‘Layabouts who are paid to carry guns, and nothing more,’ snarled the chemist; ‘like priests, who take three tari per mass. Tell the truth, don Giammaria, what capital do you put into your mass that they pay you three tari for it?’
‘And what capital do you put into that dirty water that you make people pay through the nose for?’ snapped back the priest, foaming at the mouth.
Don Franco had learned to laugh like don Silvestro, to drive don Giammario crazy; and he carried on taking no notice of him, because he had come upon the best means to bamboozle him.
‘They earn their day’s keep in half an hour and then they can idle around all day; just like don Michele who cuts the figure of a complete fool and timewaster, always there under your feet, even since he stopped warming Santuzza’s benches.’
‘That’s why he had it in for me,’ ’Ntoni intervened to say; ‘he’s as mad as a rabid dog, and comes on heavy-handed because he’s got a sabre. But by the blood of the Virgin, one of these days I’ll slash his face with his own sabre, to show him I don’t give a hang, myself!’
‘Well said,’ exclaimed the chemist, ‘that’s the spirit! The people must show their teeth. But not here, because I don’t want trouble in my shop. The Government wouldn’t be able to believe its luck at being able to embroil me good and proper; but I don’t like dealings with judges and all the rest of the rotten mob.’
’Ntoni Malavoglia raised his fists to the skies, and swore black and blue by Christ and the Virgin that he wanted to put an end to it, even if it meant going to prison; anyhow, he had nothing to lose. Santuzza no longer doted on him in the same way, so much had that useless old father of hers said to her about him, whinging between one Hail Mary and the next after massaro Filippo was no longer sending the wine to the wine shop! He told her that customers were beginning to drop off like flies on St. Andrew’s Day, now that they couldn’t get massaro Filippo’s wine any more, since they’d all become as used to it as children to their mother’s milk. Each time, zio Santoro would say to his daughter: ‘What do you want with that dead beat ’Ntoni Malavoglia? Can’t you see he’s eating you out of house and home to no end? You’re fattening him up better than a prize pig, and then he goes off and plays the lover with la Vespa and the Mangiacarrubbe girl, now that she’s rich.’ And he also told her: ‘The customers are leaving because he’s always hanging around your apron strings, without leaving you a free moment to tell a joke.’ Or: ‘Ragged and filthy as he is, it’s disgusting having him in the shop; it’s like a stable, and people can’t even bear the idea of drinking out of the glasses.
It was fine having don Michele at the door, with all that uniform. People who pay for wine want to drink it in peace and quiet, and they like seeing a man with a sabre there in front of them, and everyone would doff their caps, and pay up what they owed without a murmur, because it was marked up there on the wall in charcoal. Now he’s no longer there, not even massaro Filippo comes. He passed by recently, and I tried to get him to come in; but he says it’s pointless coming here, since he can’t smuggle in his wine must any more, now that you’ve quarrelled with don Michele. And that’s no good for man or beast. People are beginning to say that your charity to ’Ntoni isn’t totally disinterested, since massaro Filippo doesn’t come here any more, and you’ll see how it will end! The priest will get to hear of it, and they’ll take away your Daughter of Mary medal!’
But Santuzza held out, because she still wanted to be mistress in her own house; and her eyes were opened, too, since everything her father told her was holy writ, and she no longer treated ’Ntoni as she had previously. She no longer kept him the leftovers, and she put dirty water in the remains of other people’s drinks when she gave them to him; so that finally ’Ntoni began to sulk, and Santuzza told him she didn’t like layabouts, and she and her father earned their daily bread, and so should he, and help a bit around the house, instead of hanging around there like a beggar, bawling and snoozing with his head on his arms, or spitting all over the floor, so that it was all wet and you no longer knew where to tread.
For a bit ’Ntoni went to chop wood, grumbling, or to blow on the fire, to avoid trouble. But he found it hard working all day like a dog, worse than he had once done in his own home just to be treated worse than a dog with rudeness and rough words, for the sake of those dirty dishes they gave him to lick. At last, once while Santuzza was coming back from confession with her rosary in her hand, he made a scene, complaining that this was happening because don Michele had started hanging around in front of the wine shop again, and was also waiting for her there on the square, when she went to confession, and zio Santoro shouted after him to greet him, when he heard his voice, and even went looking for him in Pizzuto’s shop, feeling his way along the walls with his stick. Then Santuzza flared up, and told him that he had come on purpose to make her sin, while she had the host in her mouth, and to waste her communion.
‘If you don’t like it, you can leave,’ she shouted to him. ‘I don’t want to damn my immortal soul for you; and I didn’t say anything to you when I learned that you were running after sluts like la Vespa or the Mangiacarrubbe girl, now that they’re unhappily married. Go and see them, now that they’ve got a trough in the house and are looking for a pig.’ But ’Ntoni swore that it wasn’t true, and he didn’t care a hang about those things; he didn’t think about women any more, and she could spit in his face if she ever saw him talking with another one.
‘No, you won’t get rid of him that way,’ zio Santoro repeated the while. ‘Can’t you see how much he cares about the bread he steals from you? You’ll have to break the pan in order to mend it. You’ll have to kick him out bodily. Massaro Filippo told me that he can no longer keep the wine must in the barrels, and he’ll sell it to others if you don’t make your peace with don Michele and can’t get it smuggled in as you used to!’ And he went off again to look for massaro Filippo in Pizzuto’s shop, feeling the walls with his stick. His daughter was acting all haughty, protesting that she would never bow her head to don Michele, after that dirty trick he’d played on her.
‘Leave him to me, I’ll see to him,’ zio Santoro assured her. ‘I’ll do things discreetly, I wouldn’t let you seem to be going back to lick don Michele’s boots; am I your father or not, by heavens?’
Since Santuzza had been treating him so rudely, ’Ntoni had to think up ways of paying for the bread they gave him at the wine shop, because he didn’t dare appear at home, and meanwhile those poor people were thinking of him as they ate their soup listlessly, as though he were dead, and they didn’t even put on the tablecloth, but ate scattered about the house, with their bowls on their knees.
‘This is the final straw, for me in my old age,’ their grandfather would repeat; and those people who saw him with his nets on his shoulders, going out to work by the day, would say: ‘This is the last winter for padron ’Ntoni. Soon those orphans will be left all alone.’ And if Mena told her to go indoors when don Michele came by, Lia would answer brazenly: ‘Oh yes! I have to go indoors as though I were some sort of treasure! Don’t you worry, even the dogs can resist treasures like us!’
‘Come now! If your mother were here you wouldn’t talk like that,’ murmured Mena.
‘If my mother were here I wouldn’t be an orphan and I wouldn’t have to think about fending for myself. ’Ntoni wouldn’t be wandering around the streets either, so that you feel ashamed to hear yourself called his sister; and no one will come and take ’Ntoni Malavoglia’s sister to wife.’
Now that he was penniless, ’Ntoni no longer showed caution about appearing together with Rocco Spatu and
Cinghiaenta on the sciara, and towards the Rotolo, and talking in low voices among themselves, with black expressions, like starving wolves. Once more don Michele warned Mena: ‘Your brother will give you trouble, comare Mena!’
Mena was obliged to go and look for her brother on the sciara too, and towards the Rotolo, or at the door of the wine shop; and she cried and wept, pullin
g him by his shirt sleeves. But he replied: ’No! It’s don Michele who wishes me ill, I’ve told you. He’s always cooking up tricks against me with zio Santoro. I heard them myself in Pizzuto’s shop, and don Michele was telling him: ‘And if I went back to your daughter, what sort of a figure would I cut?’ And zio Santoro answered: ‘That’s a good one! The whole village would be gnawing their elbows in envy, I tell you!”
‘But what will you do?’ asked Mena, pale-faced. ‘Think of mother, ’Ntoni, and remember we have nobody any more.’
‘Nonsense! I want to put him and Santuzza to shame in front of the whole village, when they go to mass. I want to give them a piece of my mind, and make people laugh. I’m not afraid of anyone in the world; and the chemist will hear me too.’
For all Mena’s begging and beseeching, he just repeated that he had nothing to lose, so that other people should be on their guard, because he was tired of that life, and wanted to be done with it — as don Franco said. And since he was out of favour at the wine shop, he would hang around the square, especially on Sundays, and sit down on the church steps to see what sort of face those brazen people who went there to hoodwink the world would make, and to cock a snook at the Signora and Madonna under their very eyes.
When she saw ’Ntoni playing the sentinel on the door of the church, Santuzza would go to Aci Castello to mass, early in the morning, to avoid all temptation to sin. ’Ntoni saw the Mangiacarrubbe girl go past, with her nose in her shawl, not looking at anyone any more, now that she had got her man. La Vespa, all in finery and with a whole handful of rosary, went to pray to the Lord to set her free of her husband, that punishment sent by God; and ’Ntoni sniggered after them:
‘Now that they’ve landed a husband they don’t need anything any more. There’s someone who’s duty it is to provide them with food.’
Zio Crocifisso had to say goodbye to his devotions, since he had lumbered himself with la Vespa, and he didn’t even go to church, so as to be away from his wife at least for the length of a mass; that way he was driven along the road to perdition.
‘This will be my last year,’ he would whimper; and now he would run in search of padron ’Ntoni, and other equally unfortunate folk. ‘It’s hailed in my vineyard and I’ll never make it to the wine harvest.’
‘See here, zio Crocifisso,’ padron ’Ntoni would reply; ‘I’m ready to go the to the notary for the house whenever you like, and I’ve got the money here.’ He thought of nothing but his house, and didn’t give a hoot about other people’s affairs.
‘Don’t talk to me about notaries, padron ’Ntoni; when I hear the word notary I remember the day I allowed myself to be dragged there by la Vespa, and I curse the day I set foot there!’
But compare Piedipapera, who sniffed possibilities for the go-between, said to him: ‘When you die, that witch la Vespa is quite capable of giving away the house by the medlar tree for a song and it would be better if you looked after your affairs yourself, as long as you’re alive to do so.’
Then zio Crocifisso said yes, they would go to the notary, but he had to gain something on this deal, as anyone could see how many losses he’d made. And pretending to talk with him, Piedipapera added: ‘If she hears that you’ve got back the money for the house, that witch of a wife of yours is quite capable of throttling you to buy herself so many necklaces and handkerchieves.’ And he also said: ‘At least the Mangiacarrubbe girl doesn’t buy necklaces and silk handkerchieves any more, now that she’s landed a husband. See how she comes to mass in a little cotton frock.’
‘I don’t care what the Mangiacarrubbe girl does, but they ought to have burned her alive too, along with all other women who are in this world to drive you crazy. Do you really believe she doesn’t buy anything any more? It’s all a deception, to gull padron Fortunato, who is going around bawling that he wants to grab himself any wife in the middle of the street, rather than have his property enjoyed by that wretch who has robbed him of his son. Personally I’d give him la Vespa, if he would have her. They’re all the same! And God help anyone who falls for them, completely blinded as you have to be to do so. Look at don Michele, who goes to the strada del Nero to make eyes at donna Rosolina; he’s got everything he needs. Respected, well paid, a healthy stomach … even he runs after women, troubling trouble; all in the hope of a few pence from the priest.’
‘Oh no, he doesn’t go there for donna Rosolina, oh dear no!’ said Piedipapera winking at him slyly. ‘Donna Rosolina can make sheep’s eyes at him until she takes root on the spot, on the terrace among all her tomatoes. Don Michele doesn’t give a hoot about the priest’s money. I know what he’s up to in the strada del Nero!’
‘So what do you want for the house?’ resumed padron ’Ntoni.
‘We’ll talk about it when we’re at the notary’s,’ answered zio Crocifisso. ‘Now let me hear holy mass in peace’; and he sent him away quite crestfallen.
‘Don Michele has other things on his mind,’ repeated Piedipapera, sticking a healthy length of tongue out behind padron ’Ntoni’s back, and casting a look in the direction of his grandson, who was going to perch on the wall, with that rag of a jacket on his shoulders, darting poisonous looks at zio Santoro, who had taken to coming to mass, to hold out his hand to the faithful, muttering Hail Maries and Gloria Patris, and he knew everyone individually, as the crowd came out of the church, and would say to each of them: ‘May the good Lord send you luck,’ and to another: ‘Your good health,’ and as don Michele passed in front of him, he even said: ‘She’s there waiting for you in the vegetable patch behind the shed. Holy Mary Mother of God, ora pro nobis. Oh Lord God forgive me!’
As soon as don Michele went back to hanging around Santuzza, people said: ‘The cats and dogs have made it up! That means they must have been sulking at each other with good reason!’
And as massaro Filippo too had gone back to the wine shop: ‘Him too! Can’t he live without don Michele? That’s a sign he’s in love with the sergeant, rather than with Santuzza. Some people wouldn’t know how to be alone even in paradise!’
Then ’Ntoni Malavoglia seethed, kicked out of the wine shop as he was, worse than a mangy dog, without a penny in his pocket to go and drink under don Michele’s nose, and seat himself down there all day, with his elbows on the table, and make them all fume. Instead he had to stay out on the street like a stray dog, with his tail between his legs and nose to the ground, muttering: ‘By the blood of Judas! one of these days something serious will happen, that’s for sure!’
Rocco Spatu, and Cinghialenta, who always had a bit of money, laughed in his face, from the door of the tavern, making gestures of contempt, and then they came to talk to him in low voices, pulling him by the arm towards the sciara and whispering in his ear. He kept on nodding assent, like the dolt he was. Then they told him sharply: ‘It serves you right to die of hunger in front of the wine shop, watching don Michele giving you horns by the minute, swine that you are!’
‘By the blood of Judas, don’t say that,’ shouted ’Ntoni, fists flailing, ‘or one of these days something serious will happen, you see if it doesn’t!’
But the others left him there, shrugging their shoulders, and sneering; so that at last they got him really rattled; and he went and stood himself right in the middle of the wine shop, waxen as a corpse, with his hand on his hip and his old jacket on his shoulder, as brave as if it were made of velvet, casting vicious looks around to fall upon certain people he knew. Don Michele pretended not to see him, for love of his braided cap, and tried to leave; but now that don Michele was playing the goat, ’Ntoni felt his hackles rise, and laughed and sneered in their faces, at him and Santuzza; and he spat in the wine he was drinking, saying it was as poisonous as that they had given to Christ on the cross! And baptised into the bargain, because Santuzza had put water in it, and it was real idiocy to come and let oneself be robbed in that tavern; and that was why he wasn’t coming any more! Touched to the quick,
Santuzza couldn’t contain herself any
longer, and told him that if he didn’t come there any more it was because they were tired of supporting him on charity and that they had been obliged to drive him out of the door with a broom, he was so hungry. Then ’Ntoni began to raise merry hell, shouting and breaking glasses, saying that they had driven him out to bring in that other dolt with the braided cap; but he was man enough to bring the wine out of his nose, if he wanted to, because he wasn’t afraid of anyone. Equally yellow, don Michele, with his cap askew, stammered: ‘Word of honour, this time it will end badly,’ while Santuzza sent glasses and jugs flying at both of them. So at last they came to blows, and rolled under the benches, vicious as cats, while people kicked and punched them to get them apart; and at last Peppi Naso succeeded with the leather belt he took off his trousers, which skinned you where it touched you.
Don Michele brushed down his uniform, went to retrieve the sabre he’d lost in the fray and went out muttering between his teeth, without further ado, for love of his braided cap. But ’Ntoni Malavoglia, whose nose was pouring blood, seeing him sneak off like that, couldn’t restrain himself from mouthing a sea of curses after him from the door of the wine shop, showing him his fist, and using his sleeve to wipe away the blood from his nose; and he promised he’d give him his come-uppance next time he met him.
CHAPTER XIV
I Malavoglia Page 24