After the Divorce, Grazia Deledda [the giving tree read aloud .txt] 📗

showed blue against the gold of the sky. The wind had risen as well, and, laden with the odour of damp rocks and earth, was stirring among the shrubs and bushes. The two women proceeded silently on their way, each buried in her own thoughts. In the middle of a small defile, overhung by rocks, and shadowed by the lofty snowcapped summits of the mountains, they met a man of Bitti journeying on foot: the travellers exchanged greetings, although unknown to one another, and passed on their respective ways. As the women mounted higher and higher, the sun enveloped and warmed them more and more; and they thought of the half of the journey already accomplished, of the purchases they were carrying back in the wallet, of what they would do when they got home; and Aunt Bachissia thought of Aunt Martina’s amazement when she should see Giovanna’s outfit, while Giovanna thought of Brontu and of the queer things he would sometimes say when he was drunk. Preoccupied as they were, however, when they caught sight of the white walls of the church of San Francisco glistening among the green bushes halfway up the mountainside, each thought of Costantino, and said an Ave Maria for him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did he ever come back?”

“No; never since that time.”

“Nor Isidoro Pane either,” said Giovanna in a dull voice.

“I thought I saw him go by here yesterday evening,” said Aunt Martina.

Giovanna raised her head quickly, but she did not speak, and Brontu laughingly remarked that he supposed she did not stand in any particular need of leeches just at present.

“Well,” said Aunt Martina at length, “didn’t you bring me anything from Nuoro? You keep one a long time in suspense!” They had, in fact, brought her an apron, but Aunt Bachissia feigned surprise and mortification. “Of course,” said she, “we had forgotten for the moment⁠—” And she gave a shrill laugh, but sobered down instantly on observing that Giovanna took no part in these pleasantries, and seemed unable to shake off her melancholy.

“No, no; we never thought about it, but Giovanna will