After the Divorce Part 18

"But he punished you," said Aunt Porredda quickly.

"That remains to be seen!" shouted Aunt Bachissia, whose bile was beginning to rise. "Was the punishment for that, or for Basile Ledda's murder?"

"If it had been for the murder, only Costantino would have been punished."

"Well," said the old witch, her green eyes glittering with triumph, "is not that just what I am saying? My Giovanna here is not to be punished any longer for his fault, since G.o.d has given her the opportunity to marry a young man who is fond of her, and who will make her forget all her sufferings!"

"And who is also rich," remarked Uncle Efes Maria, and no one could tell whether he spoke ingenuously or no.

Giovanna, who had quite lost the thread of her discourse, was, nevertheless, determined to continue her role of patient martyr. "Ah, my dear Aunt Porredda," said she, "you don't know all, but G.o.d, who alone can see into our hearts, he will forgive me even if I live in mortal sin, because he will know that the fault is not with me. I would gladly have the religious ceremony, but it cannot be."

"Yes, because you are married already to some one else, you child of the devil!"

"But that other one is as good as dead! Just tell me now, can he help me to earn a living? And if the lawyers, who are educated and learned, and who know what life really is, can dissolve civil marriages, why can't the priests dissolve religious ones? Perhaps they don't understand about it. There is that priest whom we have--Elias Portolu--the one who is so good, you know him? he talks like a saint, and never gets angry with any one. Well, even he can't say anything but 'No, no, no; marriage can only be dissolved by death--and go and be blessed, if you don't know what is right!' Does a body have to live? Yes, or no? And when you can't live, when you are as poor as Job, and can't get work, and have nothing, nothing, nothing! And just tell me, you, Aunt Porredda, suppose I had been some other woman, and suppose there had been no divorce, what would have happened? Why, mortal sin, that is what would have happened, mortal sin!"

"And in your old age--want," said Aunt Bachissia.

The servant brought in the fruit: bunches of black, s.h.i.+ning, dried grapes, and wrinkled pears, as yellow as autumn leaves.

The old hostess handed the dish to her old guest, with an indescribable look of compa.s.sion. Her anger, and disdain, and indignation had suddenly melted away as she realised the sordid natures of the mother and daughter. "Good San Francisco, forgive them," she prayed inwardly.

"Because they are so ignorant, and blind, and hard!" Then she said mildly: "You and I, Bachissia Era, are old women, and you, Giovanna, will be old some day. Now tell me one thing: what is it that comes after old age?"

"Why, death."

"Death; yes, death comes after. And after death what is there?"

"Eternity?" said Paolo, laughing softly to himself as he devoured his grapes like a greedy child, holding the bunch close to his mouth, and detaching the seeds with his sharp little teeth.

"Eternity, precisely; eternity comes after--where are you going, Minnia?

Stay where you are." But the child, tired of the conversation, slipped out of the room. "What do _you_ say, Giovanna Era, does eternity follow?

yes, or no? Bachissia Era--yes, or no?"

"Yes," said the guests.

"Yes? and yet you never think of it?"

"Oh! what is the use of thinking of it?" said Paolo, getting up, and wiping his mouth with his napkin; he felt that it was high time for him to be off; he had already wasted too much time on these women, who, after all, were interesting solely from the fact that they had not yet paid him. "There are some people waiting to see me at the office--several people, in fact," he said. "I will see you again; you are not leaving yet awhile?"

"To-morrow morning at daybreak."

"Not really? Oh! you had better stay longer," he said indifferently, as he struggled into his huge overcoat. When it was on, Aunt Bachissia--watching him out of her sharp green eyes--thought that the little Doctor looked like a _magia_, that is, one of those grotesque and frightening figures whom wizards evoke by their arts.

He departed, and immediately afterwards Miss Grazia, who had hardly spoken throughout the entire meal, arose and left the room as well.

Uncle Efes Maria settled himself back in his chair, and began to read the _New Sardinia_. Bursts of laughter came from the two girls in the kitchen, and the women sat, each eating a pear, in perfect silence. A weight hung over them; upon Aunt Porredda as well as upon the others, for she was realising in her simple untutored mind that the disease that had attacked the souls of her ignorant guests was one and the same as that from which her sophisticated son and granddaughter were suffering.

CHAPTER X

The next morning, just as on that day so long before, Giovanna was the first to stir, while Aunt Bachissia, who like most elderly people usually lay awake until late into the night, still slept, though lightly and with laboured breath.

The light of the early winter morning, cold but clear, shone through the curtained window-panes. Giovanna had fallen asleep the night before feeling sad,--though Aunt Porredda's outbreak had annoyed rather than distressed her,--but now, as she looked out and saw the promise of a bright day for the journey, she felt a sensation of joyous antic.i.p.ation.

Yes, she had felt quite melancholy on the previous evening before falling asleep, thinking of Costantino, and eternity, and her dead child, and all sorts of depressing things. "I have not a bad heart," she had reflected. "And G.o.d looks into our hearts and judges more by our intentions than by our actions. I have considered everything, everything. I was very fond of Costantino, and I cried just as long as I had any tears to shed. Now I have no more; I don't believe he will ever come back, and if he does it will not be until we are both old; I can't go on crying forever. Why should it be my fault if I can't cry now when I think of him? And then, after all, I am just a creature of flesh and blood, like every one else; I am poor and exposed to sin and temptation, and in order to save myself from these I am taking the position which G.o.d has provided for me. Yes, my dear Aunt Porredda, I do remember eternity, and it is to save my soul that I am doing what I am doing--no, I am not bad; I have not a bad heart." And so she very nearly persuaded herself that her heart not only was not bad, but that it was quite good and n.o.ble; at least, if this was not the conviction of that innermost depth of conscience, that depth which refused to lie, and from whence had issued the disturbing veil of sadness that hung over her, it was of her outer and more practical mind, and at last, quite comforted, she fell asleep.

And now the frosty daybreak was striking with its diaphanous wings--cold and pure as h.o.a.rfrost--against the window-panes of the "strangers' room," and Giovanna thought of the sun and her spirits rose.

The older woman presently awoke as well, and she too turned at once to the window.

"Ah!" she exclaimed in a tone of satisfaction. "It is going to be fine."

They dressed and went down. Aunt Porredda, polite and attentive as usual, was already in the kitchen. She served her guests with coffee, and helped them to saddle the horse. To all appearances she had quite forgotten the discussion of the previous evening, but no sooner had the two women pa.s.sed out the door than she made the sign of the cross, as though to exorcise the mortal sin as well. "Very good," she said to herself, closing the door after them. "A pleasant journey to you, and may the Lord have mercy on your souls!"

Through the crystalline stillness of the morning came the sound of shrill c.o.c.k-crowing--close at hand, further away, and further still; but the little town still slept beneath its canopy of china-blue.

This time the Eras were to make the journey alone. They had to descend into the valley, cross it, and then climb the mountain-range which they could see beyond, showing grey in the early light, its snowcapped peaks standing out boldly against the horizon.

It was very cold; there was no wind, but the air cut keenly. As they descended into the wild valley the intense stillness seemed only to be intensified by the monotonous murmur of a mountain stream. The short winter gra.s.s, bright green in colour, and s.h.i.+ning with h.o.a.rfrost, showed here and there in vivid patches along the edges of the winding path.

From the rocks came a smell of damp moss, and the green copses sparkled with a glittering layer of frost. The whole valley was radiantly fresh and sweet and wild, but here and there gnarled outlines of solitary trees stood out like hermits penitentially exposing their bent and naked forms to the cold brilliance of the winter's morning.

In the fields the earth showed black and damp; and long lines of dilapidated wall, climbing the hillsides and descending into the hollows, looked, with their coating of green moss, like huge green worms. On, and on, and on, journeyed the two women, their hands and feet and faces numb and stiff with cold. They crossed the stream at a ford where the water ran broad and shallow and quiet, then they reascended the valley and began to climb the mountain at its further end. The sun, now well above the horizon, was s.h.i.+ning with a cold, clear radiance, and the mountains of the distant coast-range showed blue against the gold of the sky. The wind had risen as well, and, laden with the odour of damp rocks and earth, was stirring among the shrubs and bushes. The two women proceeded silently on their way, each buried in her own thoughts. In the middle of a small defile, overhung by rocks, and shadowed by the lofty snowcapped summits of the mountains, they met a man of Bitti journeying on foot: the travellers exchanged greetings, although unknown to one another, and pa.s.sed on their respective ways. As the women mounted higher and higher, the sun enveloped and warmed them more and more; and they thought of the half of the journey already accomplished, of the purchases they were carrying back in the wallet, of what they would do when they got home; and Aunt Bachissia thought of Aunt Martina's amazement when she should see Giovanna's outfit, while Giovanna thought of Brontu and of the queer things he would sometimes say when he was drunk. Preoccupied as they were, however, when they caught sight of the white walls of the church of San Francisco glistening among the green bushes half-way up the mountain side, each thought of Costantino, and said an Ave Maria for him.

Shortly after midday they reached home. Orlei, set in its circle of damp fields, and blown upon by the frozen breath of the mighty sphinxes whose heads were now wreathed in bands of snow, was far colder than Nuoro, and the sun could barely warm life into the scanty herbage in its narrow, melancholy streets. The roofs were covered with rust and mildew, some of them overgrown with dog-gra.s.s; the walls were black with damp; the trees, nude and brown. Here and there a thin line of smoke could be seen curling upwards into the limitless s.p.a.ce above; but, as usual, the village appeared to be utterly silent and deserted. In the crevices of the walls the little purple and green cups of the Venus's looking-gla.s.s bloomed chillily; speckled lizards crawled into the sun, and snails and s.h.i.+ning beetles mounted patiently from stone to stone.

Aunt Martina, seated on her portico, spinning in the sun, saw the arrival of the travellers, and was instantly devoured by curiosity to know what they had in their wallet; she controlled herself, however, and returned their greeting with courteous composure.

Towards evening Brontu arrived; he visited his betrothed every three days, and this evening his mother decided to accompany him, in order to see the purchases made by her neighbours in Nuoro.

A spa.r.s.e little fire of juniper-wood was burning on Aunt Bachissia's hearth, throwing out fitful gleams of light across the paved flooring, and lighting up the earthen walls of the kitchen with a faint, rosy glow. Giovanna wanted to bring a candle, but the visitors prevented her, Aunt Martina from an instinct of economy, and Brontu because in the dim firelight he felt freer to gaze at his betrothed.

The att.i.tude of the latter towards her future mother-in-law and towards Brontu himself was quite perfect. She had a gentle, subdued manner, and spoke in childlike tones, albeit expressing sentiments of profound wisdom. She gave shy glances from beneath her long, thick lashes, and might have been a girl of fifteen so guileless and innocent was her bearing. She was not, in truth, consciously acting a part; what she did was purely instinctive.

Brontu was madly in love with her, and now, when he had been drinking, he would run to her, and, throwing himself on his knees, repeat certain puerile prayers learned in infancy. Then he would begin to cry because he realised that he was tipsy, and would swear that never, never again would he touch a drop.

This evening, however, he was entirely himself, and sat talking quietly, enfolding Giovanna all the while in a pa.s.sionate gaze, and smiling and displaying his teeth, which gleamed in the firelight.

Aunt Bachissia began to tell about their trip; she spoke of the greatcoat worn by the young lawyer, and of the "wings" in fas.h.i.+on among the Nuorese ladies; then she described the Porrus' kitchen, and told of their meeting a man on the road; but of the discussion started by Aunt Porredda at the supper-table, and of the purchases she and Giovanna had made, she said never a word. She knew, however, very well that Aunt Martina could hardly wait to see the new possessions, and was herself no less anxious to display them.

"And what have you to say about it all, Giovanna?" said Brontu, stirring the fire with the end of his stick. "You are very quiet to-night. What is the matter?"

"I am tired," she replied, and then suddenly asked about Giacobbe Dejas.

"That crazy man? He torments the life out of me; I shall end some day by kicking him out. He does not need to work now for a living, anyhow."

"I don't know how it is," said Aunt Bachissia. "He used to be such a cheerful soul, and now, when he has a house and cattle, and they even say he is going to be married, his temper is something----! You knew, didn't you, that he threatened to beat us?"

"Did he ever come back?"