 Chapter 13 Part 1 of the House by the Medlar Tree by Giovanni Verga Translated by Mary A. Craig This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Tom Denham. Padron Antone, when his grandson came home to him drunk in the evening, did his best to get him off to bed without letting him be seen by the others, because such a thing had never been known among the malevolia, and old as he was it brought the tears to his eyes. When he got up by night to call Alessio to go out to sea, he let the other one sleep. For that matter he wouldn't have been of any use if he had gone. Of course Antone was ashamed of himself and went down to the landing to meet them with bent head, but little by little he grew hardened and said to himself, So I shall have another Sunday to-morrow too! The poor old man did everything he could think of to touch his heart, and even went so far as to take a shirt of his to Don Giamaria to be exorcised, which cost him thirty centimes. See, he said to Antone, such things were never known among the malevolia. If you take the downward road like rock or spatu, your brother and your sister will go after you. One black sheep spoils the flock, and those few pens which we have put together with such pains will all go again. For one fisherman the boat was lost, and what shall we do then? Antone stood with his head down or growled something between his teeth, but the next day it was the same thing over again, and once he said, At least if I lose my head, I forget my misery. What do you mean by misery? You are young, you are healthy, you understand your business. What do you want more? I am old. Your brother is but a boy, but we have pulled ourselves out of the ditch. Now, if you would help us, we might become once more what we were in other days. Not happy as we were then, for the dead cannot return to us, but without other troubles, and we should be together like the fingers of a hand, and should have bread to eat. If I close my eyes once for all, what is to become of you? See, now I tremble every time we put out to sea, lest I should never come back, and I am old. When his grandfather succeeded in touching his heart, Antone would begin to cry. His brother and sisters, who knew all, would run away and shut themselves up almost as if he were a stranger, or as if they were afraid of him. And his grandfather, with his rosary in his hand, muttered, Oh, blessed soul of Bastionazzo! Oh, soul of my daughter in Omeruzza! Pray that a miracle may be worked for us! When Menna saw him coming, with pale face and shining eyes, she met him, saying, Come this way! Grandfather is in there, and brought him in through the little door of the kitchen, then sat down and cried quietly by the hearth, so that at last one evening, Antone said, I won't go to the tavern again! No, not if they kill me! And went back to his work, with all his former good will. Nay, he even got up earlier than the rest, and went down to the beach to wait for them, while it wanted still two hours to day. The three kings were shining over the church tower, and the crickets could be heard trilling in the vineyards, as if they had been close by. The grand-papa could not contain himself for joy. He went on all the time talking to him, to show how pleased he was, and said to himself, It is the blessed souls of his father and his mother that have worked this miracle. The miracle lasted all the week, and when Sunday came, Antone wouldn't even go into the piazza, lest he should see the tavern, even from a distance, or meet his friends who might call him. But he dislocated his jaws yawning all that long day, when there was nothing to be done. He wasn't a child to go about among the bushes on the down, singing like Nunziata and his brother Alessio, or a girl to sweep the house like Mena, nor was he an old man to spend the day mending broken barrels or baskets like his grandfather. He sat by the door in the little street, where not even a hen passed by the door, and listened to the voices and the laughter at the tavern. He went to bed early to pass the time, and got up on Monday morning, sulky as ever. His grandfather said to him, It would be better for you if Sunday never came, for the day after you are just as if you were sick. That was what would be best for him, that there should not be even a Sunday to rest in, and his heart sank to think that every day should be like Monday, so that when he came back from the fishing in the evening he would not even go to bed, but went about here and there, bemoaning his hard fate, and ended by going back to the tavern. At first, when he used to come home uncertain of his footing, he slipped in quietly and stammered excuses, or went silently to bed, but now he was noisy, and disputed with his sister who met him at the door with a pale face and red eyes, and told him to come in by the back way, for that grandfather was there. I don't care, he replied. The next day he got up looking wretchedly ill, and in a very bad humour, and took to scolding and swearing all day long. Once there was a very sad scene. His grandfather, not knowing what to do to touch his heart, drew him into the corner of the little room, with the door shut that the neighbours might not hear, and said to him, crying like a child, the poor old man, oh Tony, don't you remember that here your mother died? Why should you disgrace your mother, turning out as badly as a rock or spatu? Don't you see how poor cousin Anna works all the time for that big drunkard of a son of hers, and how she weeps at times because she has not bread to give to her other children, and has no longer the heart to laugh, who goes with wolves turns wolf, and who goes with cripples one year goes lame the next. Don't you remember that night of the cholera that we were all gathered round that bed, and she confided the children to your care? And Tony cried like a weaned calf, and said he wished he could die too, but afterwards he went back, slowly indeed as if unwillingly, but still he did go back to the tavern. And at night instead of coming home, he wandered about the streets, and leaned against the walls half dead with fatigue, with rock or spatu, and chinky alenta, or he sang and shouted with them to drive away his melancholy. At last poor old Padron and Tony got so that he was ashamed to show himself in the street. His grandson instead to get rid of his sermons came home looking so black that nobody felt inclined to speak to him. As if he didn't preach plenty of sermons to himself, but it was all the fault of his fate that he had been born in such a state of life. And he went off to the druggist, or to whoever else would listen to him, to exhaust himself in speeches about the injustice of everything that there was in this world, that if a poor fellow went to Sant Tutsas to drink and forget his troubles, he was called a drunkard while those who drank their own wine at home had no troubles, nor anyone to reprove them or hunt them off to work, but were rich enough for two, and did not need to work, while we were all the sons of God, and everybody ought to share and share a like. That fellow has talent, said the druggist to Don Silvestro, or Padron Cipolla, or to anybody else whom he could find. He sees things in the lump, but an idea he has. It isn't his fault if he doesn't express himself properly, but that of the government that leaves him in ignorance. For his instruction he lent him the secolo, the age, and the gazette of Catania. But Antoni very soon got tired of reading, first because it was troublesome, and because while he was a soldier they had made him learn to read by force, but now he was at liberty to do as he liked, and besides he'd forgotten a good deal of it, and how the words came one after another in printing. And all that talk in print didn't put a penny in his pocket. What did it matter to him? Don Franco explained to him how it mattered to him, and when Don Michelli passed across the piazza he shook his head at him winking, and pointed out to him how he came after Donna Rosalina as well as others. For Donna Rosalina had money and gave it to people to get herself married. First we must clear away all these fellows in uniform. We must make a revolution, that's what we must do. And what will you give me to make the revolution? Don Franco shrugged his shoulders and went back to his mortar, for talking to such people as that was just beating water with a pestle, neither morn nor less, he said. But Gusfut said, as soon as Antoni's back was turned, he ought to get rid of Don Michelli for another reason. He's after his sister. But Antoni isn't worse than a pig now that Santuzza is taken to keeping him. Gusfut felt Don Michelli to be a weight on his mind since that active official had taken to looking a scans at Rocco, Spattu, and Cinchialenta, and himself, whenever he saw them together. For that he wanted to get rid of him. Those poor Malavoglia had come to such a pass that they were the talk of the place on account of their brother. Now everybody knew that Don Michelli often walked up and down the Black Street, to spite the Zoupida, who was always mounting guard over her girl with her distaff in her hand. And Don Michelli, not to lose time, had taken to looking at Leah, who had now become a very pretty girl, and had no one to look after her except her sister, who would say to her, Come, Leah, let us go in. It is not nice for us to stand at the door now we are orphans. But Leah was vain, worse than her brother Antoni, and she liked to stand at the door that people might see her pretty flowered kerchief, and have people say to her, How pretty you look in that kerchief, cousin Leah. While Don Michelli devoured her with his eyes, poor Mena, while she stood at the door waiting for her drunken brother to come home, felt so humbled and abased that she wanted the energy to order her sister to come in, because Don Michelli passed by. And Leah said, Are you afraid he will eat me? Nobody wants any of us now that we have got nothing left. Look at my brother, even the dogs will have nothing to say to him. If Antoni had a spark of courage, said Goosefood, he would get rid of that Don Michelli. But Antoni had another reason for wishing to get rid of Don Michelli. Sant'Ozza, after having quarrelled with Don Michelli, had taken a fancy to Antoni Malavoglia for that fashion he had of wearing his cap, and of swaggering a little when he walked, that he had learned when he was a soldier, and used to hide for him, behind the counter, the remains of the customer's dinners, and to fill his glasses well now and then on the sly. In this way she kept him about a tavern, as fat and as sleek as the butcher's dog. Antoni, meantime, discharged himself to a certain extent of his obligation to her, by taking her part, sometimes even to the extent of thumps with those unpleasant people who chose to find fault with their bills, and to scold and swear about the place forever so long before they would consent to pay them. With those who were friends with the hostess, on the contrary, he was chatty and pleasant and kept an eye on the counter too, while Sant'Ozza went to confession, so that everyone there liked him, and treated him as if he were at home. All but Uncle Sant'Oro, who looked a-scance at him and muttered between one of him, Maria, and another against him, and how he lived upon his girl like a cannon, without lifting a finger, Sant'Ozza replying that she was the mistress, and if it were her pleasure to keep Antoni Malavoglia for herself as fat as a cannon, she should do it. She had no need of anybody. Yes, yes, growled Uncle Sant'Oro, when he could get her for a minute by herself, you always need Don McKaylee. Master Filippo has told me time and again that he means to have done with it, that he won't keep the wine in the cellar any longer, and we must get it into the place contraband. Don Filippo must attend to his own affairs, but I tell you once for all, that if I have to pay the duty twice over, I won't have Don McKaylee here again. I won't, I won't. She could not forgive Don McKaylee the ugly trick he had played her with the Zoupida, after all that time that he'd lived like a fighting cock at the tavern full of love of his uniform. And Antoni Malavoglia, with no uniform at all, was worth ten of Don McKaylee, whatever she gave him, she gave him with all her heart. In this way Antoni earned his living, and when his grandfather reproved him for doing nothing, or his sister looked gravely at him with her large melancholy eyes, he would reply, And do I ask you for anything? I don't spend any money out of the house, and I earn my own bread. It would be better that you should die of hunger, said his grandfather, and that we all fell dead on the spot. At last they spoke no more to each other, turning their backs as they sat. Padron and Antoni was driven to silence sooner than quarrel with his grandson, and Antoni, tired of being preached to, left them there, whining, and went off to Rocco Spattu, and Cousin Vanny, who at least were jolly, and could find every day some new trick to play off on somebody. They found one one day which was to serenade Uncle Crucifix the night of his marriage with his niece Vesper, and they brought under his windows all the crew to whom Uncle Crucifix would no longer lend a penny with broken pots and bottles, ships, bells, and whistles of cane, making the devil's own row until midnight, so that Vesper got up the next morning, rather greener than usual, and railed at that hussy of a Santuzza in whose tavern all that noisy raft had got up that nasty trick. And it was all out of jealousy she had done it, because she couldn't get married herself, as Vesper had. Everybody laughed at Uncle Crucifix when he appeared in the piazza in his new clothes, yellow as a corpse, and half frightened out of his wits at Vesper and the money she had made him spend for his new clothes. Vesper was always spending and spilling, and if he had left her alone he would have emptied his money-bags in a fortnight, and she said that now she was mistress so that there was the devil to pay between them every day. His wife planted her nails in his face and screamed that she was going to keep the keys herself, that she didn't see why she should want a bit of bread or a new kerchief worse than she did before, and if she had known what was to become of her marriage, with such a husband too, she would have kept her fields and her medal of the daughters of Mary. And he screamed too that he was ruined, that he was no longer master in his own house, that now he had the cholera in his house in good earnest, that they wanted to kill him before his time to waste the money that he had spent his life in putting together. He too, if he had known how it would be, would have seen them both at the devil, his wife and her fields first, that he didn't need a wife and that they had frightened him into taking Vesper, telling him that Brasi Ciapolla was going to run off with her and her fields, cursed be her fields. Just at this point it came out that Brasi Ciapolla had allowed himself to be taken possession of by the man Giacarubi, like a great stupid lout as he was, and Padron Fortunato was always hunting for them up and down on the heath, in the ravine under the bridge, everywhere, foaming at the mouth, and swearing that if he caught them he would kick them as long as he could stand and would wring his son's ears off for him. Uncle Crucifix, at this, became quite desperate and said that the man Giacarubi had ruined him by not running off with Brasi a week sooner. This is the will of God, he said, beating his breast. The will of God is that I should have taken this wasp to expiate my sins, and his sins must have been heavy, for the wasp poisoned the bread in his mouth and made him suffer the pains of purgatory both by day and by night. The neighbors never came near the Malavoglia now, any more than if the cholera were still in the house, but left her alone with her sister in her flowered kerchief, or with Nunciata and her cousin Anna, when they had the charity to come and chat with her a bit. As for Anna, she was as badly off as they were, with her drunkard of a son, and now everybody knew all about it, and Nunciata, and Nunciata too, who had been so little when that scamp of a father of hers had deserted her and gone elsewhere to seek his fortune. The poor things felt for each other for that very reason, when they talked together in low tones with bent heads, and hands folded under their aprons, and also when they were silent, each absorbed in her own pain. When people are as badly off as we are, said Leah, speaking like a grown-up woman, everyone must take care of oneself and look after one's own interests. Don McKaylee, every now and then, would stop and joke with them a little, so that the girls got used to his gold-bound cap, and were no longer afraid of him, and little by little Leah began to joke with him herself, and to laugh at him, nor did men are dare to scold her, or to leave her and go into the kitchen, now they had no mother, but stayed with them, crouching on the doorstep, looking up and down the street with her tired eyes. Now that they were deserted by the neighbours, they felt their hearts swell with gratitude towards Don McKaylee, who, with all his uniform, did not disdain to stop at the Malavolia's door for a chat now and then. And if Don McKaylee found Leah alone, he would look into her eyes, pulling his moustaches with his gold-bound cap on one side, and say to her, What a pretty girl you are, cousin Malavolia! Nobody else had ever told her that, so she turned as red as a tomato. How does it happen? Did you are not yet married? Don McKaylee asked her one day. She shrugged her shoulders, and answered that she did not know. You ought to have a dress of silk and wool and long earrings, and then upon my word there'd be many a fine city lady not fit to hold a candle to you. A dress of silk and wool would not be a proper thing for me, Don McKaylee replied, But why, hasn't the zoop bidder won, and the mangia carube, now that she has caught Brasi chapola, won't she have one too, and Vesper too can have one if she likes? They are rich, they are. Cruel fate! cried Don McKaylee, striking the hilt of his sword with his fist. I wish I could win a turn in the lottery, cousin Leah, then I'd show you what I'd do. Sometimes Don McKaylee would add, Permit me, with his hand to his cap, and sit down near them on the stones. Menna thought he came for Barbara, and said nothing. But to Leah Don McKaylee swore that he did not come there on account of Barbara, that he never had, that he never should, that he was thinking of quite a different person. Did not cousin Leah know that? And he rubbed his chin, and twisted his mustaches, and stared at her like a basilisk. The girl turned all sorts of colours, and got up to run into the house, but Don McKaylee caught her by the hand, and said, Do you wish to offend me, cousin Malavolia? Why do you treat me in this way? Stay where you are, nobody means to eat you. So, while they were waiting for the men to come back from the sea, they passed the time, she in the door, and Don McKaylee on the stones, breaking little twigs to pieces because he did not know what to do with his hands. Once he asked her, Would you like to go and live in the town? What should I do in town? That's the place for you. You were not meant to live here with these peasants upon my honour. You are of a better sort than they are. You ought to live in a pretty little cottage, or in a villa, and to go to the marina, or to the promenade, when there is music dressed prettily, as I should like to see you, with a pretty silker chief on your head, and an amber necklace. Here I feel as if I were living in the midst of pigs. Upon my honour I can hardly wait for the time when I shall be promoted, and recalled to town as they have promised me next year. Leah began to laugh as if it were all a joke, shaking her shoulders at the idea, she who didn't know even what silker chiefs or amber necklaces were like. End of Chapter 13 Part 1 Recording by Tom Denham Chapter 13 Part 2 Of The House by the Medlar Tree by Giovanni Verga Translated by Mary A. Craig This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Tom Denham Then one day Don McKayly drew out of his pocket with great mystery, a fine red and yellow silk kerchief wrapped up in a pretty paper, and wanted to make a present of it to cousin Leah. No, no, said she, turning fiery red. I wouldn't take it. No, not if he killed me. Don McKayly insisted. I did not expect this, cousin Leah. I do not deserve this. But after all, he had to wrap the kerchief once more in the paper and put it back into his pocket. After this, whenever she caught a glimpse of Don McKayly, Leah ran off to hide herself in the house, fearing that he would try to give her the kerchief. It was in vain that Don McKayly passed up and down the street, the zoopida screaming at him all the time, in vain that he stretched his neck peering into the Malavolia's door. No one was ever to be seen, so that at last he made up his mind to go in. The girls, when they saw him standing before them, stared open-mouthed, trembling as if they had the egg you, not knowing what to do. You would not take the silk kerchief, cousin Leah, he said to the girl who turned red as a poppy. But I have come all the same, because I like you all so much. What is your brother and Donny doing now? Now men are turned red too, when he asked what her brother and Donny was doing, for he was doing nothing. And Don McKayly went on, I am afraid he will do something that you will not like your brother and Donny. I am your friend, and I take no notice. But when another brigadier comes in my place, he will be wanting to know what your brother is always about with chingolenta and that other pretty specimen, rocospattu, down by the rotolo in the evening, or walking about the towns as if they had nothing to do but wear out their shoes, look after him well, cousin Mena, and listen to what I tell you, tell him not to go so much with that meddling old wretch goose-foot in Vani Pizzuti's shop, for we know everything, and he will come to harm among them. The others are old foxes, and you had better tell your grandfather to stop him from walking so much up and down the beach, for the beach is not meant to walk about on. And the cliffs of the rotolo have ears, tell him, and one can see very well, even without glasses, the boats that put out from there at dusk, as if they were going to fish for bats. Tell him this, cousin Mena, and tell him, too, that this warning comes from one who is your friend. As for master chingolenta and rocospattu, as for master chingolenta and rocospattu, and Vani Pizzuti as well, we have our eye on them. Your brother trusts old goose-foot, but he does not know that the coast guards have a percentage on smuggled goods, and that they always manage to get hold of someone of a gang, and give him a share to spy on them that they may be surprised. Mena opened her eyes still wider, and turned pale, without quite understanding all this long speech. But she had been trembling already for fear that her brother would get into trouble with the men in uniform. Don Mikele, to give her courage, took her hand and went on. If it came to be known that I had warned you, it would be all over with me. I am risking my uniform in telling you this, because I am so fond of all you malevolia. But I should be very sorry if your brother got into trouble. No, I don't want to meet him some night in some ugly place where he has no business. No, I wouldn't have it happen to catch a booty worth a thousand francs upon my honour, I wouldn't. The poor girls hadn't a moment's peace after Don Mikele had warned them of this new cause of anxiety. They didn't shut their eyes of a night waiting behind the door for their brother, sometimes until very late, trembling with cold and terror, while he went singing up and down the streets with rock or spatoo and the rest of the gang, and the poor girls seemed to hear the cries and the shots, as they had heard them that night when there was the talk of hunting two-legged quail. You go to bed and to sleep, said Menor, to her sister. You are too young for such things as this. To her grandfather she said nothing, for she wished to spare him this fresh trouble, but to Antoni, when she saw him a little more quiet than usual sitting at the door with his chin upon his hands, she took courage to say, What are you doing, going about with rock or spatoo and chinky alenta? You have been seen with them at the rotolo and on the downs, and beware of goosefoot. Remember how Jesus said to John, beware of them whom God has marked? Who told you that? said Antoni, leaping up as if he were possessed. Tell me, who told you? Don Mikaeli told me, she answered with tearful eyes. He told me that you should beware of goosefoot and that to catch the smugglers they had to get information from some one of the gang. He told you nothing else? No, he told me nothing else. Then Antoni swore that there wasn't a word of truth in the whole of it, and told her she mustn't tell his grandfather. Then he got up and went off in a hurry to the tavern to drown his worries in wine, and if he met any of the fellows in uniform he gave them a wide berth. After all, Don Mikaeli really knew nothing about it, and only talked at random to frighten him because he was jealous about Santuzza, who had turned him, Don Mikaeli, out of the house like a mangy dog. And in short, he wasn't afraid either of Don Mikaeli, or any of his crew that were paid to suck the blood of the people. Ah, fine thing to be sure! Don Mikaeli had no need to help himself in that fashion, fat and sleek as he was, and he must need to try to lay hands on some poor, helpless devil or other if he tried to get hold of a stray five-frank piece. And that other idea, too, that to get anything in from outside the country one must pay the duty as if the things had been stolen, and Don Mikaeli and his spies must come poking their noses into it, they were free to take whatever they liked and were paid for doing it, but others, if they tried at the risk of their lives to get their goods on shore, were treated worse than thieves and shot down like wolves with pistols and carbines. But it never was a sin to rob thieves. Don Giamaria said so himself in the drugist's shop, and Don Franco nodded, beard and all, and sneered that when they got to be public, there would be no more such dirty work as that. Nor of those devil's officials, added the vicar. A lot of idle fellows who were paid for carrying guns about snalled the drugist. Like the priests who take forty centeens for saying a mass, tell us, Don Giamaria, how much capital do you put into the masses that you get paid for? About as much as you put into that dirty water that you make us pay the eyes out of our heads for, said the priest, foaming at the mouth. Don Franco had learned to laugh like Don Sylvestro just on purpose to put Don Giamaria into a passion, and he went on without listening to him. Yes, in half an hour their work is done, and they can amuse themselves for the rest of the day, just the same as Don Michaele, who goes flitting about like a great ugly bird all day long, now that he doesn't keep the benches warm at Santuzas any more. For that he has taken it up with me, interposed in Tony, and he is as cross as a bear, and goes swaggering about because he has a sabre tied to him. But by our lady's blood, one time or another, I'll beat it about his head, that sabre of his, to show him how much I care for it, and for him. Bravo, exclaimed the druggist, that's the way to talk, the people ought to show their teeth. But not here, I don't want to fuss in my shop. The government would give anything to get me into a scrape, but I don't care to have anything to do with their judges and tribunals and the rest of their machinery. And Tony Malavolia raised his fist in the air, and swore that he was going to have done with it, once for all, if he went to the galleys for it, for the matter of that he had nothing to lose. Santuzas no longer looked upon him as she formally did, so much had her father obtained of her, always whining and weadling at her between one Ave Maria and another, since Master Filippo had left off keeping his wine in their cellar. He said that the customers were thinning off like flies at St Andrew's Day, now they no longer found Master Filippo's wine, which they had drunk ever since they were babies. Uncle Santoro went on saying to his daughter, What do you want with that great useless and Tony Malavolia always about the place? Don't you see that he is eating you out of house and home to no purpose? You fatten him like a pig and then he goes off and makes eyes at Vespa, or the man Jacarubin, now that they are rich? Or he said, Your customers are leaving you because you always have Tony after you, so that nobody has a chance to laugh or talk with you, or he's so dirty and ragged that he's ashamed to be seen. The place looks like a stable and people don't want to drink out of the glasses after him. Don McKayly looked well at the door with his cap with the gold braid. People like to drink their wine in peace when they are paid for it, and they like to see a man with a sabre at the door, and everybody took off their caps to him, and nobody was likely to deny a debt to you while he was about. Now that he doesn't come, Master Filippo doesn't come either. The other day he was passing and I wanted him to come in, but he said it was of no use now, for he couldn't get anything in contraband any longer, now you had quarrelled with Don McKayly, which is neither good for the soul nor for the body. People are beginning to murmur already and to say that the charity you give to Tony is not blameless, and if it goes on the vicar may hear of it, and you may lose your medal. At first Santuza held out, for as she said, she was determined to be mistress in her own house, but afterwards she began to see things in another light, and no longer treated in Tony as she used to do. If there was anything left at meals, she did not give it to him, and she left the glasses dirty and gave him no wine, so that at last he began to look cross, and then she told him that she didn't want any idle fellows about the place, and that she and her father earned their bread, and that he ought to do the same. Couldn't he help a bit about the house, chopping wood or blowing up the fire, instead of always shouting and screaming about, or sleeping with his head on his arms, or else spitting about everywhere so that one didn't know where to set one's foot? Tony for a while did chop the wood, or blew the fire, which he preferred, as it was easier work. But he found it hard to work like a dog worse than he did at home, and be treated like a dog into the bargain with hard words and cross looks, and all for the sake of the dirty plates they gave him to lick. At last, one day when Santuza had just come back from confession, he made a scene, complaining that Don McKaylee had begun to hover about the house again, and that he had waited for her in the piazza when she came home from church, and that Uncle Santoro had called to him when he heard his voice as he was passing, and had followed him as far as Vanny Pizzotti's shop, feeling the walls with his stick. Santuza flew into a passion and said that he had come on purpose to bring her into sin again, and make her lose her communion. If you are not pleased, you can go, she said. Did I say anything when I saw you running after Vespa and Amandya Karube now that they have got themselves married? But Tony swore there wasn't a word of truth in it, that he didn't go running after any women, and that she might spit in his face if she saw him speaking to either of them. No, you won't get rid of him that way, said Uncle Santoro. Don't you see that he won't leave you because he lives at your expense? You won't get him out unless you kick him out. Master Filippo has told me that he can't keep his new wine any longer in the barrels, and that he won't let you have it unless you make it up with Don McKaylee, and help him to smuggle it in as he used to. And he went off after Master Filippo to Vani Pizzuti's shop, feeling his way along the walls with his stick. His daughter put on haughty airs, protesting that she never would forgive Don McKaylee after the ugly trick he had played her. Let me manage it, said Uncle Santoro. I assure you I can be discreet enough about it. Don't believe I will ever let you go back and lick Don McKaylee's boots, am I your father or not? Tony, since Santuzza had begun to be rude to him, was obliged to look somewhere else for his dinner, for he was ashamed to go home, where all the time his people were thinking of him with every mouthful they ate, feeling almost as if he were dead too. And they did not even spread the cloth any more, but scattered about the room with the plates on their knees. This is the last blow for me in my old age, said his grandfather, and those who saw him pass, bent down with the nets on his shoulders, on his way to his day's work, said to each other. This is Padron and Tony's last winter. It will not be long before those orphans are left quite alone in the world. And Leah, when Mena told her to stay in the house, when Don McKaylee passed by, answered with a pout, Yes, it is worth while staying in the house for such precious persons as we are. You needn't be afraid anybody will want to steal us. Oh, if your mother were here you wouldn't talk in that way, murmured Mena. If my mother were here I shouldn't be an orphan, and shouldn't have to take care of myself, nor wouldn't Tony go wandering about the streets, until it is ashamed to hear oneself call his sister, and not a soul would think of taking Tony Malavoglia's sister for a wife. Tony, now that he was in bad luck, was not ashamed to show himself everywhere, with Rocco Spattu, and with Chinky Alenta, on the downs and by the Rotolo, and was seen whispering to them mysteriously like a lot of wolves. Don McKaylee came back to Mena, saying, Your brother will play you an ugly trick some day, cousin Mena. Mena was driven to going out to look for her brother on the downs, all towards the Rotolo, or at the door of the tavern, sobbing and crying, and pulling him by the sleeve. But he replied, No, it is all Don McKaylee. He is determined to ruin me, I tell you. He is always plotting against me with Uncle Santoro. I have heard him myself in Pizzuti's shop, and that spy said to him, And if I come back to your daughter, what kind of a figure shall I cut? An Uncle Santoro answered, But when I tell you that, the whole place will by that time be dying of envy of you. But what do you mean to do, asked Mena with her pale face, Think of our mother and Tony, and of us who have no one left in the world? Nothing. I mean to put Santuzza to shame, and him too, as they go to the mass before all the world. I mean to tell them what I think of them, and make them a laughing stock for everybody. I fear nobody in the world, and the druggist himself shall hear me. In short, it was useless for Mena to weep or to beg. He went on saying that he had nothing to lose, and the others should look after themselves and not blame him, that he was tired of that life and meant to end it, as Don Franco said. And since he was not kindly received at the tavern, he took to lounging about the piazza, especially on Sundays, and sat on the church steps to see what sort of a face those shameless wretches would wear, trying to deceive not only the world, but our Lord and the Madonna under their very eyes. Santuzza, not wishing to meet in Tony, went to Aci Castello to mass early in the morning, not to be led into temptation. Tony watched the mangia carube with her face wrapped in her mantle, not looking to the right or to the left. Now she had caught her husband. Vespa, all over flounces and with a very big rosary, went to besiege heaven, that she might be delivered from her scourge of her husband, and Tony snarled after them. Now that they have caught husbands they want nothing more, they've somebody to see that they have plenty to eat. Uncle Crucifix had lost even his devotional habits since he had got Vespa on his shoulders. He kept away from church to be free from her presence, at least for so long a time, to the great peril of his soul. This is my last year, he whined, and now he was always running after Padron and Tony, and the others who were badly off. This year I shall have hail in my vineyard, you'll see. I shall not have a drop of wine." You know, Uncle Crucifix replied Padron and Tony, as soon as you like, I am ready to go to the notary for that affair of the house, and I have the money here. That one cared for nothing but his house, and other people's affairs were nothing to him. Don't talk to me of the notary, Padron and Tony. If I hear anyone speak of a notary, I am reminded of the day when I let Vespa drag me before one. Cursed be that day! But Cousin Goosefoot, who smelled a bargain, said to him, that witch of a wasp, after your death, may be capable of selling the house by the med life and extra nothing. Isn't it better that you should finish up your own affairs while you can? And Uncle Crucifix would reply, yes, yes, I'll go to the notary, but you must let me make some profit on the affair. Look how many losses I have had! And Goosefoot, feigning to agree with him, would add, that witch of a wife of yours must not know that you have the money, or she might twist your neck for the sake of spending it in necklace's new gowns. And he went on, at least a manja carube does not throw her money away, now she has caught her husband. Look how she comes to church in a cotton gown! I don't care for the manja carube, but I know she and all the other women ought to be burned alive. They are only put in the world for our damnation. Do you believe that she doesn't spend the money? That's all put on to take in Padron Fortunato, who goes about declaring that he'd rather marry a girl himself out of the street than let his money go to that beggar who has stolen his son from him. I'd give him Vespa for my part, if he wanted her. They're all alike, and woe to whoever gets one for his misfortune. The Lord help him. Look at Don McKaylee, who goes up and down the Black Street after Donna Rosolina. What does he need more that one? Respected, well-paid, fat and comfortable, well he goes running after a woman looking for trouble with a lantern for the sake of the vicar's few soldy after his death. No, he doesn't go for Donna Rosolina. No, said Goosefoot, winking mysteriously. Donna Rosolina may take root on her terrace among her tomatoes with her eyes like a dead fishes. Don McKaylee doesn't care for the vicar's money. I know what he goes to the Black Street for. Then what will you take for the house? asked Padron and Tony, returning to the subject. We'll see. We'll see when we go to the notary, replied Old Crucifix. Now let me listen to the blessed mass. And so he sent him off for that time. Don McKaylee has something else in his head, repeated Goosefoot, running his tongue out behind Padron and Tony's back, and making a sign towards his grandson who was leaning against the wall with a ragged jacket over one shoulder and casting furious looks at Uncle Santoro, who had taken to coming to Mass to hold out his hand to the faithful in the intervals of muttered glories and Ave Maria's, knowing them all very well as they passed him on their way out. Saying to one, Lord bless you, to another, God give you health. And as Don McKaylee passed, he said to him, Go to her. She is waiting for you in the garden. Holy Mary, pray for us. Lord be merciful to me, your sinner. When Don McKaylee began to go back to the tavern, people said, Look, if the cat and dog haven't made friends. There must have been some reason for their quarrelling, and Master Filippo has gone back to. He seems to have been fonder of Don McKaylee than of Santuzza. Some people wouldn't care to be alone even in paradise. Then Tony Malavoglio was furious, finding himself hustled out of the tavern worse than a mangy dog, without even a penny in his pocket to pay to go and drink in spite of Don McKaylee and his mustaches, and sit there all day long for the sake of plaguing them with his elbows on the table. Instead of which, he was obliged to spend the day in the street, like a dog with his tail between his legs, and his nose to the ground muttering, blood of Judas, one day there'll be an upsetting there, that there will. Rocco Spactu and Cincchialenta, who always had more or less money, laughed in his face from the door of the tavern, pointing their fingers at him or came out to talk to him in low tones, pulling him by the arm in the direction of the downs, or whispering in his ear. He hesitated always about giving them an answer, like a fool as he was. Then they would come down upon him both at once. You deserve to die of hunger there inside of the door, and to have us sneering at you worse than Don McKaylee does you, fate, heart, and wretch, you. Blood of Judas, don't talk like that, cried in Tony, shaking his fist in the air, or else some day something new will happen, that there will. But the others went sneering off and left him, until at last they succeeded in putting him into such a fury that he came straight into the middle of the tavern, among them all, pale as a corpse, with his hand on his hip, and on his shoulder his old worn jacket, which he wore as proudly as if it had been a velvet coat, turning his blazing eyes about the room, looking out for somebody. Don McKaylee, out of respect for his own uniform, pretended not to see him, and made as if he would go away, but in Tony, seeing that Don McKaylee was not in the humour for fighting, became outrageously insolent. Sneering at him and at Santuzza, and spitting out the wine which he drank, swearing that it was poison and baptised besides, for Santuzza had mixed it with water, and they were simply fools to go into such a place as that to throw away their money, and that was the reason why he had left off coming there. Santuzza, touched in her weakest point, could no longer command her temper, and flew out at him, saying that he didn't come because they wouldn't have him, that they were tired of keeping him for charity, and that they had to use the broom handle to him before he'd go a great hungry dog. And then Tony began to rage and storm, roaring and flinging the glasses about, which, he said, they had put out to catch that other great codfish in uniform, but he would bring his wine out at his nose for him, he wasn't afraid of anybody. Don McKaylee, white with rage, with his cap on one side stammered, that this will end badly, will end badly, while Santuzza reigned flasks and glasses upon both of them. At last they flew at each other with their fists until they both rolled on the floor like two dogs, and the others went at them with kicks and thumps, trying to part them, which at last Pepe Nas or the Butcher succeeded in doing by dint of lashing them with the leather strap which he took off his trousers, which took the skin off wherever it touched. Don McKaylee brushed off his uniform, picked up his sabre, which he had lost in the scuffle, and went out, only muttering something between his teeth for his uniform's sake. But Tony Malavolna, with the blood streaming from his nose, called out a lot of bad names after him, robbing his nose with his sleeve meanwhile, and swearing that he would soon give him the rest of it. End of Chapter 13 Part 2 Recording by Tom Denham Chapter 14 Part 1 Of the House by the Medlar Tree by Giovanni Verga, translated by Mary A. Craig This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Tom Denham Tony Malavolna did meet Don McKaylee and gave him his change, and a very ugly business it was. It was by night when it rained in torrents, and so dark that even a cat could have seen nothing at the turn on the down which leads to the rotolo, whence those boats put out so quietly, making belief to be fishing for cod at midnight, and where Antoni, and Rocco Spattu, and Chinky Alente, and other good-for-nothing fellows well known to the Coast Guard, used to hang about with pipes in their mouths. The guards knew those pipes well, and could distinguish them perfectly one from another, as they moved about among the rocks where they lay hidden, with their guns in their hands. "'Cousin, mena,' said Don McKaylee, passing once more down the Black Street, "'Cousin, mena, tell your brother not to go to the rotolo of nights with Chinky Alente and Rocco Spattu.' But Antoni would not listen, for the empty stomach has no ears. And he no longer feared Don McKaylee, since he had rolled over with him hand to hand on the floor of the tavern, and he had sworn, too, to give him the rest of it. And he would give him the rest of it whenever he met him. And he wasn't going to pass for a coward in the eyes of Santuza and the rest who had been present when he threatened him. I said I'd give him the rest when I met him next, and so I will. And if he chooses to meet me at the rotolo, I'll meet him at the rotolo,' he repeated to his companions, who had also brought with them the son of La Loca. They had passed the evening at the tavern. Drinking and roaring for a tavern is like a free port, and no one can be sent out of it as long as they have money to pay their score and to rattle in their pockets. Don McKaylee had gone by on his rounds, but Rocco Spattu, who knew the law, said, spitting and leaning against the wall, the better to balance himself, that as long as the lamp at the door was lighted, the door was lighted, they could not turn them out. We have a right to stay so long,' he repeated. Doni Malavoglia also enjoyed keeping Santuza from going to bed as she sat behind her glasses yawning and dozing. In the meantime, Uncle Santoro, feeling his way about with his hands, had put the lamp out and shut the door. "'Now be off,' said Santuza. "'I don't choose to be fined for your sake for keeping my door open at this hour.' "'Who'll find you, that sparred on McKaylee? Let him come here, and I'll pay him his fine. Tell him you'll find Antoni Malavoglia here by our lady's blood.' Meanwhile, the Santuza had taken him by the shoulders and put him out of the door. Go and tell him yourself, and get into scrapes somewhere else. I don't mean to get into trouble with the police for love of your bright eyes.' Antoni, finding himself in the street in this unceremonious fashion, pulled out a long knife and swore that he would stab both Santuza and Don McKaylee. Cincchialenta was the only one who had his senses, and he pulled him by the coat, saying, "'Leave them alone now! Have you forgotten what we have to do tonight?' LaLocca's son felt greatly inclined to cry. He's drunk, observed Spattu, standing under the rain-pipe. Bring him here under the pipe, it will do him good.' Antoni, quieted a little by the drenching he got from the rain-pipe, let himself be drawn along by Cincchialenta, scolding all the while, swearing that, as sure as he met Don McKaylee, he'd give him what he had promised him. All of a sudden he found himself face to face with Don McKaylee, who was also prowling in the vicinity with his pistols at his belt and his trousers thrust into his boots. Antoni became quite calm all of a sudden, and they all stole off silently in the direction of Vanny Pizzotti's shop. When they reached the door, now that Don McKaylee was no longer near them, Antoni insisted that they should stop and listen to what he had to say. Did you see where Don McKaylee was going? And Santuzza said she was sleepy. Leave Don McKaylee alone, can't you? said Cincchialenta. That way he won't interfere with us. You're all a lot of cowards, said Antoni. You're afraid of Don McKaylee. Tonight you're drunk, said Cincchialenta, but I'll show you whether I'm afraid of Don McKaylee. Now that I've told my uncle I don't mean to have anybody coming bothering after me finding out how I earn my bread. Then they began to talk under their breath, drawn up against the wall, while the noise of the rain drowned their voices. Suddenly the clock struck, and they all stood silent, counting the strokes. Let's go into Cousin Pizzotti's, said Cincchialenta. He can keep his door open as late as he likes, and doesn't need to have a light. It's dark, I can't see, said La Loca, son. We ought to take something to drink, said Rocco Spatu, or we shall break our noses on the rocks. Cincchialenta growled, as if we were just out for our pleasure. Now you'll be wanting Master Vanny to give you a lemonade. I have no need of lemonade, said Antoni. You'll see when I get to work, if I can't manage as well as any of you. Cousin Pizzotti didn't want to open the door at that hour, and replied that he had gone to bed. But as they wouldn't leave off knocking, and threatened to wake up the whole place and bring the guards into the affair, he consented to get up and open the door in his drawers. Are you mad to knock in that way? He exclaimed. I saw Don McKayly pass just now. Yes, we saw him too. Do you know where he came from, asked Pizzotti, looking sharply at him? Antoni shrugged his shoulders, and Vanny, as he stood out of the way to let them pass, winked to Rocco and Cincchialenta. He's peen at the malevolias, he whispered. I saw him come out. Much good may it do him, answered Cincchialenta. But Antoni ought to tell his sister to keep him when we have anything to do. What do you want of me? said Antoni, thickly. Nothing tonight. Never mind. Tonight we can do nothing. If we can do nothing tonight, why did you bring me away from the tavern? said Rocco Spattu. I'm wet through. It was something else that we were speaking of, and Vanny continued. Yes, the man has come from town, and he says the goods are there, but it will be no joke trying to land them in such weather as this. So much the better no one will be looking out for us. Yes, but the guards have sharp ears, and mind you, it seems to me that I heard someone prowling about just now and trying to look into the shop. A moment's silence ensued, and Vanny, to put an end to it, brought out three glasses, and filled them with bitters. I don't care about the guard, cried Rocco Spattu, after he had drunk, so much the worse for them if they meddle in my business. I've got a little knife here that is better than all their pistols, and makes no noise either. We earn our bread the best way we can, said Chinky Alenta, and don't want to do anybody harm. Isn't one to get one's goods on shore where one likes? They go swaggering about, a lot of thieves making us pay double for every handkerchief that we want to land, and nobody shoots them. Added in Tony Malavogna, Do you know what Don Giamaria said? That to rob thieves was not stealing, and the worst of thieves are those fellows in uniform who eat us up alive. I'll mash them in a pulp, concluded Rocco Spattu, with his eyes shining like a cat's. But this conversation did not please LaLoca's son at all, and he set his glass down again without drinking, white as a corpse. Are you drunk already? asked Chinky Alenta. No, he replied, I did not drink. Come into the open air, it will do us all good. Good night. One moment cried Pizzuti with the door in his hand. I don't mean for the money, for the bitters, that I have given you freely, because you are my friends, but listen, between ourselves, eh? If you are successful, mind, I am here, and my house. You know I've got a room at the back, big enough to hold a shipload of goods, and nobody likely to think of it, for Don Michelli and his guards are hand and glove with me. I don't trust Cousin Gusfoot, the last time he threw me over, and put everything in the Don Silvestro's house. Don Silvestro is never contented with a reasonable profit, but asks an awful price on the ground that he risks his place. But I have no such motive, and I ask no more than is reasonable, and I never refused Gusfoot his percentage either, and give him his drinks free, and shave him for nothing. But the devil take him, if he plays me such a trick again, I'll show him that I am not to be fooled in that way. I'll go to Don Michelli and blow the whole business. How it rains, said Spatu. Isn't it going to leave off tonight? With this weather, there'll be no one at the rotulo, said the locker's son, wouldn't it be better to go home? And Donny, Rocco, and Cinque Alanta, who stood on the doorstep listening in silence to the rain, which hissed like fish in the frying pan, stopped a moment, looking into the darkness. Be still, you fool! cried Cinque Alanta, and Vanny Pizzotti closed the door softly after adding in an undertone. Listen, if anything happens, you did not see me this evening. The bitters I gave you out of goodwill, but you haven't been in my house. Don't betray me, I am alone in the world. The others went off surlyly close to the wall in the rain. And that one too, but the Cinque Alanta, and he's to get off because he has nobody in the world that abuses Gusford. At least Gusford has a wife, and I have a wife too, but the balls are good enough for me. Just then they passed very softly before Cousin Anna's closed door, and Rocco Spattu murmured that he had his mother too, who was at that moment fast asleep, luckily for her. Whoever can stay between the sheets in this weather isn't likely to be about, certainly, concluded Cousin Cinque Alanta. And Tony signed to them to be quiet, and to turn down by the alley, so as not to pass before his own door, where Menor, or his grandfather, might be watching for him, and might hear them. Menor was in truth watching for her brother behind the door with her rosary in her hand, and Leah too, without saying why she was there, but pale as the dead. And better would it have been for them all if Tony had passed by the Black Street instead of going round by the alley. Don McKaylee had really been there a little after sunset, and had knocked at the door. Who comes at this hour? said Leah, who was hemming on the sly a certain silkkerchief, which Don McKaylee had at last succeeded in inducing her to accept. It is I, Don McKaylee, open the door, I must speak to you, it is most important. I can't open the door, they're all in bed, but my sister who is watching for my brother, Antoni. If your sister does hear you open the door, it is no matter, it is precisely of Antoni I wish to speak, and it is most important. I don't want your brother to go to the galleys, but open the door, if they see me here I shall lose my place. Oh, blessed Virgin, cried the girl, oh, blessed Virgin Mary. Lock him into the house tonight when he comes back, but don't tell him I told you to. Tell him he must not go out, he must not. Oh, Virgin Mary, oh, blessed Mary, repeated Leah with folded hands. He is at the tavern now, but he must pass this way. Wait for him at the door, or it will be the worst for him. Leah wept silently, lest her sister should hear her, with her face hidden in her hands, and Don McKaylee watched her with his pistols in his belt, and his trousers thrust into his boots. There is no one who weeps for me or watches for me this night, cousin Leah, but I too am in danger, like your brother. And if any misfortune should happen to me, think how I came tonight to warn you, and how I have risked my bread for you more than once. Then Leah lifted up her face, and looked at Don McKaylee, with her large tearful eyes. God reward you for your charity, Don McKaylee. I haven't done it for reward, cousin Leah. I have done it for you, and for the love I bear to you. Now go, for they are all asleep. Go for the love of God, Don McKaylee. And Don McKaylee went, and she stayed by the door, weeping and praying that God would send her brother that way. But the Lord did not send him that way. All four of them, and Don McKaylee and the son of La Loca, went softly along the wall of the alley. And when they came out upon the down, they took off their shoes and carried them in their hands, and stood still to listen. I hear nothing, said McKaylee. The rain continued to fall, and from the top of the cliff nothing could be heard, save the moaning of the sea below. One can't even see to swear, said Rocco Spattu, how will they manage to climb the cliff in this darkness? They all know the coast, foot by foot, with their eyes shut, their old hands, replied Chinkel Enter. But I hear nothing, observed Antoni. It's a fact, we can hear nothing, said Chinkel Enter, but they must have been there below for some time. Then we had better go home, said the son of La Loca. Since you've eaten and drunk, you think of nothing but getting home again, but if you don't be quiet I'll kick you into the sea, said Chinkel Enter to him. The fact is, said Rocco, that I've find it a bore to spend the night here doing nothing. Now we will try if they are here or not. And he began to hoot like an owl. If Don McKaylee's guard hears that, they will be down on us directly, for on these wet nights the owls don't fly. Then we had better go, whined La Loca's son, but nobody answered him. All four looked in each other's faces, though they could see nothing, and thought of what Padron and Tony and Tony had just said. What shall we do? asked La Loca's son. Let's go down to the road. If they are not there, we may be sure they have not come, suggested Chinkel Enter. And Tony, while they were climbing down, said, goose food is capable of selling the lot of us for a glass of wine. Now you haven't the glass before you, you're afraid, said Chinkel Enter. Come on, the devil take you, I'll show you whether I'm afraid. While they were feeling their way cautiously down, very slowly, for fear of breaking their necks in the dark, spa too observed. At this moment, Vani Pizzotti is safe in bed, and he complained of goose food for getting his percentage for nothing. Well, said Chinkel Enter, if you don't want to risk your lives, stay at home, and go to bed. Tony, reaching down with his hands to feel where he should set his foot, could not help thinking that Master Chinkel Enter would have done better not to say that, because it brought to each the image of his house and his bed, and men are dozing behind the door. That big tipsy brute Rocco Spattu said at last, Our lives are not worth a copper. Who goes there? they heard someone call out, all at once behind the wall of the high road. Stop, stop, all of you! Treachery, treachery, they began to cry out, rushing off over the cliffs without heeding where they went. But Tony, who had already climbed over the wall, found himself face to face with Don McKaylee, who had his pistol in his hand. Blood of our lady, cried Malavolia, pulling out his knife. I'll show you whether I'm afraid of your pistol. Don McKaylee's pistol went off in the air, but he himself fell like a bull stabbed in the chest. And Tony tried to escape, leaping from rock to rock like a goat, but the guards caught up with him, while the balls rattled about like hail, and threw him on the ground. Now, what will become of my mother? Wind la lorca, son, while they tied him up like a truss chicken. Don't pulse her tight, shouted in Tony. Don't you see I can't move? Go on, go on Malavolia, your hash is settled once for all. They answered, driving him before them, with the butts of their muskets. While they led him up to the barracks, tied up like our lord himself and worse, and carried Don McKaylee, too, on their shoulders, he looked here and there for Rocco, Spatu, and Cinkiel Enter. They have got off, he said to himself. They have nothing more to dread, but are as safe as Vani Pizzotti and Gusford are between their sheets. Only at my house no one will sleep. Now they have heard the shots. In fact, those poor things did not sleep, but stood at the door and watched in the rain, as if their hearts had told them what had happened. While the neighbours, hearing the shots, turned sleepily over in their beds and muttered yawning, We shall know tomorrow what has happened. Very late, when the day was breaking, a crowd gathered in front of Vani Pizzotti's shop, where the light was burning. And there was a great chattering. They have caught the smuggled goods and the smugglers, too, recounted Pizzotti, and Don McKaylee has been stabbed. People looked at the Malavolia's door and pointed with their fingers. At last came their cousin Anna with her hair loose, white as a sheet, and knew not what to say. Padron and Tony, as if he knew what was coming, asked, Antoni, where's Antoni? He's been caught smuggling. He was arrested last night with La Laca's son, replied poor cousin Anna, who had fairly lost her head, and they have killed Don McKaylee. Holy mother! cried the old man with his hands to his head, and Lea, too, was tearing her hair. Padron and Tony, holding his head with both hands, went on repeating, Ah, mother! Ah, mother! Mother! Later on, Goosefoot came with a face full of trouble, smiting his forehead. Oh, Padron and Tony, have you heard? What a misfortune! I felt like a wet rag when I heard it. Cousin Grace, his wife, really cried, poor woman, for her heart ached to see how misfortunes reigned upon those poor Malavolia. What are you doing here, asked her husband, under his breath? Drawing her away from the window, it is no business of yours. Now it isn't safe to come to this house. One might get mixed up in some scrape with the police. For which reason? Nobody came near the Malavolia's door. Only Nunciata, as soon as she heard of their trouble, had confided the little ones to their eldest brother, and her house door to her next neighbor, and went off to her friend Mena to weep with her. But then she was still such a child. The others stood afar off in the street, staring, or went to the barracks, crowding like flies, to see how Padrante and Tony's and Tony looked behind the grating after having stabbed Don McKaylee, or else they filled Pizzuti's shop, where he sold bitters, and was always shaving somebody, while he told the whole story of the night before, word for word. The Fools cried the druggist, the fools to let themselves be taken. It will be an ugly business for them, added Don Silvestro. The razor itself couldn't save them from the galleys. And Don Giamaria went up close to him and said, under his nose, everybody that ought to be at the galleys doesn't go there. By no means everybody, answered Don Silvestro, turning red with fury. Nowadays, said Padron Cipolla, yellow with bile, the real thieves rob one of one's goods at noonday and in the middle of the piazza. They thrust themselves into one's house by force, but they break open neither doors nor windows. Just as Tony Malavolia wanted to do in my house, Adela Zupida, sitting down on the wall with her distaff to spin hemp. What I always said to you, piece of the angels, said her husband, You hold your tongue, you know nothing about it. Just think, what a day this would have been for my daughter Barbara. If I hadn't looked out for her, her daughter Barbara stood at the window to see how Padron and Tony's and Tony looked in the middle of the police when they carried him to town. You'll never get out, they all said. Do you know what there is written on the prison at Palermo? Do what you will, here you'll come at last, and as you make your bed you must lie down. Poor devils. Good people don't get into such scrapes, screamed Vesper. Evil comes to those who go to seek it. Look at the people who take to that trade. Always some scamp like LaLocca's son or Malavolia who won't do any honest work. And they all said, yes, that if anyone had such a son as that, it was better that the house should fall on him. Only LaLocca went in search of her son and stood screaming in front of the barracks of the guards, saying that she would have him and not listening to reason. And when she went off to plague her brother Dumbbell and planted herself on the steps of his house for hours at a time with her white hair streaming in the wind, Uncle Crucifix only answered her, I have the gullies at home here. I wish I were in your son's place. What do you come to me for? And he didn't give you bread to eat, either. LaLocca will gain by it, said Don Silvestro, now that she has no one to work for her, they will take her in at the poor house, and she will be well-fed every day of the week. If not, she will be left to the charity of the commune. And as they wound up by saying, Who sows the wind will reap the whirlwind? Padron Fortunato added, And it is a good thing for Padron and Tony, too. Do you think that good-for-nothing grandson of his did not cost him a lot of money? I know what it is to have a son like that. Now the king must maintain him. But Padron and Tony, instead of thinking of saving those soldy, now that his grandson was no longer likely to spend them for him, kept on flinging them after him, with lawyers and notaries and the rest of it, though soldy which had cost so much labour, and had been destined for the house by the meddler tree. Now we do not need the house nor anything else, he said, with a face as pale as Tony's own when they had taken him away to town, with his hands tied and under his arm the little bundle of shirts which men had brought to him, with so many tears at night when no one saw her. The whole town went to see him go in the middle of the police. His grandfather had gone off to the advocate, the one who talked so much, for since he had seen Don McKaylee also pass by in the carriage on his way to hospital, as yellow as a guinea, and with his uniform unbuttoned, he was frightened poor old man, and did not stop to find fault with the lawyer's chatter as long as he would promise to untie his grandson's hands, and let him come home again, for it seemed to him that after this earthquake, and Tony would come home again and stay with them always, as he had done when he was a child. Don Silvestro had done him the kindness to go with him to the lawyer because he said that when such a misfortune as had happened to the Malavolia happened to any Christian, one should aid one's neighbour with hands and feet too, even if it were a wretch fit only for the gullies, and to do one's best to take him out of the hands of justice, for that was why we were Christians, that we should help our neighbours when they needed. The advocate, when he had heard the story, and it had been explained to him by Don Silvestro, said that it was a very good case, a case for the gullies certainly, and he rubbed his hands if they hadn't come to him. Padron and Tony turned as white as a sheet when he heard of the gullies, but the advocate clapped him on the shoulder and told him not to be frightened, that he was no lawyer if he couldn't get him off with four or five years imprisonment. What did the advocate say, asked Mena, as she saw her grandfather return with that pale face, and began to cry before she could hear the answer. The old man walked up and down the house like a madman, saying, oh, why did we not all die first? Lea, white as a smock, looked from one to the other with wide, dry eyes, unable to speak a word. A little while after came the summonsers as witnesses, to Barbara Zuppeda and Grazia Guzfut and Don Franco, the drugist, and all those who were wont to stand chattering in his shop and in that Avani Pizzotti, the barber, so that the whole place was upset by them. And the people crowded the piazza with the stamped papers in their hands and swore that they knew nothing about it as true as God was in heaven, because they did not want to get mixed up with the tribunals. Cursed be Antoni and all the Malavolia who pulled them by the hair into their scrapes. The Zuppeda screamed as if she had been possessed. I know nothing about it. At the Ave Maria I shut myself into my house and I am not like those who go wandering about after such work as we know of, or who stand at the doors to talk with spies. Beware of the government, added Don Franco. They know that I am a Republican and they would be very glad to get a chance to sweep me off the face of the earth. Everybody beat their brains to find out what the Zuppedan cousin Grace and the rest of them could have to say as witnesses on the trial, for they had seen nothing and had only heard the shots when they were in bed between sleeping and waking. But Don Silvestro rubbed his hands like the lawyer and said that he knew because he had pointed them out to the lawyer and that it was much better for the lawyer that he had. Every time that the lawyer went to talk with Antoni Malavoglia, Don Silvestro went with him to the prison if he had nothing else to do and nobody went the dark time to the council and the olives were gathered. Padron and Tony had also tried to go two or three times but whenever he got in front of those barred windows and the soldiers who were on guard before them he turned sick and faint and stayed waiting for them outside sitting on the pavement among the people who sold chestnuts and Indian figs. It did not seem possible to him that his Antoni could really be there behind those grated windows with the soldiers guarding him. The lawyer came back from talking with Antoni fresh as a rose, rubbing his hands and saying that his grandson was quite well. Indeed, that he was growing fat. Then it seemed to the poor old man that his grandson was with the soldiers. Why don't they let him go? He asked over and over again like a parrot or like a child and kept on asking too if his hands were always tied. Leave him where he is, said Dr. Scipione. In these cases it is better to let some time pass first. Meanwhile he wants for nothing, as I told you and is growing quite fat. Things are going very well. Don McKaylee has nearly recovered from his wound and that also is a very good thing for us. Go back to your boat, I tell you. This is my affair. But I can't go back to the boat now and Antoni is in prison. I can't go back. Everybody looks at me when I pass and besides my head isn't right with Antoni in prison. And he went on repeating the same thing while the money ran away like water and all his people stayed in the house as if they were hiding and never opened the door. At last the day of the trial arrived and those who had been summoned as witnesses had to go on their own feet if they did not wish to be carried by force by the Carboneers. Even Don Franco went and changed his ugly hat to appear before the Majesty of Justice to better advantage. But he was as pale as Antoni Malavoglia himself who stood inside the bars like a wild beast with the Carboneers on each side of him. Don Franco had never before had anything to do with the law and he trembled all over at the idea of going into the midst of all those judges. All those judges and spies and policemen who would catch a man and put him in there behind the bars like Antoni Malavoglia before he could wink. The whole village had gone out to see what kind of a figure Padron and Tonis and Tony would make behind the bars in the middle of the Carboneers yellow as a tallow candle not daring to look up for fear of seeing all those eyes of friends and acquaintances fixed upon him turning his cap over and over in his hands while the President in his long black robe and with napkin under his chin went on reading a long list of the iniquities which he had committed from the paper where they were written down in black and white. Don McKaylee was there too also looking yellow and ill sitting in a chair opposite to the Jews as they would call the jury who kept on yawning and fanning themselves with their handkerchiefs. Meanwhile the advocate kept on chatting with his next neighbour as if the affair were no concern of his. This time murmured the Zoupina in the ear of the person next to her listening to all those awful things that Antoni had done he certainly won't get off the gullies. Santuzza was there too to say where Antoni had been and how he had passed that evening. Now I wonder what they'll ask Santuzza murmured the Zoupina I can't think how she'll answer so as not to bring out all her own villanies. But what is it they want of us? asked cousin Grazia. They want to know if it is true that Don McKaylee had an understanding with Leah and if Antoni did not stab him because of that the advocate told me. Confound you! whispered the druggist furiously Do you all want to go to the guise? Don't you know that before the law you must always say no and that we know nothing at all? Cousin Venra wrapped herself in her mantle but went on muttering It is the truth I saw them with my own eyes and all the town knows it. That morning at the Malavolia's house there had been a terrible scene when the grandfather, seeing the whole place go off to see Antoni tried, started to go after them. Leah with tumbled hair, wild eyes and her chin trembling like her babies wanted to go too and went about the house looking for her mantle without speaking but with pale face and trembling hands. Men are caught her by those hands saying pale as death herself No! you must not go you must not go and nothing else. The grandfather added that they must stay at home and pray to the Madonna and they wept so that they were heard all the length of the Black Street. The poor old man had hardly reached the town when, hidden at a corner, he saw his grandson pass among the carbonias and with trembling limbs went to sit on the steps of the courthouse where everyone passed him going up and down on his business. Then it came over him that all these people were going to hear his grandson condemned and it seemed to him as if he were leaving him alone in the piazza surrounded by enemies or out at sea in a hurricane and so he too amid the crowd went up the stairs and strove by rising on his tiptoes to see through the grating and past the shining bayonets of the carbonias. And Tony, however, he could not see surrounded as he was by such a crowd of people and more than ever it seemed to the poor old man that his grandson was one of the soldiers. Meanwhile, the advocate talked and talked and talked until it seemed that his flood of words ran like the bully of a well up and down, up and down without ceasing. No, he said, no, it was not true that Antonio Malavoglia had been guilty of all those crimes. The president had gone about raking up all sorts of stories. That was his business and he had nothing to do he had nothing to do but get poor helpless fellows into scrapes but after all what did the president know about it? Had he been there? That rainy night in the pitch darkness to see what Antonio Malavoglia was about? In the poor man's house he alone is in the wrong and the gallows is for the unlucky. The president went on looking at him calmly with his eyeglasses leaning his elbows on his papers. Dr. Schipioni went on asking where were the goods? Who had seen the goods? That's what he wanted to know. And since how long had honest men been forbidden to walk about it whatever hour they liked especially when they had a little too much wine in their heads to get rid of? Padron Antonio nodded his head at this or said yes, yes, with tears in his eyes and would have liked to hug the advocate who had called Antonio a blockhead. Suddenly he lifted his head. That was good. What the lawyer had just said was worth of itself, 50 francs. He said that since they wanted to drive them to the wall and to prove plain as two and two make for that they had caught Antonio Malavoglia in the act with the knife in his hand and had brought Don Michele there before them with his stupid face, well then how are you to prove that it was Antonio Malavoglia who stabbed him? Who knows that it was he who can tell that Don Michele didn't stab himself on purpose to send Antonio Malavoglia to the galleys? Do you really want to know the truth? Smuggled goods had nothing to do with it. Between Antonio Malavoglia and Don Michele there was an old quarrel, a quarrel about a woman. And Padron Antonio nodded again in a scent. For didn't everybody know and wasn't he ready to swear before the crucifix too that Don Michele was furious with jealousy of Antonio since Santuza had taken a fancy to him, and then meeting Don Michele by night and after the boy had been drinking too. One knows how it is when one's eyes are clouded with drink. The advocate continued, You may ask the Zoupida and Dem Grazia and a dozen more witnesses if it is not true that Don Michele had an understanding with Leah and Tony Malavoglia's sister, and he was always prowling about the black street in the evening after the girl. They saw him there the very night on which he was stabbed. Padron and Tony heard no more for his ears began to ring and at that moment he caught sight of Antonio who had sprung up behind the bars tearing his cap like a madman and shaking his head violently with flashing eyes and trying to make himself heard. The bystanders took the old man out supposing that he had had a stroke and the guards laid him on a bench in the witness's room and threw water in his face. Later, while they were taking him downstairs tottering and clinging to their arms the crowd came pouring out like a torrent and they were heard to say they have condemned him to five years in irons. At that moment Tony came out himself deadly pale, handcuffed in the midst of the carbon ears. Cousin Grazia went off home running and reached there sooner than the others panting with speed for ill news always comes on wings. Hardly had she caught sight of Lia who stood waiting at the door like a soul in purgatory then she caught her by both hands exclaiming, wretched girl, what have you done? They have told the judge that you hadn't understanding with Don McKaylee and your grandfather had a stroke when he heard it. Lia answered not a word any more than if she had not heard or did not care. She only stared with wide eyes and open mouth. At last she sank slowly down upon a chair as if as if she had lost the use of her limbs. So she remained for many minutes without motion or speech while Cousin Grazia threw water in her face until she began to stammer, I can't stay here I must go I must go away. Her sister followed her about the room weeping and trying to catch her by the hands while she went on saying to the cupboard and to the chairs like a mad creature I must go. In the evening when her grandfather was brought home on a cart and men are careless now whether she were seen or not went out to meet him. Lia went first into the court and then into the street and then went away all together and nobody ever saw her anymore. End of chapter 14 part 2 Recording by Tom Denham