After the Divorce Part 11

"Yes, indeed, he is innocent," said Giacobbe. "And any day at all he may come back! This craze of Brontu's has got to be stopped. Then there is Aunt Bachissia as well, hovering over her like a vulture over its prey!"

"Poor Costantino! poor lamb! What have they done to you?" repeated Isidoro, paying not the smallest heed to anything that Giacobbe said.

The latter became annoyed. Raising his voice until it echoed through the surrounding silence and solitude, he shouted: "What _have_ they done to him? What are they _going_ to do to him? Why don't you listen to what I am telling you, you old rag-heap? You must go and talk to her, right away! There she is, cheerful and rosy, and ready to fall at the first touch, like a ripe apple! At heart, though, she is not bad, and if you will predispose her against it--make her see what she ought to do--the whole thing may be prevented. Get up! get along! move! do something!

Here is your chance to perform miracles, if you really are a saint, as the sinners seem to think!"

"Ah! ah! ah!" sighed the old man, rising to his feet. His tall figure, majestic even in its rags, stood out in the crimson light, against the background of dark hedge and distant, misty horizon, like that of some venerable hermit. "I will go," he said, sighing heavily. And at the words Giacobbe felt as though a great weight had been rolled from his breast.

From then on, the two men worked, steadily together in the interest of the far-away prisoner, finding themselves opposed, however, by three active and united forces, as well as by the pa.s.sive resistance of Giovanna. The three forces against which they had to contend were: the brute pa.s.sion of Brontu, the grasping greed of Aunt Bachissia, and Aunt Martina's self-interest, she being now wholly in favour of Brontu's scheme. Giovanna, she argued, was, though poor, both healthy and frugal, and she knew how to work like a beast of burden. A woman in good standing coming into the house as a bride, might entail all manner of extravagance and outlay, and the wedding alone would be sure to mean a heavy expense. Whereas, in the case of Giovanna, the marriage would be conducted almost in secret, and she would steal into the house like a slave! Shrewd Aunt Martina!

Thus the months rolled over the little slate-stone village, the desolate mountains, the yellow stretch of uplands. Autumn came--soft, melancholy days, when the sea lay beneath a veil of mist on the horizon, and dark clouds, like huge crabs, travelled slowly across the pale sky, trailing long lines of vapour behind them. Sometimes, though, it would turn cold, and the atmosphere would be like a spring of limpid water, fresh, clear, and sparkling.

On such an evening as this, when a long, violet-coloured cloud hung in the eastern heavens like an island in a crystal sea, and the scent of burning thyme came from the fields which the peasants were making ready for sowing, Brontu would swallow great gulps of brandy to take off the evening chill, and then, throwing himself down in the back of the hut, would lie dreaming, as warm and happy as a cat, his eyes fixed on the violet-coloured cloud on the distant horizon. All about the cabin, in every direction, as far as the eye could reach, stretched the broad _tancas_ of the Dejases, billowy undulations, losing themselves in the fading daylight. Here and there amid the golden-brown stubble were dark squares of newly-turned earth, swollen by the rain, and patches of fresh gra.s.s and purple, autumnal flowers sending out a damp perfume. Clouds of wild birds, and large crows as black and s.h.i.+ning as polished metal, poured out of the clumps of _a.s.senzio_, which, half-hidden among the wild roses and the cl.u.s.tering arbute with its s.h.i.+ning leaves and yellow berries, looked like _tumuli_ of ashes.

In one of the _tancas_ two peasants, farm hands of the Dejases, were burning brush preparatory to ploughing for the wheat and barley crops.

The flames crackled as the wind blew them hither and thither, pale yet, in the evening light, and transparent as yellow gla.s.s, the smoke hanging over them in low, light clouds, like fragrant incense, then melting away. Along the tops of the hedges enclosing the sheepfolds, each bare, th.o.r.n.y twig seemed to stand out separately in the crystal atmosphere, like a tracery of amethyst-coloured lace. The animals had all been herded for the night, except a few horses which could be seen here and there, with noses to the ground, cropping the short gra.s.s.

From without the hut came the sound of Giacobbe's voice, then the faint tinkle of a cowbell; the prolonged, far-away howl of a dog; the harsh screaming of a crow.

Within, extended like a Bedouin on a pile of skins and warm coverings, Brontu dreamed his one, unvarying dream, while the fiery liquor, coursing through his veins, filled him with a delicious sense of warmth and comfort.

Ah, how the young proprietor did love brandy! Not so much for its penetrating odour and sharp, biting taste, as for that glowing sensation of happiness that stole over his heart after drinking it. But woe betide any one who meddled with him at such times! Instantly his mood would change, and the sweetness turn to gall. It seemed to him that dogs must feel just as he did then, when some one tramples on their tails as they lie asleep. He would arouse in a state of fury, and lose the thread of his dream.

Yes, he loved brandy; wine was good too, but not so good as brandy. His father before him had liked ardent spirits; so much so, in fact, that one day, after drinking heavily, he fell into the fire and was so badly burned that--Heaven preserve us!--he died of the effects! But there!

enough of such melancholy thoughts! Nowadays people are more careful, they don't allow themselves to tumble into the fire! Moreover, to balance the pa.s.sion for brandy, Brontu had his other pa.s.sion, for Giovanna. Ah, brandy and Giovanna! The two most beautiful, ardent, intoxicating things in the whole world! But where Giovanna was concerned Brontu was as timid and fearful as he was reckless in the matter of brandy. He trembled merely at the thought of approaching her--of speaking to her. On those days when he knew that she was working for his mother he fairly yearned to go home, to gaze at her, to see her working there in his own house, and yet he dared not stir from the _tanca_! Now, though, as time went on, he was growing weary of waiting; a devouring anxiety, moreover, had seized upon him. What if, by hesitating so long, he were to meet with another refusal! Tormented by this thought, he longed to tell her of his solicitude for her; how, in order to console her for all that had occurred, he would gladly have married her at once, immediately after Costantino's sentence! His ideas differed from those of most people, but he was made that way and could not change. At bottom, like most drunkards, he had not a bad heart, nor was he immoral: his one pa.s.sion, apart from drink, had always been for Giovanna, ever since when, as a boy, he had come with his family to live in the house on the hill. She was only fifteen then, and very fresh and beautiful.

Every time he looked at her, even in those days, he had flushed even to his hands, and though she had noticed it, she had not seemed to mind. He never said anything, though, and so at last, when one day he screwed up his courage to the point of persuading his mother to go to Aunt Bachissia with an offer of marriage, it was too late, the position had been filled! Giovanna, at that time, had been as spirited and pa.s.sionate as a young colt, and as utterly indifferent to worldly considerations.

She might have married Brontu Dejas at first for his beautiful teeth, but having once fallen in love with Costantino, she would not have thrown him over for the Viceroy himself, had Sardinia still possessed one.

The twilight deepened; the sky grew more and more crystalline, like a vast mirror; the little, violet cloud grew leaden and opaque, then long and scaly, like some monster fish; the sounds from without, rising clearer than ever in the intense stillness of the hour and place, it seemed to Brontu that he must be dreaming when the voice of Aunt Bachissia suddenly broke in upon his revery.

"_Santu Juanne Battista meu!_" exclaimed the harsh, melancholy voice.

"If I am not mistaken, that is Giacobbe Dejas?"

"At your service," replied the herdsman, in a tone of amazement. "But what wind blows you to these parts, little spring bird?"

"Ah, I am here at last! Where is Brontu Dejas?"

Brontu rushed out of the hut, his knees shaking and his brain in such a whirl that he could hardly discern Aunt Bachissia's black-robed figure as she stood holding her shoes in one hand, and balancing a bundle on her head.

"Aunt Bachissia!" he cried, in great agitation. "Here I am!

Good-evening! Come here, come right in here!"

The woman flew towards him, closely followed by the herdsman. "Ah, Brontu, my dear boy! If I am not dead to-night, it must mean that I never shall be! Three hours I have been walking! I lost my way. I must see you about something, but be patient for a moment."

Patient! With his whole being in such a state of turmoil that he could hardly keep back the tears! Taking her by the hand he led her inside the hut, while Giacobbe, seeing that he was to have no part in the interview, went around to the back and listened with all his ears, raging meanwhile, inwardly, like a wild bull. Not a word, however, reached him. The conference was extremely short, Aunt Bachissia refusing even to sit down. She said that she had lost her way looking for Brontu's sheepfolds, and that Giovanna would be getting very anxious, as she thought she had merely gone into the fields to look for greens. Yes, it was quite true, they had to depend largely upon greens for their food, so bitter was their poverty: and what had brought her now was nothing less than to ask Brontu for some money. Oh, a loan! yes, thank Heaven, only a loan! If they should not be able to repay it, then she and Giovanna would work it off. For months they had not paid any rent--rent--! for their own house--! Now, the lawyer was threatening to evict them. "And where would we go, Brontu Dejas?" concluded Aunt Bachissia, clasping her gnarled and yellow hands. "Tell me where we would go, Brontu, my soul!"

His breast heaved; he wanted to seize the old woman in his arms, and shout: "Why, to my house; that is where you would go!" But he did not dare.

As there was no money at the hut Brontu decided to go home for it at once; he wished, anyhow, to return with Aunt Bachissia. Going outside, he called to Giacobbe to saddle the horse immediately. "What has happened?" asked the man. "Is your mother dead? G.o.d rest her soul!"

"No," replied Brontu cheerfully. "Nothing has happened that in any way concerns you."

Giacobbe began saddling the horse, but he was consumed with curiosity to know why Aunt Bachissia had come, and why Brontu was going back with her. She has come to borrow some money, he reflected, and he has none; he is going home to get it for her. "Listen, Brontu!" he called, and when the other had come quite close, he said: "If she wants money, and you haven't got any here, I can let you have some."

"Yes, she does; she wants to borrow some money," said Brontu in a low tone, quivering with delight and excitement. "But I am going back with her to get it, whether you have it here or not; that makes no difference; I am going to see Giovanna this very evening, at her own house; I am going to talk to her and do for myself what not one of all you donkeys has had sense enough to do for me!"

"Man!" cried Giacobbe angrily, "you must be going mad!"

"All right; let me go mad. See here, draw the girth tighter. Ah!

swelling out your sides, are you?" he added, addressing the horse. "You don't fancy night excursions? What will you say when the old woman is mounted on the crupper?"

"She too?" exclaimed Giacobbe.

"She too, yes; what business is it of yours? Isn't she my mother-in-law?"

"You go too fast, upon my word! Look out, or you will have a fall and break your neck, little spring bird. Ah! you are really in earnest? You really mean to marry that beggar, that married woman, when you might have a flower for your wife? Well, I can tell you one thing, Costantino Ledda is innocent; some day he will come back, remember that; some day he will come back!"

"Let me alone, Giacobbe Dejas, and attend to your own affairs. There, put a bag on the crupper. Aunt Bachissia!" he called to the old woman.

Giacobbe ran quickly into the hut, and fell over Aunt Bachissia, who was just coming out.

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself," he said, trembling. "You are worse than any beggar! Oh, I'm going to talk to Giovanna! I am going to talk to her myself!"

"You are a fool," said the woman; then, lowering her voice, she called him by an outrageous name, and pa.s.sed out.

A few moments later the two set forth.

Giacobbe watched them as they slowly moved away in the fading light, across the solitary _tanca_: further and further, along the winding path, beyond the thickets, beyond the clumps of bushes, beyond the smoke of the brushwood fires; until, at last, they were lost to sight. Then an access of blind fury seized him; clutching the cap from his head, he flung it from him as far as he could; then picked it up again, and fell to beating the dog. The poor beast set up a prolonged howl that filled the silent waste, and was echoed back again with a sound like the despairing cry of some wandering phantom.

Night fell. Giacobbe, throwing himself down on the pailla.s.se which Brontu had quitted shortly before, smelled an odour of brandy; he got up, found his master's flask, and drank. Then he lay down again, and presently he too felt something bubble up in his breast, bathe his heart, scorch his eyelids, mount gurgling to his brain. His anger melted suddenly away and was replaced by a feeling of melancholy. Through the open door he could see the bright red glow of the brush fires gradually overpowering the fading twilight; as the two merged they formed a single hue of violet, indescribably melancholy in tone. Now and again the dog gave another long howl. Oh! what misery, what misery! Why had he, Giacobbe, beaten that poor dog? What had it done to him? Nothing. He was filled with remorse, the foolish, emotional remorse of the drunkard; yet, so irritating were the sounds that he had a strong impulse to rush out and beat the unfortunate beast again.

All at once his mind recurred to Brontu and Aunt Bachissia, whom he had forgotten for the moment, and he began to tremble violently. What had happened? Had Giovanna given in? Ah! what made that dog bark like that?

It was like the shriek of a dead person,--the voice of Basile Ledda, who was murdered! "Pooh, pooh, the dead cannot cry out. That is nothing but the howling of a dog." He laughed softly, drowsily, to himself; his heavy eyelids closed, shutting out the opaque, violet-coloured mist that hung like a curtain before the open door; he felt as though a sack filled with some soft but heavy substance were pressing down upon him, so that he could not move; yet the sensation was agreeable. A thousand confused images chased one another through his brain. Among other things he dreamed that he was dead, and that his soul had entered into the body of a dog, a gaunt, little yellow cur, who was running around and around Aunt Bachissia's kitchen searching for bones. Costantino was sitting by the fire; he was dressed in red, and there was a great chain lying at his feet; all at once he saw the dog, and flung the chain at it. The creature's head was caught fast, encircled in one of the iron rings, and Giacobbe, stricken with terror, forced himself to cry out, in order to make them understand it was he. He awoke, perspiring and shouting: "Little spring bird!"

Night had fallen; the deserted _tanca_, stretching away beneath a clear sky sparkling with big, yellow stars, glowed with the red light of the brush fires.

Giacobbe could not get to sleep again; he turned and twisted from one side to the other, but the intoxicating effects of the brandy had pa.s.sed, leaving his mouth dry and feverish. He got up and drank; then he remembered that he had taken nothing to eat that evening. For a long time he stood leaning against the door of the hut, his face lighted up by the glow of the fires. "Shall I get something to eat or not?" he asked himself, hardly conscious that he did so. Then he looked up at the stars. Almost midnight. What had that little beast--his master--accomplished? he wondered, and his anger rose again, but chiefly against Aunt Bachissia. What impudence to come all the way to this distant spot just to further the little proprietor's outrageous plans!

For he knew perfectly well that the loan was merely an excuse of that old harpy to draw Brontu on, to bring him to a decision, to make him commit himself. Ah, what a low creature that woman was! Had she no conscience at all? Did she not believe in G.o.d? At this point Giacobbe grew thoughtful, and presently he threw himself down again, still debating whether or no he were hungry, and whether it were worth while to get something to eat. No, he decided; he was not hungry, nor thirsty, nor sleepy; nor could he rest; lying down, or sitting up, or standing. He yawned noisily and began talking aloud, mumbling foolish, disconnected things, in a vain effort to distract his thoughts, which, however, continued to dwell persistently upon _that thing_. It was horrible, horrible! Marry a woman who had another husband already! And suppose Costantino should come back? Who knows?

Everything is possible in this world. And even if he were never to return, there was the boy, how about him? What would he think when he grew up and found that his mother had two husbands? What a law that was! "Ha! the men who make the laws are pretty queer!" And Giacobbe laughed mirthlessly, for, down in the bottom of his heart, his inclination was to do anything else but laugh.

Getting up, he seized the brandy-flask, saying to himself that if Brontu should display any curiosity as to who had drunk his brandy, why so much the worse for him. "I'll tell him it was the spirits! Ha, ha!" He laughed again, took a deep draught, and, throwing himself down, quickly fell into a heavy sleep, and dreamed that he was telling a sister of his all about his other dream of Costantino, and the yellow dog, and the chain.

When he awoke the sun was already above the horizon, pus.h.i.+ng through a bank of bluish cloud. The morning was cold, with light, drifting clouds, and the thickets, bushes, stubble, every spear of gra.s.s, sparkled with dew in the slanting rays of the sun. Once more the birds bustled in and out among the bushes, burst into song, rushed together in little groups, or poised gracefully in the misty air. Now and then the chorus of chirps and twitters would swell into something so acute and piercing that it was almost like the patter of metal raindrops: sometimes a shrill whistle, or the strident note of a crow, would break into this silvery harmony; then all would die away, swallowed up in the vast silence of the uplands.

Giacobbe came out of the hut yawning and stretching. He yawned so violently that his jaws cracked, and his smooth-shaven face folded into innumerable tiny wrinkles about the round, open mouth; and his little, oblique eyes, yellow in the sunlight, watered like those of a dog.

"Well," he thought, pressing both hands to his stomach, "I have cramps here. What did I do last evening?"

He threw open the folds; a ram with curved horns came out, snuffing the ground, closely followed by a yellowish bunch of sheep, all trying to tread in his tracks, and all likewise snuffing the ground; others came, and still others; the folds were empty; still Giacobbe stood close to the enclosure--motionless--buried in thought.

"Yes, last evening I had nothing to eat. I drank the little master's brandy, and then I had dreams. Yes, yes, that was it--Costantino--and the dog--and my sister Anna-Rosa. Well, d.a.m.n him! Why didn't he come back, the little toad? I got drunk, just like a beast. Yes,"--he moralised, walking towards the hut,--"a drunken man is like a beast; he does not know what he is doing, and brays out everything in his mind. A dangerous thing that, Giacobbe Dejas, you bald-pate! Get that well into your head; it's dangerous. No, no, I'll never get drunk again; may the Lord punish me if I do."