Lead Petals

by Quelli di ZEd

  12

  Burnt by the sun, the countries rippled him blown by the wind as the waves of a sea of yellow oil. The green mosconis besieged goats and sheep. The equine flies didn't disdain, but they preferred mules, horses and donkeys. At times they decided to also pinch the men taking himself/herself/itself away small edges of skin. They tore that bit of meat and they flew away frightened by the cry that it followed. Boricheddu Macis had everywhere crusts of blood. He/she slept with the livestock for fear that thieves and foxes they halved him/it to him. Its odor of rotten cheese perhaps confused the equine flies, that didn't give him truce exchanging him/it for a male sample of its same beasts.

  «Look! You look!» Luigi exclaimed, attracting the attention of his/her companions toward the fund of the avenue. They were direct toward a shed furnished with a bench of large tables and some botchy bench: their cafeteria, very different from the places that to Montevecchio they entertained the meals of the employees.

  Emilio, Pinu Froi and Sandrinu Spada lengthened the look. A barrier of fig trees of India served as windbreak to a vine of black grape. The vivacious colors of the fig trees jumped on the thorny green scenography of the fat plants. Two children stopped close to the plants and three young German soldiers they observed them handle a reed. A little anymore in there, also the colonel Basthuberr fixed incuriosito the scene. One of the small ones were Coccoreddu and it brought a pair of pantalonis dirtied to three quarters of leg: it was blood and it strained up to his ankles. The pantalonis had been sewn by his/her mother that, working in the laveria, you/he/she had succeeded in scrounging some jute cloth. It was a material used for the packing of the mineral ones destined to the foundry of St. Gavino and abrasive decidedly for the skin. Marisedda, the mother of Coccoreddu, as all the other mothers it knew of the consequences caused by the rubbing of the jute on the skin. There were not unfortunately, neither money and neither cloth mettibile, so you/he/she had chosen that would have been better some abrasion rather than to turn out with the culo of. Then Coccoreddu didn't bring the underpantses and the contact between the jute and his/her groins you/he/she was directed; they were slashed in hot way. It strove us as he was able. Dark scars dyed the inside thigh of every child of Montevecchio, all they wore the pantalonis of jute cloth. Tzia Veneranda, that to Guspini once had one" potacaria" (today pharmacy), it welcomed all in the house trying to take care of those lacerations exploiting the grasses of the mountain. It drew the old infusions of his/her/their grandmother to use as palliatives, more effective for the mind that for the body. Tzia Ninna, to disinfect his/her nephew sacrificed some brandy instead, dissipating the only residual patrimony from the beginning of the war. If tziu Calloneddu had discovered him/it, her husband, to avoid to waste the brandy if you/he/she would be drunk her/it all of a breath. As it did with the myrtle and the distillate of elder to the circle dopolavoro.

  Bobo Atzeni, one of his/her/their children, had succeeded in inserting a flat stone in the extremity of the reed, that had opened in four small sticks forming a joint. Emilio knew well Bobo Atzeni. Giuseppino, when it was still alive, it often returned home with the livid ones, signs of his/her overbearances. But the nature of worse Bobo was vivacious. Emilio had never succeeded in bringing grudge toward that child. With his/her misdoings, Bobo had given him fat laughters: as the time when you/he/she had wound a merda of dog inside a piece of paper and you/he/she had set on fire him after having knocked the front door of house of August Taris, one of the leccaculos of the ingegner Minghetti. August Taris was gone out and you/he/she had tried to extinguish the fire stamping on the sheet of paper, unaware of the gives that it contained. The fire had extinguished him, but its house had stinked for weeks of the merda of dog left around by its shoes.

  Bobo Atzeni tightened a piece of string around the part pulped of the reed to stop the stone to the inside. He/she knows cannuga it was ready: it dealt with an object conceived for suffering the fig trees of India the tallest plants without filling him with the annoying microspines of the fruit.

  Coccoreddu dressed again the inside of a basket with of the leaves of life and with mastery he/she filled him/it with fig trees of India. It was well careful to detach the fruits with the shoulders to the wind, not to be invested by the storm of microspine that you/they fluttered to the solo touch of the plant with he/she knows cannuga. Bobo Atzeni lifted the eyes toward the miners and made the occhiolino; it had of of it certain designed one of his.

  Luigi turned to the companions. «What scoundrels, are organizing a beautiful scherzetto to the Germans.»

  Emilio and the other ones had understood: in Germany they didn't grow the fig trees of India and probably it was the first time that the soldiers saw those plants. and that fruits.

  Bobo Atzeni drew near to the two soldiers with the full basket of green fig trees of India, red, oranges and yellows; from his/her face an affected smile shone through. It lengthened the basket offering the fruit. Also the colonel Basthuberr drew near to the basket. Luigi and the other miners snickered. Emilio no, it had in head other worries.

  The soldiers didn't make him pray. Their stomacis bubbled for the hunger as those of the miners. They grabbed a fig tree of India every, of those orange that had the most appetizing air, and they voraciously him/it. Luigi's laughters, Pinu Froi and Sandrinu Spada melted him with those of Bobo Atzeni and Coccoreddu. Bobo Atzeni recovered the basket with the rapidity of an astore that planes on a snake and, followed by Coccoreddu, taken to race toward the source of he/she Knows it will Lose.

  The soldiers started to spit shreds and seeds of fig trees of India. Too late, by now they had mouth, language and completely loaded hands of thin and impossible thorns to raise. Unfortunately for them they didn't know but the fig trees of India they went first peeled. In a few hours you/they would have had the lips as the culo of a donkey and the language so swollen from not to be able to be contained in mouth. More they got excited and the thorns passed anymore from the hands to their face. They would be reformed for some days of that idea of hearty meal. The inflamed pomfis that the thorns surrounded would have remembered theirs that the fig trees of India had to be peeled.

  The colonel Basthuberr was escaped to the trap of the small scoundrels; you/he/she was made suspicious seeing the immovable miners that fixed the scene snickering. You/he/she had left that his/her boys served as guinea-pigs and you/he/she had done well. With some dry grass brushed two fig trees of India that had fallen from the basket during the escape of his/her/their children. After having polished up the fruits from the thorns, he/she picked them up in hand and with a nothcy dagger it removed the peel of it. It tasted the juicy pulp and it swallowed without spitting the seeds. It also peeled the second fruit and it handed him/it to the three soldiers that strabuzzarono the eyes and they quickly shook the head: you/they would not have eaten fig trees of India anymore for the rest of their life.

  Bobo Atzeni and Coccoreddu already traveled with some pitchers in shoulder up to the source of he/she Knows it will Lose. You/they would have filled her with some fresh water to destine to the mines. The workers of the shop of well San Antonio compensated them with a good tip. His/her children crossed barefoot the narrow path disseminated of lentischio and thorny broom. The scratches inflicted by the thorns of the brooms and the fingernails of the feet detached because of the stones constituted a real bulletin of war. The result of their joke you/they were deserved, some laughter that made to feel I lead the cramps to the stomach.

  The miners took back the walk toward the shed, the break lunch lasted only a hour. Luigi gave an affectionate spallata to Emilio. «Thing you have? I see you thoughtful!»

  Emilio. «I/you/they are worried for Franco. He/she has been crying for two days and even the doctor Saints you/he/she has succeeded in understanding what I/you/he/she have. When they are so small is it a country house, don't they speak and who understands them?»

  Sandrinu Spada had one theory of his and exposed her/it. «According to me, your child Franco is victim de
him ogu liau!»

  Emilio launched him an occhiataccia. «I don't believe in the hex!»

  Sandrinu tried to make sense of himself/herself/themselves. «You ogu liau is not really a hex. It is an intersection of looks, sometimes unintentional, among a child and some people that possess a particular energy in their eyes, and that they don't for the most part know even to have.»

  The face of Emilio darkened him. «I don't believe in these superstitions however. Negromanti, wizard and wizards have never enchanted me.»

  «It looks that many children are dead for him ogu liau. They start to cry and a febbriciattola grows more always. To try doesn't cost anything. If well it won't do, of certain even badly!»

  Emilio stopped him in the middle of the avenue. «But to try to do what?»

  «You could commission him àcua medal for Franco!» This time you/he/she had been the voice of Luigi to speak.

  «I should make to raise the hex to my child from some witch?» Its tone was sarcastic.

  Luigi seemed offended and lifted the voice. «You àcua at times medal works. I have seen with my eyes of his/her/their children stop crying instantly, after the rite.»

  Emilio was about to tell Luigi to be marveled of him that he/she believed in those stronzates that tell him to frighten the bad children. Then it jammed, struck by the wave of bump of his/her thoughts. Every life, every episode, every gesture they were the fruit of a choice precedent, of a done thing or not sort what the existence of that person had misled in one determined direction. The last four years you/he/she had given to wonder what would have happened that day, if instead of waiting that the pitcher had been full you/he/she was turned first to look where his/her child was Giuseppino. You/he/she had wondered as you/he/she would have been Giuseppino now if that day had left him/it in the house with his/her/their grandmother rather than to bring him/it with itself. Emilio had destroyed his/her nights turning himself/herself/itself under the covers and asking himself/herself/itself because you/he/she had looked for his/her child in the middle of the wood, when instead it was fallen in the hole of a clearing. He/she didn't want to also spend the next years to wonder as you/he/she would have gone if you/he/she had made to make himself/herself/themselves àcua medal to Franco. «Who is that it completes the rite de him àcua medal?» it hastened to ask.

  Sandrinu jammed. «There are some elderly ones that do him/it with the wheat or the salt, but I know that the more effectiveness it is tzia Mariuccia Onali, of that an ancient medal uses holy Barbaric. To me you/he/she has made to fall the leeks from the hands.»

  Luigi credette to have misunderstood the words of Sandrinu. «How the leeks?»

  «Yes, the leeks! Some years ago was filled me the hands of annoying leeks. I approached me from Mariuccia Onali that it tightened me around every bulge of the thread to sew. It gave then me the assignment to bury a bit of meat wound in a bundle of cloth for every leek that I had on the hands. It told me that when the meat would be putrefied the leeks you/they would have done him/it also wound in the thread by to sew. In a week my hands returned smooth as the oil of lentischio and the leeks you/they had decayed underground as the meat.»

  Emilio twisted the mouth and made a doubtful verse. «You could bring me after the job from this Mariuccia?»

  «I will bring you us me!» it promised Luigi. «It is all right?»

  Smiled Emilio. «Is all right! It is all right!»

  That same evening they came in front of the house of Mariuccia Onali. After the end of the turns you/they had employed a two weeks of minutes to arrive us. The residence was situated in one of the narrow and tortuous alleys that were detached by avenue Littorio. It was a stumpy cube of raw bricks, with a front door in wood that arranged him to egual distance from two finestrelles similar to the loopholes of a tower. Luigi knocked. Emilio held in hand a small photo of Franco in black and white. A few months had been gone off from the doctor Saints to try its multilith room of the thirties before: a photographic car, so much to change American, similar to an accordion. You/he/she had succeeded in adding the multilith to his/her collection thanks to the help of Cece Mastriu, one that would have succeeded in also retrieving the horns of the devil for two liras.

  Luigi had told Emilio that Mariuccia Onali, to perform his/her rite, needed something that belonged to the person to recover. Emilio always brought with itself the photo of Franco and you/he/she had decided to use that.

  From the front door a minuscule vecchina came and out completely dressed of black. It had the head hooded by a handkerchief from which it escaped some silvered ringlet; it was held standing with a baton of knotty wood.

  «Good morning, lady!» they greeted her/it both.

  «Oh, I have stopped being lady twenty-nine years ago, when my husband is dead. Call me pure tzia Mariuccia, so much I am the aunt of all to Montevecchio» it said the old one with an odd irony for a witch, he/she thought Emilio.

  They followed the woman inside the residence and they were forced to stoop himself/herself/themselves not to beat the head in the lintel of the front door, as much it was his/her lowness. A thin faint light put them in subjection, almost as the objects that furnished that stay: fonts, rosaries in wood, pictures of the Madonna and suffering Jesus Cristo. Claudicando, the vecchina left the stay and entered the kitchen, a room of six meters squares with the belief, the table and the chairs paintings of celestial. The room was on the other façade of the house and leaned out on the courtyard. Luigi and Emilio entered leaving the dark as only guest of the stay. The new environment was decidedly more hospitable. A door and two great opened wide windows were puddles of light that extended him in the room and they dipped every thing in a silvered lavacro.

  Tzia Mariuccia arranged him. «Then, thing has happened? »

  Luigi took a seat. Emilio was standing. «My child Franco cries from two days and me with my wife we don't know thing anymore to do!»

  «You have brought something of him? An object? Of the hair? Suits? In short, anything!»

  «I have brought a photo!» Emilio responded, leaning her/it on the celestial table.

  «Perfect!» tzia Mariuccia exclaimed. It briskly contemplated the photo tightening her/it with hands that trembled as leaves it shook from the wind. «Your child is very small!»

  «Yes, it is only one year old!»

  Luigi listened without interfering. Tzia Mariuccia stared at astute Emilio in the eyes. «Tell me a thing, it is not that Vitalia Mura has seen by chance your child?»

  Emilio corrucciò the forehead. «Beh, Vitalia Mura works as grading machine with my wife Maria, you/he/she could be also that has seen Franco in these days.»

  Tzia Mariuccia struck with a fist the table, letting Luigi that sat nearby her jolting. «I would have sworn there, there that has an unbelievable power in the eyes. To cross the look with her is as to do him/it with the devil!»

  Emilio and Luigi listened abducted; they hung from the lips of the old one.

  «You don't have idea of how much people come from me to make himself/herself/themselves get out of himself/herself/themselves ogu liau of Vitalia Mura. You won't believe it, but they say that when she appreciates some flowers, to the next day they are so dry to seem burnt. To house of my sister you/he/she has made to dry a splendid vase of tulips. Accursed is!» And with that malaugurios he/she closed the soliloquy to begin the rite de him àcua medal. He/she filled with water a cup of glass and it positioned her/it above the photo of the small Franco. From the small pocket of his/her black giacchetta it unthread a pendant with hung a medal raffigurante the face of holy Barbaric: it was an object that had been handed down her by generations, together with the ability to raise the hex. Emilio and Luigi saw her/it shake the pendant above the cup. With the movement of the medal it traced in continuation of the crosses and it recited is brebus, an intersection among prayers of church and macumbe from the incomprehensible meaning. When dipped the medal in the water of the glass, thousand of little bubbles were formed that they detached
from the fund and they went to break himself/herself/themselves on the medal. It repeated the immersion some times, with a face that showed off a sample of scary grimaces similar to mamuthones masks of the carnivals barbaricini. «My Santa Barbara! Do you see all those little bubbles?»

  Emilio and Luigi nodded overpowered by the amazement.

  «More little bubbles are formed and more he is powerful ogu liau that has been launched!» he/she explained tzia Mariuccia.

  It continued to dip to go-go the medal and in few minutes the little bubbles they started to decrease, up to that they didn't stop entirely. The rite de him àcua medal was concluded and him ogu liau, second tzia Mariuccia, was enfeebled.

  When they went out of the house of the old one, Emilio looked at perplexed Luigi. «You say that it will work?»

  Luigi widened the braccias. «Soon you will know him/it!»

  Emilio made reentry to Guspini. It opened the door of house and brims the ear: it didn't feel anything. Alarmed, it entered the bedroom and he/she saw his/her wife that was slope with in arm the small Franco. The terror that something could have happened tightened him the throat as a snake. «Thing has happened?»

  Maria turned. Flowed Emilio the smile in his/her sweet face. Franco didn't cry anymore. Emilio kissed him/it on the forehead before it fell asleep worn-out. «We still have that half form of pecorino?» it whispered then to Maria.

  «Yes, certain, it is in the belief» she responded cradling the small one.

  «Well! Then I pick her/it up, I have to make a gift to a person.»

  Tzia Mariuccia if the era earned all that cheese.