‘You can bleat all you like, but no one can hear you, and you’d do better to keep quiet,’ his brother said to him at last in a changed voice, so that he himself hardly recognised it. ‘Be quiet, it isn’t any good crying like that now, either for you or for anyone else.
‘The sail,’ ordered padron ’Ntoni; ‘the tiller into the wind to the north-east, and God’s will be done.’
The wind hampered matters, but in five minutes the sail was unfurled, and the Provvidenza began to leap over the waves, bowing from one side to another like an injured bird. The Malavoglia stood to one side, clinging to the edge; and at that moment no one breathed, because when the sea utters in that way human beings daren’t open their mouths.
All padron ’Ntoni said was: ‘They’ll be telling their beads for us there now.’
And they said no more, running with the wind and waves, in the darkness which had come upon them all of a sudden, as black as pitch.
‘The light on the quay,’ shouted ’Ntoni, ‘can’t you see it?’
‘To starboard,’ shouted padron ’Ntoni, ‘to starboard! It’s not the quay light. We’re going on to the rocks. Take in the sail.’
‘I can’t,’ said ’Ntoni, his voice stiffled by storm and effort, ‘the sheet is wet. The knife, Alessi, quick!’
‘Cut then, and fast!’
At that moment there was a sudden splintering sound: the Provvidenza, which had been bowed to one side, shot up like a spring, and almost threw the lot of them into the sea; yard and sail fell on to the boat, broken as a bit of straw. Then a voice was heard moaning, like someone at death’s door.
‘Who is it? Who’s shouting?’ asked ’Ntoni, using teeth and knife to cut the cord at the edges of the sail, which had fallen on to the boat along with the mast and was covering everything. Suddenly a gust of wind took it right away and carried it off, hissing. Then the two brothers were able completely to free the stump of the yard and throw it into the sea. The boat righted itself, but not so padron ’Ntoni, nor did he answer ’Ntoni when he called him. Now, when sea and wind shriek together, there is nothing more frightening than not receiving an answer to your own call.
‘Grandfather,’ Alessi shouted too, and as they heard nothing, the hair stood up on the two brothers’ heads. The night was so black that you couldn’t see from one end of the Provvidenza to the other, so that Alessi actually stopped crying from sheer shock. Their grandfather was stretched out on the bottom of the boat, his head broken. ’Ntoni finally felt his way towards him and thought he was dead, because he wasn’t breathing or moving at all. The tiller kept banging hither and thither, while the boat first leapt into the air, then plummetted into the abyss.
‘Blessed St Francis of Paola, help us,’ the two boys shrieked, now that they didn’t know what else to do.
St Francis in his mercy heard them, as he was going through the storm to the help of his devotees, and he laid his cloak beneath the Provvidenza, just as she was about to break open like a nutshell on the scoglio dei colombi, below the customs’ look-out point.
The boat bounded over the rock like a colt, and then ran aground sharply, nose downwards. ‘Courage,’ the guards shouted to them from the shore, and ran this way and that with their lanterns, throwing out ropes. ‘We’re here! Keep going!’ At last one of the ropes fell athwart the Provvidenza, which was trembling like a leaf, and right across ’Ntoni’s face worse than a whiplash, but at that moment it felt better than a caress.
‘Throw it here,’ he shouted, grasping the rope as it ran rapidly through his hands, ready to slip away altogether. Alessi too clung on with all his strength, and somehow they managed to wrap it round the tiller once or twice, and the customs guards pulled them to shore.
But padron ’Ntoni still gave no sign of life, and when they put the lantern up to his face they saw that it was streaked with blood, so that they all thought he was dead, and his grandsons began to tear their hair. But after a couple of hours don Michele, Rocco Spatu, Vanni Pizzuto and all the loafers who had been in the wine shop when they heard the news came running, and they got him to open his eyes by dint of cold water and a lot of rubbing. When he realised where he was, the poor old man asked them to carry him home on a ladder, because it was less than an hour to Trezza.
Shrieking on the square and beating their breasts Maruzza, Mena and the neighbours saw him arriving like that, stretched out on the ladder and as white as a corpse.
‘It’s nothing,’ don Michele assured them, leading the crowd, ‘a mere nothing,’ and he rushed to the chemist for medicinal vinegar. Don Franco came in person holding the little bottle in his hands, and Piedipapera, comare Grazia, and the Zuppiddos, padron Cipolla and the whole neighbourhood came rushing up too, into the strada del Nero, because on such occasions all quarrels are forgotten, and even la Locca came along, because she always went wherever there was a crowd, whenever she heard bustle in the village, day or night, almost as though she no longer ever slept and was permanently waiting for her Menico. So people crowded into the little street outside the Malavoglia’s house, as though there were a dead man there, and cousin Anna had to shut the door in people’s faces.
‘Let me in,’ shouted Nunziata, banging on the door, having come running up half-dressed. ‘Let me see what is going on at comare Maruzza’s.’
‘What was the point of sending us for the ladder, if you don’t let us into the house to see what’s up?’ yelled la Locca’s son.
Zuppidda and the Mangiacarrubbe girl had forgotten all the insults they had exchanged, and were chatting outside the door, with their hands under their aprons. ‘That’s what it’s like in that business, you end up paying with your life,’ said Zuppidda, ‘and if you marry your daughter with seagoing folk one day or the next you’ll have her coming home a widow, and with orphans into the bargain, and if it hadn’t been for don Michele there wouldn’t be a single male Malavogia left to-night.’ The best thing seemed to be one of those who did nothing and earned their daily bread all the same, like don Michele, for instance, who was bigger and fatter than a cleric, and always wore fine cloth, and got fat on half the village, and everyone pandered to him; even the chemist, who wanted to get rid of the king, bowed and scraped to him, with his nasty great black hat.
‘It’s nothing,’ don Franco came out and said; ‘we’ve bound him up; but now he has to run a fever, or he’s a dead man.’
Piedipapera wanted to go and see too, because he was almost like one of the family, and padron Fortunato, and anyone else who could elbow their way in.
‘I don’t like the look of him,’ pronounced padron Cipolla, shaking his head. ‘How do you feel, compare ’Ntoni?’
‘This is why padron Fortunato didn’t want to give his son to St Agatha,’ Zuppidda commented meanwhile, left in the doorway as she was. ‘That wretched man has a sixth sense.’
And la Vespa added: ‘Property at sea is writ on water.’ Landed property is what you need.’
‘What a night for the Malavoglia,’ exclaimed comare Piedipapera. ‘All the disasters for this house happen at night,’ observed padron Cipolla, as he left the house with don Franco and compare Tino.
‘All because they were trying to earn an honest crust, poor things,’ added Grazia.
For two or three days padron ’Ntoni was more dead than alive. The fever had come, as the chemist had said, but it had come on so strongly that it almost carried the sick man off. The poor fellow no longer complained, lying in his corner, and when Mena or la Longa took him something to drink he clutched the jug with trembling hands, as though they were trying to snatch it from him.
Don Ciccio came in the mornings, tended the wounds, felt his pulse, had him put out his tongue and then went off shaking his head.
One night they even left the candle alight, when don Ciccio had shaken his head particularly firmly; la Longa had put the image of the Virgin beside him, and they were telling their beads by the sick man’s bed, and he wasn’t even breathing and didn’t even want any water, and no one we
nt to sleep, so that Lia was practically dislocating herself yawning, she was so sleepy. The house had an ominous silence about it, so that the carts passing on the road made the glasses dance on the table, and caused the people watching over the sick man to start; and the whole of the next day went by like this, too, and the neighbours stood on the doorstep, chatting among themselves in low voices, keeping an eye on everything through the doorway. Towards evening padron ’Ntoni asked to see his family one by one, and his eyes were dull, and he asked what the doctor had said. ’Ntoni was at the bedside, crying like a child, for he was a good lad at heart.
‘Don’t cry like that,’ said his grandfather. ‘Don’t cry. You’re the head of the household now. Remember that you have others dependent on you, and do as I have done.’
The women began to cry, with their hands in their hair, hearing such talk, even little Lia, since women have no judgement in such circumstances, and they didn’t notice that the poor man was becoming distressed at seeing them despair, as if he were about to die. But he continued weakly:
‘Don’t spend too much on the funeral when I’m gone. The Lord knows we can’t afford much, and he’ll be satisfied with the rosary that Maruzza and Mena will say for me. You, Mena, always do as your mother has done, for she has been a good woman, and she too has seen her share of troubles; and keep your sister under your wing, as the hen does with her chicks. As long as you help one another, things won’t seem so bad. Now ’Ntoni is a grown man, and soon Alessi will be able to help you, too.’
‘Don’t talk like that,’ the weeping women begged, as though he were dying of his own free will. ‘For pity’s sake don’t talk like that.’ He shook his head sadly, and answered:
‘Now that I’ve said what I wanted to say, my mind is at rest. I’m old. When the oil runs out, the light fades. I’m tired.’
Later he called ’Ntoni again, and said to him:
‘Don’t sell the Provvidenza, old though she is, or you’ll be forced to do day labouring, and you can’t imagine how hard that is, when padron Cipolla and zio Cola say they don’t need anyone for Monday. And the other thing I wanted to say to you, ’Ntoni, is that when you’ve put a few pennies aside the first thing you must do is marry off Mena, and give her a man from the trade her father plied, but a good fellow; and I also wanted to tell you that when you’ve married off Lia, too, if you have any savings, put them aside and buy back the house by the medlar tree. Zio Crocifisso will sell it to you, if he makes a profit, because it has always belonged to the Malavoglia, and your father went from there to die, and Luca too, God bless his soul.’
‘Yes, grandfather, yes,’ promised ’Ntoni weeping. Alessi was listening too, as solemn as though he were a grown man.
The women thought that the sick man was delirious, hearing him talking on like that, and put moistened cloths on his forehead.
‘No,’ said padron ’Ntoni, ‘I’m not delirious. I want to say everything I have to tell you before I go.’
Meanwhile you could hear the fishermen beginning to call one another from one doorway to the next, and the carts started trundling down the road again.
‘In two hours it will be day,’ added padron ’Ntoni, ‘and you can go and call don Giammaria.’
Those poor folk waited for day as you wait for the Messiah, and kept going to the window to see if dawn were breaking. At last the little room began to whiten and padron ’Ntoni said again:
‘Now go and get the priest; I want to confess.’
Don Giammaria came when the sun was already high, and when they heard the bell ringing down the strada del Nero, the neighbourhood women came to see the viaticum being taken to the Malavoglia, and they all went in, because you cannot shut the door in people’s faces where the Lord is walking, so that those poor creatures, seeing the house so full, didn’t even dare to cry and despair, while don Giammaria was muttering away, and mastro Cirino was putting the candle under the sick man’s nose, so stiff and yellow he looked like a candle himself.
‘He looks like the patriarch St. Joseph in person, laid out on that bed with that long beard. Lucky him,’ exclaimed Santuzza, who had set down jugs and all, and always went where she felt the presence of the Lord.
‘Like a crow,’ as the chemist said.
Don Ciccio arrived while the parish priest was still there with the holy oil, and indeed he almost turned his donkey’s head and went off again.
‘Who said there was any need for the priest? Who asked for the viaticum? It’s for us doctors to say when it’s time for that; and I’m surprised at the priest coming without the certificate. Now listen here: there’s no need for any viaticum. He’s better, I tell you!’
‘It’s a miracle worked by our Lady of Sorrows,’ exclaimed la Longa; ‘the Virgin has given us a miracle, because the Lord has visited this house once too often!’ ‘Ah blessed Virgin,’ exclaimed Mena with her hands clasped. ‘Ah holy Virgin, you have shown us mercy.’ And everyone wept with relief, as though the sick man were in a state to step straight back on to the Provvidenza.
Don Ciccio went off grumbling:
‘That’s all the thanks I get. If they survive, it’s the Virgin’s doing; if they croak, it’s my fault!’
The neighbourhood women were waiting at the door to see the dead man pass, because they had been thought to be coming to get him from one moment to the next.
‘Poor thing,’ they muttered too. ‘That man has a tough hide; he’s got nine lives, like a cat. You listen to what I’m telling you,’ said Zuppidda hectoringly. ‘I tell you, he’ll outlive us all.’ The women made as if to touch wood. ‘I’m protected by being a Daughter of Mary,’ and la Vespa even kissed the medal on her scapular. ‘Fee fie foe fum, thunder in the air means sulphurous wine,’ Zuppidda added.
‘At least you have no children to marry off, as I have, which means I would cause serious problems if I were to go under the sod.’ The others laughed, because la Vespa had only herself to marry off, and she couldn’t manage even to do that.
‘As far as that’s concerned, padron ’Ntoni would cause the most problems of all, because he’s the pillar of the household,’ replied cousin Anna.
‘That nincompoop ’Ntoni isn’t a child any longer.’ But they all shrugged. ‘If the old man dies, you’ll see how that household will crumble.’
At this point Nunziata came running up, with her pitcher on her head.
‘Make way, they’re waiting for water at comare Maruzza’s. And if my children start to play around, they’ll leave everything all over the road.’
Lia had taken up a position in the doorway, all proud and saying to the neighbours:
‘Grandfather is better, don Ciccio says he’s not going to die quite yet,’ and she could hardly believe her luck when the women stood there listening to her as though she were a grown women. Alessi too came out and said to Nunziata:
‘Now that you’re here, I’ll go and have a quick look at what’s happening to the Provvidenza.’
‘That lad has more sense than his older brother,’ said cousin Anna.
‘They’ll give don Michele a medal for having thrown a rope to the Provvidenza,’ said the chemist. ‘And then there’s a pension. That’s how they spend people’s money.’
In don Michele’s defence, Piedipapera went round saying that he had deserved it, both medal and pension, because he had thrown himself knee deep into the water, with those great boots, to save the Malavoglia’s lives, which was quite something: three people! And he had been within inches of losing his own life, and everyone was talking about it, so that on Sunday, when he put on his new uniform, the girls feasted their eyes on him, gazing at him to see if he had a medal.
‘Now that she has got that great Malavoglia idiot out of her mind, Barbara Zuppidda will take a more kindly interest in don Michele,’ Piedipapera went round saying. ‘I’ve seen her with her nose between the shutters when he passes by.’
And don Silvestro, hearing this, said to Vanni Pizzuto:
‘A fine advantage
you’ve gained yourself, getting padron ’Ntoni’s ’Ntoni out of the way, now that Barbara has her eye on don Michele!’
‘If she has, she’ll soon take it off again, because her mother won’t have anything to do with policemen, or spongers, or foreigners.’
‘You’ll see. Barbara is twenty three, and if she gets it into her head that by waiting for a husband she’ll start to moulder, she’ll take him by hook or by crook. I’ll bet you twelve tari that they’re still talking to one another from the window,’ and he pulled out the new five lire bit.
‘I won’t bet anything,’ replied Pizzuto, shrugging, ‘I don’t give a hang.’
The people who were standing around listening, Piedipapera and Rocco Spatu, choked themselves laughing.
‘I’ll take you on for nothing,’ added don Silvestro, suddenly good-humoured; and he went off with the others to chat with zio Santoro, in front of the wine shop.
‘Listen, zio Santoro, do you want to win twelve tari?’ and he brought out the new coin, although zio Santoro couldn’t see it —
‘Mastro Vanni Pizzuto wants to bet twelve tari that now don Michele the sergeant will go and talk with Barbara Zuppidda, of an evening. Do you want to win those twelve tari?’
‘Holy souls in Purgatory,’ exclaimed zio Santoro kissing his rosary; he had been listening intently with his sightless eyes; but he was ill at ease; and his lips were twitching like a hunting dog’s ears when it scents quarry.
‘They’re friends, don’t worry,’ added don Silvestro smirking. ‘It’s compare Tino and Rocco Spatu,’ added the blind man, after a moment’s concentration.
He knew everyone who went by, by the sound of their steps, whether they wore shoes or went barefoot, and he would say:
‘That’s compare Tino’, or: ‘that’s compare Cinghialenta.’ And since he was always there, telling jokes with this person or that, he knew everything that was happening in all the village; so to lay his hands on those twelve tari, as the children came to get their wine for supper, he called them:
I Malavoglia Page 16