was just that amount, and no more; and, truthfully, even that was too much for Nasty Redhead, a rotten little brat whom people didn’t want to have around, and whom everyone avoided like a mangy dog, “caressing” him with their feet whenever he got within range.

  He really was an ugly customer, surly, bad-tempered, and savage. At noon, while all the other pit hands were eating their chow in a group and relaxing a little, he would huddle in a corner with his basket between his legs, nibbling away at his week-old bread, just the way animals do (he was like an animal, in general); everyone would make some mocking remark to him, and they’d throw stones at him, until the foreman sent him back to work with a kick. He would thrive on the kicks, and he’d accept loads heavier than the gray donkey would carry, without daring to complain. He was always in tatters and filthy with red sand, because his sister had gotten engaged and had other things on her mind: all the same, he was extremely well known all over Monserrato and Carvana, so much so that the pit where he worked was called “Nasty Redhead’s pit,” which annoyed the owner no end. In short, he was kept on as an outright charity case, and because master Misciu, his father, had died in the pit.

  He had died when, one Saturday, he had tried to finish a job he had taken on for a flat-sum payment, working on a pillar-prop that had been

  sostegno nella cava, e che ora non serviva più, e s’era calcolato così ad occhio col padrone per 35 o 40 carra di rena. Invece mastro Misciu sterrava da tre giorni e ne avanzava ancora per la mezza giornata del lunedì. Era stato un magro affare e solo un minchione come mastro Misciu aveva potuto lasciarsi gabbare a questo modo dal padrone; perciò appunto lo chiamavano mastro Misciu Bestia, ed era l’asino da basto di tutta la cava. Ei, povero diavolaccio, lasciava dire e si contentava di buscarsi il pane colle sue braccia, invece di menarle addosso ai compagni, e attaccar brighe. Malpelo faceva un visaccio come se quelle soperchierie cascassero sulle sue spalle, e così piccolo com’era aveva di quelle occhiate che facevano dire agli altri: – Va’ là, che tu non ci morrai nel tuo letto, come tuo padre.

  Invece nemmen suo padre ci morì nel suo letto, tuttoché fosse una buona bestia. Zio Mommu lo sciancato, aveva detto che quel pilastro lì ei non l’avrebbe tolto per venti onze, tanto era pericoloso; ma d’altra parte tutto è pericoloso nelle cave, e se si sta a badare al pericolo, è meglio andare a fare l’avvocato.

  Adunque il sabato sera mastro Misciu raschiava ancora il suo pilastro che l’avemaria era suonata da un pezzo, e tutti i suoi compagni avevano accesa la pipa e se n’erano andati dicendogli di divertirsi a grattarsi la pancia per amor del padrone, e raccomandandogli di non fare la morte del sorcio. Ei, che c’era avvezzo alle beffe, non dava retta, e rispondeva soltanto cogli ah! ah! dei suoi bei colpi di zappa in pieno; e intanto borbottava: – Questo è per il pane! questo pel vino! questo per la gonnella di Nunziata! – e così andava facendo il conto del come avrebbe speso i denari del suo appalto – il cottimante!

  Fuori della cava il cielo formicolava di stelle, e laggiù la lanterna fumava e girava al pari di un arcolaio; ed il grosso pilastro rosso, sventrato a colpi di zappa, contorcevasi e si piegava in arco come se avesse il mal di pancia, e dicesse: ohi! ohi! anch’esso. Malpelo andava sgomberando il terreno, e metteva al sicuro il piccone, il sacco vuoto ed il fiasco del vino. Il padre che gli voleva bene, poveretto, andava dicendogli: «Tirati indietro!» oppure «Sta’ attento! Sta’ attento se cascano dall’alto dei sassolini o della rena grossa». Tutt’a un tratto non disse più nulla, e Malpelo, che si era voltato a riporre i ferri nel corbello, udì un rumore sordo e soffocato, come fa la rena allorché si rovescia tutta in una volta; ed il lume si spense.

  Quella sera in cui vennero a cercare in tutta fretta l’ingegnere che dirigeva i lavori della cava ei si trovava a teatro, e non avrebbe cambiato la sua poltrona con un trono, perch’era gran dilettante.

  left there earlier to support the pit but was now no longer needed. He had made a deal with the owner based on his own rough estimate that the prop would yield 35 or 40 cartloads of sand. But, instead, master Misciu had been excavating for three days and there was still enough left for half of Monday. It had been an unprofitable arrangement, and only a naive man like master Misciu could have let himself be fooled by the owner that way; it was for that very reason that he was called master Misciu the Dumb Animal, and served as beast of burden to the whole pit. He, poor devil, let them talk and was content to use the strength of his arms to earn his bread instead of to attack his fellow workers and start fights. Nasty Redhead would always make a horrible grimace, as if those outrages were being aimed at him; small as he was, he darted glances that made the others say: “You there, you won’t die in bed like your father!”

  But his father didn’t die in bed, either, despite being a serviceable animal. “Uncle” Mommu, the cripple, had said that he wouldn’t have removed that prop for twenty onze, it was so dangerous; but, on the other hand, everything is dangerous in sand pits, and if your mind dwells on danger, you’d do better to go and be a lawyer.

  And so, on Saturday evening master Misciu was still scraping away at his pillar after Angelus had already rung a while back; all his fellow workers had lit their pipes and gone away, telling him to have fun hanging around for the owner’s sake and advising him not to “die like a rat.” Being accustomed to jokes, he paid them no mind, answering merely with the “Ah! ah!” with which he accompanied the strong, well-aimed blows of his spade. Meanwhile he’d mutter: “This one is for the bread! This one for the wine! This one for Nunziata’s skirt!” And he kept on reckoning up how he’d spend the money from the flat-sum job he’d undertaken!

  Outside the pit the sky teemed with stars, and down there the lantern smoked and turned like a wool-winder. The thick red pillar, emptied out by spade strokes, twisted and bent into an arc as if it had a bellyache and as if it, too, were saying: “Ooh, ooh!” Nasty Redhead moved along clearing the terrain and putting the pickaxe, the empty sack, and the wine flask in a safe place. His father, poor fellow, who loved him, kept saying: “Move back!” or “Watch out! Watch out in case pebbles or coarse sand falls from above!” All of a sudden his remarks came to a stop, and Nasty Redhead, who had turned around to put the tools back in the basket, heard a dull, muffled sound, the kind that sand makes when it
subsides all at once; and the light went out.

  That evening when they hurriedly went to fetch the engineer who directed the work in the pit, he was at the theater and wouldn’t have given up his orchestra seat for a throne, because he was a great fan.

  Rossi rappresentava l’Amleto, e c’era un bellissimo teatro. Sulla porta si vide accerchiato da tutte le femminucce di Monserrato, che strillavano e si picchiavano il petto per annunziare la gran disgrazia ch’era toccata a comare Santa, la sola, poveretta, che non dicesse nulla, e sbatteva i denti quasi fosse in gennaio. L’ingegnere, quando gli ebbero detto che il caso era accaduto da circa quattro ore, domandò cosa venissero a fare da lui dopo quattro ore. Nondimeno ci andò con scale e torcie a vento, ma passarono altre due ore, e fecero sei, e lo sciancato disse che a sgomberare il sotterraneo dal materiale caduto ci voleva una settimana.

  Altro che quaranta carra di rena! Della rena ne era caduta una montagna, tutta fina e ben bruciata dalla lava, che si sarebbe impastata colle mani e dovea prendere il doppio di calce. Ce n’era da riempire delle carra per delle settimane. Il bell’affare di mastro Bestia!

  L’ingegnere se ne tornò a veder seppellire Ofelia; e gli altri minatori si strinsero nelle spalle, e se ne tornarono a casa ad uno ad uno. Nella ressa e nel gran chiacchierìo non badarono a una voce di fanciullo, la quale non aveva più nulla di umano, e strillava: – Scavate! scavate qui! presto! – To’! – disse lo sciancato – è Malpelo! – Da dove è venuto fuori Malpelo? – Se tu non fossi stato Malpelo, non te la saresti scappata, no! – Gli altri si misero a ridere, e chi diceva che Malpelo avea il diavolo dalla sua, un altro che avea il cuoio duro a mo’ dei gatti. Malpelo non rispondeva nulla, non piangeva nemmeno, scavava colle unghie colà nella rena, dentro la buca, sicché nessuno s’era accorto di lui; e quando si accostarono col lume gli videro tal viso stravolto, e tali occhiacci invetrati, e tale schiuma alla bocca da far paura; le unghie gli si erano strappate e gli pendevano dalle mani tutte in sangue. Poi quando vollero toglierlo di là fu un affar serio; non potendo più graffiare, mordeva come un cane arrabbiato e dovettero afferrarlo pei capelli, per tirarlo via a viva forza.

  Però infine tornò alla cava dopo qualche giorno, quando sua madre piagnuccolando ve lo condusse per mano; giacché, alle volte il pane che si mangia non si può andare a cercarlo di qua e di là. Anzi non volle più allontanarsi da quella galleria, e sterrava con accanimento, quasi ogni corbello di rena lo levasse di sul petto a suo padre. Alle volte, mentre zappava, si fermava bruscamente, colla zappa in aria, il viso torvo e gli occhi stralunati, e sembrava che stesse ad

  Rossi1 was playing Hamlet, and there was a huge crowd. At the door the engineer found himself besieged by all the poor women of Monserrato, who were keening and beating their breasts to announce the great misfortune that had befallen neighbor Santa; she, poor woman, was the only one who remained silent, her teeth chattering as if it were January. When the engineer was told that the accident had occurred about four hours earlier, he asked what they wanted of him four hours too late. All the same, he went to the spot with ladders and windproof torches, but another two hours went by, making six, and the cripple said that it would take a week to clear the underground passage of all the material that had fallen.

  Speak of forty cartloads of sand! A mountain of sand had fallen, fine sand that was thoroughly lava-burnt, sand that you could knead in your hands and that could absorb twice its weight in lime for making mortar. There was enough to fill carts for weeks. A clever deal master Animal had made!

  The engineer went back to see Ophelia buried; the other miners shrugged their shoulders and went home one by one. Amid the crowd and the loud conversations no one heeded a boy’s voice that had no human quality left in it, but was shrieking: “Dig! Dig here! Quick!” “What do you know,” said the cripple, “it’s Nasty Redhead!” “Where did Nasty Redhead come from?” “If you hadn’t been Nasty Redhead, you wouldn’t have escaped, no!” The others started laughing, one saying that Nasty Redhead had the devil on his side, another that he had nine lives like a cat. Nasty Redhead made no reply, he wasn’t even crying; he had been digging in the sand there, inside the excavation, so that no one had noticed him. When they approached him with a light, they saw that his face was so twisted, his eyes so wide and glazed, and his mouth so full of froth that he was frightening. His nails had been torn off, and were hanging from his hands full of blood. Then, when they tried to take him away from there, it was a tough job; he couldn’t scratch anymore, but he bit like a mad dog, and they had to grab him by the hair and pull him out by main strength.

  But finally, after several days, he returned to the pit, when his mother, whimpering, led him there by the hand; because, at times, you can’t run all around looking for the bread you have to eat. In fact, he didn’t want to go away from that very passage; he’d dig there doggedly, as if every basketful of sand were being removed from his father’s chest. At times while digging he’d halt suddenly, his spade in the air, his face sullen and his eyes bulging, seeming to be listening to

  __________

  1. The outstanding actor Ernesto Rossi (1827–1896).

  ascoltare qualche cosa che il suo diavolo gli susurrava negli orecchi, dall’altra parte della montagna di rena caduta. In quei giorni era più tristo e cattivo del solito, talmente che non mangiava quasi, e il pane lo buttava al cane, come se non fosse grazia di Dio. Il cane gli voleva bene, perché i cani non guardano altro che la mano la quale dà loro il pane. Ma l’asino grigio, povera bestia, sbilenca e macilenta, sopportava tutto lo sfogo della cattiveria di Malpelo; ei lo picchiava senza pietà, col manico della zappa, e borbottava: – Così creperai più presto!

  Dopo la morte del babbo pareva che gli fosse entrato il diavolo in corpo, e lavorava al pari di quei bufali feroci che si tengono coll’anello di ferro al naso. Sapendo che era malpelo, ei si acconciava ad esserlo il peggio che fosse possibile, e se accadeva una disgrazia, o che un operaio smarriva i ferri, o che un asino si rompeva una gamba, o che crollava un pezzo di galleria, si sapeva sempre che era stato lui; e infatti ei si pigliava le busse senza protestare, proprio come se le pigliano gli asini che curvano la schiena, ma seguitano a fare a modo loro. Cogli altri ragazzi poi era addirittura crudele, e sembrava che si volesse vendicare sui deboli di tutto il male che s’immaginava gli avessero fatto, a lui e al suo babbo. Certo ei provava uno strano diletto a rammentare ad uno ad uno tutti i maltrattamenti ed i soprusi che avevano fatto subire a suo padre, e del modo in cui l’avevano lasciato crepare. E quando era solo borbottava: «Anche con me fanno così! e a mio padre gli dicevano Bestia, perché ei non faceva così!». E una volta che passava il padrone, accompagnandolo con un’occhiata torva: «È stato lui, per trentacinque tarì!». E un’altra volta, dietro allo sciancato: «E anche lui! e si metteva a ridere! Io l’ho udito, quella sera!».

  Per un raffinamento di malignità sembrava aver preso a proteggere un povero ragazzetto, venuto a lavorare da poco tempo nella cava, il quale per una caduta da un ponte s’era lussato il femore, e non poteva far più il manovale. Il poveretto, quando portava il suo corbello di rena in spalla, arrancava in modo che sembrava ballasse la tarantella, e aveva fatto ridere tutti quelli della cava, così che gli avevano messo nome Ranocchio; ma lavorando sotterra, così ranocchio com’era, il suo pane se lo buscava; e Malpelo gliene dava anche del suo, per prendersi il gusto di tiranneggiarlo, dicevano.

  Infatti egli lo tormentava in cento modi. Ora lo batteva senza un motivo e senza misericordia, e se Ranocchio non si difendeva, lo picchiava più forte, con maggiore accanimento, e gli diceva: – To’! Bestia! Bestia sei! Se non ti senti l’animo di difenderti da me che non

  something that his devil was whispering in his ear from the other side of the mountain of fallen sand. During those days he was meaner and more malevolent than usual, so much so that he hardly ate, but would throw his bread to the dog, just as if it weren’t “the gift of God.” The dog loved him, because dogs don’t look at anything but the hand that gives them bread. But the gray donkey, poor ani
mal, misshapen and emaciated, bore the whole brunt of Nasty Redhead’s viciousness; the boy would beat him mercilessly with the spade handle, muttering: “This way, you’ll croak sooner!”

  After his father’s death, the devil seemed to have gotten into him, and he did his work like those fierce buffaloes that have to be controlled by an iron nose-ring. Aware that he was a “nasty redhead,” he resigned himself to be the worst possible kind of one; whenever an accident happened, or a workman couldn’t find his tools, or a donkey broke a leg, or part of a passage fell in, everyone always knew it was his doing. And indeed he took the beatings without protesting, just as donkeys do, bending their backs, though they continue to behave just as they like. To the other boys he was downright cruel; it seemed as if he wanted to take out on the weak all the wrongs that he imagined had been done to himself and his father. Surely he took a strange pleasure in recalling, one by one, all the bad treatments and outrages that his father had undergone, and the way his father’s fellow workers had let him die like a dog. When he was alone, he’d mutter: “They do the same to me! And they called my father Animal because he didn’t act that way!” Once, when the owner went by, he followed him with surly eyes that said: “It was him, for a paltry thirty-five tarì!” And, another time, as he followed the cripple: “It was him, too! And he started laughing! I heard him, that evening!”

  As a refining touch to his malevolence he seemed to have taken under his wing a poor young boy who had recently come to work in the pit. In a fall from a scaffold he had dislocated a thighbone, and could no longer work in construction. When the poor boy carried a basket of sand on his shoulder, he hobbled so badly he looked as if he were dancing a tarantella, and he had made everyone in the pit laugh, so that they had dubbed him Frog. But frog as he was, he was earning his bread by working underground, and Nasty Redhead even gave him some of his—to acquire a taste for lording it over him, they said.