After the Divorce Part 10

Anxiously Costantino follows every movement of the old thief as he first detaches the little cork hives from the flat stones on which they stand; then, tying them all together with a stout cord, places them in a bag, and makes off. Just at this point Costantino could not quite make up his mind as to the next act in the drama, and as he was considering, a shrill voice broke in on his reflections: "Cos-tan-ti! Cos-tan-ti!"

and arousing himself with an effort he saw the magpie, fat and sleek, hopping lazily about in the courtyard, and stretching its blue wings in the sun.

At night, with the precious letter safely deposited beneath his pillow, he would resume the thread of his thoughts. Now it was the sonorous voice of his friend the fisherman that he would hear, singing the lauds, and sometimes he almost wondered if Isidoro had not in truth seen--on the river-bank, among the oleander bushes bending over with their weight of fragrant pink blossoms--the figure of an old man dressed in white, with a long beard as snowy as the wool of a little newborn lamb! Ah, surely it was the Saint himself, good San Costantino, come to tell Isidoro that he had not forgotten the prisoners unjustly condemned!

Costantino readily accepted this picture of the Saint, although the statue of him in the village church represented a robust and swarthy warrior.

"Good old Saint! Good San Costantino! Soon, soon thou wilt free us all, blessed forever be thy name!"

Then the scene changes. Now it is the portico of the rich Dejas's house; every one is busy with the spun wool, dividing it into long skeins preparatory to weaving it. Giovanna comes and goes, carrying huge bunches in her hands. Brontu is there too, seated on the threshold of the kitchen door, with his legs well apart, and between them, laughing and unsteady, stands the little Malthineddu. Ah, intolerable thought!

Presently, however, remembering that Brontu is never at home except on holidays, he is somewhat comforted, and then he falls asleep, his heart steeped in a mingled sensation of joy and pain.

CHAPTER VII

Summer had come again.

"How quickly the time pa.s.ses," said Aunt Martina, as she sat spinning on the portico. "It seems only yesterday, Giacobbe, that you took service with us, and yet, here you are back again to renew the contract! Ah, the time does indeed pa.s.s quickly for us poor employers! You have saved thirty silver scudi at the very least, and have begun to build a house of your own, but what have we to show for it?"

"That's all very well, but how about the sweat of my brow, little spring bird? The sweat of my brow, doesn't that count for anything?" replied the herdsman, who was busily greasing a leather cord with tallow.

"But there's your keep," rejoined the old woman. "Ah, you have forgotten to allow for that!"

May the crows pick your bones! thought Giacobbe, who would have liked to say it aloud, but was afraid to. He thoroughly detested both his employers, the miserly old woman and the weak, hot-headed son, who tormented him continually with his project of marrying Giovanna if she would get a divorce. It was important, though, for him to renew the contract, so he held his tongue. He greased the thong thoroughly, rolled it up, and took it into the house; then he asked permission to go off to attend to a piece of business of his own, and having received a grudging a.s.sent, departed.

Walking in the direction of the Era cottage, the herdsman presently descried little Malthineddu bestriding, with very unsteady seat, a spirited stick horse, the sun gilding his dirty little white frock, his stout legs and bare arms.

Stooping down with outstretched arms, Giacobbe barred the way. "Where are we off to?" he asked caressingly. "There's the sun, don't you see it? Ahi! ahi! Maria Pettina[5] will come with her fire-comb and s.n.a.t.c.h you up, and carry you off to the hobgoblins! Run back quickly to the house."

"No-o-o, no-o-o-o," shouted the child, jumping up and down on his steed.

"Well, then," said Giacobbe, lowering his voice and closing one eye as he pointed to the white house, "Aunt Martina is up there, and to save bread she eats little children; don't you see her?"

The boy seemed to be impressed, and allowed himself to be led back to the cottage, still insisting, however, upon riding his stick.

Giovanna was sewing at the door, as round and fresh and rosy as though no misfortune had ever befallen her. Above her pretty face the ma.s.s of wavy hair lay in thick, glossy coils. Seeing Giacobbe approach with the child, she raised her head and smiled. "Here he is," said the herdsman.

"I am bringing him safely back to you; but I found him playing in the sun, and travelling straight towards Aunt Martina, who eats children so as to save bread."

"Oh, go away!" said Giovanna. "You ought not to tell children such things!"

"I tell them to grown people as well, for Aunt Martina eats them too.

Look out, Giovanna Era, the first thing you know she will eat you, and all the more because you are like a ripe quince--no, not that either, quinces are yellow, aren't they? You are more like a--a----"

"An Indian fig!" she suggested, laughing.

"And how is Aunt Bachissia? Is it long since you heard from Costantino?"

At this Giovanna became suddenly grave, replying with an air of mystery that they had had news of the prisoner only a short time before.

"Ah!" said the man, without pressing the matter further. "Can you tell me if Isidoro Pane is anywhere about? I want to see him."

"Yes," she replied sadly, taking up her work again. "He is at home."

Giacobbe said good-bye, and walked thoughtfully away in the direction of Isidoro's house,--if house it could be called,--which stood at the other end of the village.

The fisherman, in justice to whom it should be said that he fished for trout and eels as well as leeches whenever he had the opportunity, was seated in the shadow of his hut, mending a net. This hut, which stood in the fields, a little apart from the rest of the village, was a prehistoric structure composed of rough pieces of slate dating possibly from the time when men, not yet having mastered the art of cutting stones for themselves, used such pieces as had already been detached by nature. It was roofed over with sticks and bits of tile, above which flourished a vigorous growth of vegetation.

The sun was sinking after a day of intense heat. Not a leaf stirred in the row of dusty trees along the scorched, deserted village street. Far off, the yellow uplands, furrowed by long, slanting shadows, were immersed in floods of crimson light; and beyond them rose the rugged line of purplish mountains--a row of huge red sphinxes covered with a veil of violet gauze. The all-pervading stillness was pierced by the distant note of a blackbird. Wild figs with coa.r.s.e, dark foliage, and a hedge of wild robinia, among whose branches hairy nettles and the whitish-leaved henbane had wound and interlaced themselves, surrounded the hut; and from the doorway could be seen a wide expanse of country, lonely and vapourous as the sea. The atmosphere was filled with the acrid odour of stubble and dried asphodel, and the ground was so thickly covered with dead leaves, and twigs, and bits of straw that Giacobbe had got quite close to the old fisherman before the latter perceived him.

"What are we about now?" cried the herdsman gaily.

The other raised his eyes without lifting his head, and, regarding his visitor curiously for a moment, made no reply.

Dropping cross-legged on the ground, Giacobbe watched him as he mended the net with waxed twine threaded in a huge, rusty needle.

"Well, really!" said the herdsman presently, with a laugh. "I should think the little fishes would find no difficulty in coming and going at their pleasure!"

"Then let them come and go at their pleasure, little spring bird," said the fisherman, mimicking Giacobbe's favourite mode of address. "What are you doing here? Have you left your place?"

"No; on the contrary, I have just made a new contract with those black-beetles of rich relations. But I want to speak to you about something serious, Uncle 'Sidore. First, though, tell me how your legs are? And is it long since you last saw San Costantino on the river-bank?"

The old man frowned; he disliked to hear sacred things alluded to with irreverence. "If that is what you came for," said he, "you can take yourself off at once."

"Oh, well, there is no need to get angry! Here, I'll tell you what I came for; it really is important. But, as for irreverence--if you find me turning into a heathen you must blame the little master, he is always pitching into the saints. He gets terribly frightened, though, whenever he thinks he is going to die. Just listen to this: the other night we saw a shooting star; it fell plumb down from the sky, like a streak of melted gold, and looked as though it had struck the earth. Brontu threw himself down full-length on the ground, yelling: 'If this is the last day, have mercy on us, good Lord!' And there he stayed until, I swear, I wanted to kick him!"

"And you were not frightened?"

"I? No, indeed, little spring bird; I saw the star disappear right away."

"But the very first moment that you saw it, tell the truth now, you were scared then, weren't you?"

"Oh, well, go to the devil! Perhaps I was. But see here, what I came for was to talk to you about him--the master. If he is not crazy, then no one is in the whole world. He wants you to go to Giovanna Era and to suggest to her to get a divorce and marry him!"

Isidoro dropped his work, a mist rose before his calm, honest eyes: he clasped his hands, resting his chin on them, and began shaking his head.

"And how about you?" he asked in a stern voice. "Are you not just as crazy to dare to come to me with such a proposition? Oh, yes! I understand, you are afraid of losing your place! What a poor creature you are!"

"Ho, ho!" cried the other banteringly. "So that's your idea, is it? You and your leeches!"

"Oh! you mean to be funny, do you? Well, it is time this was put a stop to! Tell your master that he has got to bring this business to an end.

The whole neighbourhood has heard about it, and people are talking."

"My dear friend, we have only just begun! And here are you talking of ending it! I have had enough of it, I a.s.sure you, for morn, noon, and night, that brandy-bottle does nothing but talk to me about it! I had to promise him at last that I would see you, so here I am! But I can tell you not to talk on his side! There is only one person, Uncle Isidoro, who can really put a stop to this scandalous business, and that is Giovanna herself. You must go to her, and tell her to make that beast shut up. I can do nothing more."

Isidoro gazed at him with wide, unseeing eyes; he appeared not to be listening. Presently he resumed his work, murmuring: "Poor Costantino!

poor lamb! What have they done to you?"