People were starving, and hunger claimed more victims than war. And it took no prisoners.
III
At first, Ture wanted nothing to do with going to war, hearing his father’s gruesome tales. As soon as he was exempted from military duties, he went back to his village, and the next day he set off to work in the fields.
Summer arrived.
With time, however, this privilege began to take its toll on him, as he felt the eyes of everyone, especially the families who had soldiers at the front.
His behaviour began to be affected: he withdrew into himself. He became more and more quarrelsome and grumpy. Sometimes, when people asked him why he wasn’t at war, he would tell them stories he made up at the moment. He said he was waiting for being called to the front to some of them. Or that he was about to leave the following month. To others, that he was about to embark from Messina or that any more soldiers were needed. Time passed, and, at the end of July 1941, Ture was still in the fields harvesting with his father.
After a time, most people began to disbelieve these excuses, and many others, who learned the truth, accused him of being a coward, of bringing dishonour to their village. And even if they did not spit such contempt in his face for fear of getting a few punches in the jaw, they talked behind his back everywhere: at the mill, the haberdashery, the grain stores.
Ture would hear this chatter, and it would eat away at his pride, but when he got home in the evening, he would look his brothers and sisters in the eye, and the thought of these evil tongues soon disappeared. For this reason, he worked even harder. He felt that he owed to fate, then he busied himself with many more tasks than his father gave him daily.
August also arrived.
One evening, when he came back from the countryside a little earlier, he saw Concetta loaded down with some pitcher, intent on going to the trough near the river, and offered to help her.
“Why are you in a rush to help me?” His sister asked.
“Usually you nod your head and say thank you in these cases,” Ture replied.
“Are you coming to help your poor sister or to see your cousin Lia?”
Concetta’s question caught her brother off guard. Cousin Lia was nineteen years old. She was already shapely but not yet engaged. Ture had honestly never thought she could be anything more than a cousin.
“I’m not interested in Lia, and if you talk any more, you will go to the trough on your own!”
“No? Too bad...”
“Too bad, why?”
“Because Lia likes you!”
“Concetta, stop it! I don’t have time to be engaged now and don’t put ideas in our cousin’s head. Indeed tell her that your brother Ture doesn’t want her, so she’ll make her peace!”
“Then you can tell it to her if we find her at the trough.”
“I don’t have to tell her anything! That’s a lie you put in your head. Or maybe mum and dad want me to settle down with Lia? Tell me the truth!”
Ture, worried that his parents wanted to arrange a marriage with his cousin, stopped suddenly, put down the pottery pitchers, and waited anxiously for his sister’s reply. He had a debt of honour and gratitude to his father for the military service issue, but he did not want to settle it that way.
“Brother, calm down! Nobody knows anything. Lia confided in me, and that’s why I told you. If it’s not your will, then nothing will be done about it,” his sister said, resuming her walk.
Ture took up the pitchers again and started walking towards the trough. His sister’s reply had relieved him, and, with a slight grin, he continued the conversation: “And you, how is it that at eighteen you are already a matchmaker? If you want, I can find a suitor for you, sister dear!”
“Stop it, you moron, I can look after myself all right, and when I get engaged, no one will know! One evening I would take him home suddenly, and the next morning I get married!”
They burst into roaring laughter, and as they were close to the trough, they attracted the women’s attention, who were also intent on collecting water in their pitchers.
There was Lia, who seemed to have been waiting for that moment all her life. Concetta’s face was enough to dispel any illusion.
They spent some time apart, and Ture’s sister confessed that her cousin was not interested in her.
Then Lia, feeling rejected, was filled with rage faster than the pitchers being filled. Then she began to taunt Ture, always on the story of the war, of the exemption, of Zi Peppe Pileri’s recommendation.
Ture didn’t answer. He knew very well that these provocations came from a young woman whose pride was wounded, and he waited patiently for that trickle of water, now made feeble by the August heat, to fill the pitcher without uttering a word.
Suddenly, a young, witty voice broke the irritating blabber of Lia.
“Shut up, lizard!” On the other side of the big trough, Lia’s younger sister, Rosa, blurted out to the older one with such a scowl that Ture himself, who had not noticed her at first, was intrigued.
Lia suddenly became quiet. Although she was the eldest, she felt like those vain horses that suddenly, for nothing, become agitated and to which the master, to calm them, gives them a single well-aimed blow of the whip. She pulled a sheet out of the big straw basket and resumed her washing without looking at the onlookers.
Ture, on the other hand, had not ceased to stare at Rosa during all those brief moments of silence following her heated intervention, and when their eyes finally met, the young woman almost blushed with shame, and he nodded his head briefly in thanks.
Concetta exchanged a few more unclear words with poor Lia, who was venting her lingering anger on the sheet, now whiter than snow. Then she waved for her brother to start off for home, for the evening was already approaching.
“Lizard!” Concetta said when the trough was far away. “From where did Rosa pull that?”
“It was a polite way of not saying snake to her,” her brother retorted. “But is it acceptable that she addresses me like that – just for a no as an answer –, to talk bullshit she’d heard around? Forked lizard!”
“And what kind of animal is Rosa? Let's hear it…”
In a different mood and tone, Ture said: “Rosa is a little dove!”
“Hahaha! A little dove sharp-tongued, though!” Concetta retorted, with a smile on her lips. “And if I didn't shake you, you’d still be there, at her until dark! You see, Rosa isn’t one of those little doves you can get your hand on!”
Ture had the peculiar ability to imitate the dove sounds so well that those birds approached him without fear. Now and then, in quiet moments in the country, he would sit among the branches and attract the lovebirds with his cry.
“You always know everything, Concettina, don’t you? You feel like the sage of the house, the schoolteacher!”
“I don’t know anything, but I saw you staring at the little dove!”
“Only because I hadn’t seen her for a long time. She’s grown, that’s all…”
“The little dove is not easy to catch, dear brother! She doesn’t fall under your lures.”
“Why not? What do you know about it?”
“Ture, are you nuts? Because she is a rogue little dove, and if you try to catch her…”
“She flies...” his brother continued. “I know very well that, if you get too close, she gets scared, opens her wings... and flies.”
IV
Ture carried the story of the little dove with him for days to come. He kept thinking about Rosa, how she had reprimanded her sister, and how she had shyly lowered her gaze in front of her cousin’s awe-struck eyes. This last image was upsetting his soul.
At the sweet thought of his cousin, suddenly, everything else paled in comparison: the anxiety about the war, the rumours in the village, the uncertainty about his future. How many times had he seen her? At least ten thousand, if he had bothered to count. But a few nights ago, at the river fountain, for the first time, he had looked at her with different eyes.
Without realising it, Ture Pileri was falling in love.
Throughout August, he had only seen Rosa a few more times and only briefly. However, since that day at the trough, he lost focus. His hands were always sweaty, and his hoe would almost slip from his grasp. If he was tending the herds, and some goats would escape down the slope, he did not even notice them, so much engrossed in thoughts of that young girl who had stunned his soul.
All this without Rosa ever saying a word to him.
For another two months, no one was seen there, in San Giorgio. The war seemed to have forgotten him, but Ture, on those autumn nights of 1941, thought only of Rosa’s voice, because in his head reverberated that shut up, lizard shot in her sister’s face; he dreamed of sweet words in a time without hunger or need. Then, at dawn, he would wake up again in his world: the air was already beginning to get cold and sharp, half a bowl of milk and a piece of hard bread to dip in, and then work, the fields, the goats in the afternoon and nothing more.
In the moments of solitude, Ture’s twenty years of age all appeared before him.
What had he been up to all that time? He had served his family, had listened to his father’s advice, had gone, and still went to work under a master. He thought that, deep down, he had never done a thing on his own, never stepped out of line, never said a word more, and even the times he had gotten into fisticuffs, it had only been to defend himself.
It was All Souls’ Day, when Ture, looking after the goats in Santa Nicola, met his uncle, Zi Nunzio, Lia and Rosa’s father, whom everyone in San Basilio called Zi Duca.
A pleasant sun kissed the spring-like morning and warmed bones numb from the dreary season.
“God bless you, Zi Duca. What are you doing here?”
“We are picking some asparagus. Your cousin Rosa is close by.”
“And Lia isn’t here?” Ture asked.
“No, she’s been in a foul mood lately and stayed at home. If you go down the road, and you’ll find her under the brick wall.”
He didn’t even have time to make sense of Zi Duca’s answer when Rosa jumped out of a patch of broom.
In one hand, she was holding her apron full of wild asparagus, and in the other, an awl with which she was digging the earth. Her raven hair was in a braid, she wore a heavy pair of boots that were too big for her slender feet, and she had the dishevelled look of someone clinging to cliffs to tear up the precious vegetable with her bare hands.
She is beautiful!, Ture thought. Even more beautiful than that evening at the fountain.
Looking at her with different eyes now, he understood he had always loved her and was blind before. He figured out a way to get close to her and to talk to her without anxiety. He wanted to express this feeling without a shaking voice and sweating hands.
Ture Pileri had never been in love, and now, like a bolt of lightning, Rosa had arrived to change his thoughts and disrupt his days.
In the meantime, Zi Duca had picked up some shredded tobacco from his pocket and, while he chewed it, had settled down to rest.
Ture took the opportunity to trot over to Rosa, hoping to get a few moments alone with her. When he reached her, Rosa herself made the first move.
“Cousin, how are you? Have you forgiven my sister Lia? Sometimes she gets caught up in the heat of the moment!” “It’s been a lifetime since that evening, and I’ve already forgotten about it,” Ture replied. Then he let the most longspun moment of his life pass, drew a long breath, and declared: “I can’t forget you, Rosa!”
The young girl gasped, so much so that she knocked over most of the vegetables she had collected. She quickly picked it up again and slipped off in the direction of her father, dismissing Ture, who had remained motionless.
In the meantime, Zi Duca had fallen asleep in the shade of a mulberry tree. His daughter woke him up, shaking him so abruptly that he was startled.
“Father, stand up! Come on, don’t sleep!” “Damn hell! I had just fallen asleep!”
Zi Duca huffed repeatedly, rinsed his face with some water he had in his saddlebag, then, with the help of his nephew, he rose and was ready to set off again with his daughter.
“Females are a blessing and a curse, dear Ture!”
Rosa glared at him, then began to clean him up. “Father, I’d better wash these clothes tonight! That tobacco in your pocket has stained everything! I’ll go alone. I’m sure Lia doesn’t want to come.”
They said goodbye to Ture and started walking home. After a few steps, Rosa turned to her cousin and waved stealthily. She was doubtful that he had understood.
Ture was still surprised: did Rosa want to meet him at the fountain that evening, alone? He turned those words over and over in his head, yet he could not make any different sense of them.
Why not invite him earlier, when he had confessed to thinking of her all the time? Why run away like that and then throw that mysterious invitation at him instead?
He didn’t understand, but he wanted to believe that this was a clear signal that she wanted to meet him. Besides, what could poor Ture do? He had never had a woman, and so they were a completely unknown universe to him.
He could only wait for her to the fountain and hope to talk to her openly this time.
Ture arrived at the fountain early. He hid in the shade of a vine and watched the women passing by. When he saw Rosa emerge from the path, he was startled. He waited a moment, saw that she was alone, and realised that he had been right. From that moment on, every word could change his life, and his palms began to sweat again. To kick this off, he decided to take the situation head on and approached his cousin. He didn't even have time to say a word that the young woman shoved a pitcher into his hands.
Ture understood the meaning of this sudden gesture: in his frenzy to meet Rosa, he had not even thought of creating an alibi for himself in the eyes of the people who came to the fountain. Instead, that pitcher protected them. Although they were first cousins, as the children of two sisters, the situation could arouse suspicion.
It was Rosa who broke those initial moments of silence.
“I’ve been thinking about you since last year’s harvest, Ture Pileri! It’s been thirteen months!”
Ture’s eyes widened in astonishment, he went back in his mind to that harvest, but nothing came up, no particular memory of those days, nothing that would remind him of that little girl who was about to become a woman.
Ture was bewildered by this revelation, and he didn’t even realise to take the filling amphora out from under the spring. He did not realise that time had passed so suddenly that the water, gushing out, soaked his shirt up to his sleeves.
“And why did you wait all these months to tell me that, Rosa?” “To be honest, if you had chosen my sister, I would never have told you. I would have suffered, but I would have got over it. Lia likes you, but then that evening, right here, she understood that she was unrequited and, reluctantly, she is putting her soul at rest. At first, I didn’t want to tell you anything anyway. I didnt want to hurt my sister, but when you told me that today…”
“What I told you today at San Nicola is the truth! I want to be honest with you, and I’ve been honest with your sister. I’m not interested in her and, until that evening at the trough, I wasn’t interested in you either. Then, I don’t know, since your words that time you are in my head. I’m not good with words, you know, but that’s how I feel, and you can’t imagine how much I prayed that I wasn’t wrong today when you said that thing about the dirty shirt to your father and the trough.
Rosa, who had been rinsing and rinsing the clothes all the time, stopped for a moment, looked around, and, realising that they were alone, hugged Ture, who seemed taken aback by this gesture. She kissed him on the cheek.
An almost embarrassing smile formed on his lips, but he didn’t even have time to wrap his arms around her when she was already back on the washing line.
Ture thought back to the story of the little dove and his sister’s words – A little dove, if you try to catch it, flies away!
“My father loves you,” Rosa resumed. “You know, he has never believed what they say... I mean, in the story that you dodged from the war. He says that Zi Peppe Pileri did well and that he would have done the same thing for his son!
Ture did not want to change the subject and, focusing back up, asked: “Are you going to tell Lia?”
“I do not feel like it yet. Moreover, it’s too soon.”
“Are we engaged then?” Ture asked, lowering his gaze.
Rosa smiled. She was only sixteen, but she seemed much wiser than her cousin in matters of the heart. So she answered him with gentle eyes: “How naive you are, Ture Pileri! Tell me, are you always good at imitating the call of the doves?”
Her cousin smiled. Rosa’s last question had relieved him of his embarrassment. He put his hands over his mouth and began to imitate the cry of the birds.
It was time to go home, so Rosa put the wet clothes in the basket while Ture emptied and filled the pitcher for the last time and offered to accompany her to the first houses of San Basilio.
There they said goodbye, and after he had kissed her on the cheek, his hand lingered on her face. He followed Rosa with his eyes until he saw her disappear down the street, then walked home.
He returned to San Giorgio very excited, tempted whether or not to tell Concetta. He took off his boots and went inside. As soon as he closed the door behind him, however, he felt a strange tension. Everything was eerily quiet.
Concetta hugged him, almost knocking the breath out of him.
“What’s happened?” Ture asked, puzzled.
“My son,” his mother answered, “they say a postcard has arrived for you in the village.”
“Postcard? What postcard?”
His mother, drawing all the strength she could from her heart, said: “The war, Ture. They called you to go to war!”
V
Ture skipped dinner, dismissed his family with a brief wave of his hand, and had Concetta bring him a basin of cool water to wash his face.
He was about to stand again when he saw that, in the meantime, he had been surrounded by Santo, Betta, Nino, and Calogero, his younger siblings, who tried to comfort him with their candid innocence.
Ture dried his face, moved the basin of water aside, and held Calogero, who was not yet three years old, in his arms. He kissed him on the neck as he always did and then knelt and hugged the other three, trying to hide the tears that welled up in his heart.
Concetta and Sina, his other two sisters who were already girls, made up the bed for him, so their brother, leaving the little ones, spread his arms and held them close to him. Then he got ready for bed.
Hardly a half-hour passed before his mother joined him. Ture couldn’t sleep while his other brothers in the room had already fallen asleep, so the woman, under the light of a small candle, quietly approached her son’s bed and, in a quiet voice, tried to reassure him.
“Your father says he will find a solution,” Nunzia said.
“My dear mother, I want to be honest, when I did the medical examination in Tortorici, I felt in my soul that my time had not come. I don’t know why I had this feeling. It wasn’t only the fact that my father had found me the recommendation to be exempted. I was calm. I thought, If war is in my destiny when it comes, it comes. Then my time had not come, but now, I know that I must leave. I felt it somehow, but not right now, when…” Ture cleared his throat. As vulnerable as he was at that moment, he didn’t want to reveal to his mother what had happened only a few hours before with Rosa. Rosa! Those moments of happiness seemed so far away! Within that one day, things that would happen in a lifetime had happened.
How could he tell her now? He was already struggling with words. How to look her in the face and say, “My beloved, I must go to war”?
He thought about all these things, losing himself in his mother’s sad eyes. Then he caressed her gently.
“It will be as God wishes, mother. Please, don’t worry!”
A tear ran down the woman’s cheeks. She kissed her son on the forehead and let him rest for the night.
When the dim light of the candle left the room with his mother, Ture felt the weight of the world on him.
So much for ‘Gnura Mena!
All the jinx of the world had hit him now that his heart had finally known love. Now that he had a reason to get out of bed every morning. Now that the future was beginning to look less bleak.
The war, like a blow between his head and neck, threw him back into distress, numb. He would lose so much love! His little brothers, his parents, and Rosa.
Would she, in the bloom of her youth, so beautiful and graceful, have waited for him? And for how long? In the end, it had only been a kiss on the cheek. Two words exchanged on an afternoon at the trough. It might have been just a fleeting moment and nothing more. How real could the love of a sixteen-year-old girl be? Although she told him she had had him in her heart for more than a year. But would she be willing to wait for him for who knows how much longer, staying away from so many other young men who would court her?
These doubts gripped him. He felt that the fear of losing Rosa was heavier than his own life.
He sensed his brothers’ quiet sleep floating in the dark, envied their age and blissful innocence.
He loved them so much that the thought that he would also go to war to ensure their peaceful future comforted him.
That night, Ture Pileri felt “atonement”: the recommendation, the nasty rumours of the other villagers, the jinx, the rejection given to Lia. Everything would be alright if he went off to war. The evil tongues would have been hushed up, the jinx would have been fulfilled, and even Lia would have breathed a sigh of relief for not having compromised herself with a soldier whose fate was completely uncertain.
But that didn’t seem to work out well because a family would lose, perhaps forever, the love and the arms of a son. Then a young lover would be left, frozen like a rosebud after a night frost.
There was no consolation in Ture’s soul, only the extreme desire to carry all these burdens upon himself, undeterred, and then, as he had told his mother, he mumbled, “As God wishes”.
Just before dawn, Zi Peppe got up and rode his mule to the village. He wanted to make a last, desperate attempt to save his son from the war. The first rays of sunlight touched him, already on the road to Salicaria.
He had planned to reach his destination early in the morning and meet the head of the district council, Marchiolo, careful not to cross path with the municipal messenger. He was afraid that he would give him the infamous postcard. He arrived in Galati in the early morning hours and, cautiously, looked for the officer at the Circolo dei Nobili.
As soon as he saw him, Marchiolo immediately understood the reason for his visit. He had already received many other help requests in the last few days because of those cursed postcards that called even those who could not be called up to arms. He signalled with his head to Zi Peppe to retire to the back and joined him.
“Zi Peppe, did the postcard reach Ture too?”
Lord Marchiolo, we haven’t received anything yet, but I’ve heard that he’s on the list to be summoned. They say three people from the village have to leave, and they were considered unfit at the examination.
Lord Marchiolo, though sympathetic to the rightful prayers of an affectionate father, shook his head as if apologetic.
“Zi Peppe, there’s little you can do for your son, as for the others: the war isn’t turning in favour of the Duce, and all able-bodied young men are needed at the front. Those who desert risk being shot. I can’t do anything this time! A physical exam is one thing, a call to arms is another. In January, at the Military District, I had contacts with the medical lieutenant and could pull some strings: it was a matter of a professional opinion, so we could at least get a chance. And that’s what happened: we made it. Now, however, they call directly from the lists and without medical approval. He who has two arms and two legs go. Is your son an amputee? No! So he’ll have to enlist.”
Zi Peppe took off his cap and wiped his sweat. In front of the honest words of the Sir, he felt powerless, and, with a voice broken by resignation, he tried to advance some faint hope.
“I’ve come to terms with the fact that my son has to leave, but can’t we even stretch things out a little?”
He did not want to give in to the idea of losing Ture and tried to find at least a temporary expedient to postpone his departure. Lord Marchiolo pondered for a while, then, as if enlightened, looked up at Zi Peppe.
“You said, if I’m not mistaken, that he still hasn’t received the postcard? You know it’s supposed to arrive only by hearsay, but you haven’t signed anything. Did I get that right?”
“Yes, Sir!”
“Then, Zi Peppe, there’s one thing we can do, and that’s final! Of course, as I’ve already told you, sooner or later, he has to leave, but at least for a month, a month and a half, we can stretch things out, as you said.”
Zi Peppe leaned with his whole body and soul towards his interlocutor. He had understood that perhaps a solution, albeit temporary, even this time, was found.
“You have to send him away from the house!” Marchiolo said. “Make sure that when the messenger comes to serve him the postcard, he’s not there, and he mustn’t be in the days to come either. Don’t do anything stupid, I’m telling you! Don’t hide him in the stable and send him to the country the next day, because if they catch him, the Carabinieri will shoot him and you too!”
“And where shall I send him?”
“Send him to some farm in Nicosia, Enna, Paternò! Anywhere far from the province of Messina. Sooner or later, the notification will reach him there too but, from town to town, the paperwork is slower. If, perhaps, in the new year, the war ends, by the time he leaves, they train him and assign him... he might end up not even serving a day in the front line.”
“And if the messenger comes with the postcard in his hand, what shall I tell him?”
“You have to give him an address! It’s enough to say, my son is in Carrapipi, at Mr. Tizio’s farm, without any other specifications. In this case, he will not be considered a draft evader or deserter, but the call will be left open and marked as in notification. In the end, Zi Peppe, I’m telling you not to get your hopes up: they will find him! But at least a month, and maybe a few more, will pass.”
“I understand. Thank you, eminent.”
He kissed his hand, then took a wrapped piece of cheese out of his saddlebag and handed it to him, despite the sir’s reluctance, who initially did not want to accept the gift.
Zi Peppe Pileri watered the mule at the trough in the square and sat down in the shade of the large poplar tree. He still had the other half of the cheese and had also brought with him a piece of bread and some olives. He ate only the bread and two olives and quickly finished his frugal meal.
As he was about to head towards the animal, a voice called out to him.
“Peppe Pileri, a glass of wine would be good for us now, wouldn’t it?”
Zi Peppe, blinded by the midday sun, found it hard to see who was calling him, although he guessed that the words were coming from Don2 Giardinieri’s small shop. He walked towards the shop, and, as soon as the wall blocked the sun, he was surprised to discover that it was Zi Calogero Tocco calling him, who had been with him in the Karst and had returned together at the end of the war. They embraced each other warmly. They had not seen each other for months.
“Are you still alive, Calogero Tocco?”
“My friend, if the good Lord didn’t take us to the Karst, I don’t think He wants us anymore!”
“It was fate that today was a day of war then!”
“We’ve been at war for over a year. Why are you talking about today?”
“They called my son Ture: he has to leave too, and I came to Galati today to get help.”
“And did you manage to get anything?” Calogero asked.
“A month, maybe two, but then…”
Zi Peppe, disheartened, shook his head and shrugged. The other man, understanding his friend’s worries and knowing how hard and horrible the war was, put his hand on his shoulder and signalled to the boy to pour another glass of wine. He gave it to him, they both drank in silence, and, after thanking Calogero, Zi Peppe returned to the mule looking a little refreshed. The wine, at that time of day, had made him a little happy, and when he got on the beast, the animal seemed reluctant to move and spurred it on with a mighty slap on the back.
“What’s the matter? Were you disappointed because I didn’t give you wine? The water from the trough and the shade from the poplar tree was enough for you! I respect you! If you belonged to someone else, he might have left you in the sun all morning!”
The mule snorted, but then, as if encouraged by his master's words, he resumed his journey at full speed.
He had not yet reached the Mother Church when he heard himself being called again.
“Mr. Di Nardo, Mr. Di Nardo!”
A shiver ran down his spine: no one called him by his surname. Everyone in the village knew each other and called each other by their informal names, and, for a moment, he was afraid it might be the Marshal of the Carabinieri.
When he turned around, he saw a man in civilian clothes, elegant and with greasy hair. He was not a familiar face and addressed him with his usual reverence: “God bless you, to whom do I have the honour of speaking?”
The man nodded his head in cordial greeting, waited for Zi Peppe to get off the mule, approached him, and offered him his hand. “How do you do. I’m La Pinta, the town messenger.”
VI
Zi Peppe Pileri was face to face with the one person he had been trying to avoid all morning. In those interminable moments, he cursed those two glasses of wine drunk at the little shop. He thought that if he had left without delay, he might have avoided that unwelcome encounter. But it was too late. The town messenger was standing there, in front of him and his mule, and he had to address him.
“At your service,” Zi Peppe replied.
And the messenger, without much pretence, got straight to the point.
“I have a draft notice for your son Salvatore. He lives in the village of San Giorgio. Can you confirm that?”
Zi Peppe, with all his confidence and pride, answered the messenger.
“I confirm! My son is in San Giorgio. He is now with the animals, but you will find him at home tonight. He is twenty years old and is my eldest son. I have three more boys beside him. They are eleven, eight, and three years old; I also have three girls. The oldest is eighteen, the second is fifteen, and the third is eight. Only the first two, Concetta and Sina, can help the family. The other four, as you can understand, are still children. So, dear sir, I talk with a heavy heart when I say that if you take Ture away from me now, it’s like cutting off my arm. No one questions that he must go, nor do I want to make him desert. He’ll go, and he’ll be a soldier, and I only ask one thing: leave him with me for a fortnight, just two more weeks! Today is Friday, right? Well, in two more Fridays I’ll come here again to collect the postcard, and I won’t even bother you to go as far as San Giorgio.
In the meantime, I’ll send him to a friend in Troina. The postcard will then go to Enna, and from there, one of your colleagues will notify him, and then he will have to leave. As you can see, I am well informed, and I do not want to tell you any lies or small talk. I wish I could spare my son a few months of war! I was in Karst in 1917. We were dying like flies. One day we were laughing and joking with a comrade and the next day half of us were dead! Don't give his mother this pain! Give her a few more days to get used to the idea of losing him, perhaps forever.”
The messenger stroked his hairless chin with his hand and then, with a condescending tone, replied: “Mr. Di Nardo, if I did that with all the young men, who would go to war? I’m only doing my duty, and I have to account for these postcards…”
“Are you a father, sir?”
“Yes, I have two children.”
“I have six little mouths to feed and a son who has to go to war... Please have a hand on your heart!”
The official reflected, looking around briefly, then turned to Zi Peppe with a resolute face.
“One week, that’s all I can do. I’ll come to San Giorgio, and you’ll have to tell me where you’ve sent him: town, address, name, and surname of the person who hired him. This is not a negotiable offer. Believe me, for your sake, I am going beyond my official duties. Needless to say, no one must know of our agreement. Otherwise, you will find me at your doorstep in San Giorgio, but this time with the Carabinieri! Go on... You and I have never met!”
Zi Peppe nodded gratefully and put the other half of the cheese into the messenger’s hands. In a flash, he jumped on the mule and urged it to set off. He realised that he could not have received a better offer than that and felt satisfied.
The messenger stowed what he had received inside the bag with the postcards, looked around to make sure, for the umpteenth time, that he had not been seen, and resumed his chores.
Arriving in San Giorgio at dusk, Zi Peppe took Nunzia and Ture aside and told them what had happened in the village. The woman sighed and curled up in her chair, distraught. He was her son and, although she was aware that her husband had done everything he could again, she couldn’t get used to the idea of losing her boy.
Ture, on the other hand, was thinking only of Rosa. He pondered the words his father said and searched inside himself for a way to tell this to his beloved. He had a week left, and then he would shelter in Troina until they would track him down and notify him of the date, by which he had to appear at the Military District in Messina. Finally, the front.
Firstly, he decided to reveal everything to Concetta. He had wanted to do so the night before, but the news of the incoming postcard had upset everyone, and he had had no way or time to talk to his sister.
That same evening, he made up his mind and told Concetta what had happened with Rosa, from the episode of the lizard to the afternoon spent at the trough. The girl smiled and, as usual, she surprised her elder brother again.
“I had imagined it. You should know that your sister has eyes and ears everywhere. I’m not surprised at all!”
“But how? I told Rosa not to say anything. We had agreed that…”
“Rosa didn’t tell me. It was too simple. I understood it by myself. I heard that you were at the fountain yesterday afternoon and it seemed strange to me. I thought: he never goes to the fountain and now he goes twice in such a short time! And then, I saw that the pitchers were halfway up, and I imagined that if you had gone there, it was not for the water but some other reason. Then I also heard that you were with Rosa, that you accompanied her home, and I connected these facts with the reaction our cousin had that time she called Lia a lizard. It was pure jealousy! The only thing I wasn’t sure about was whether you had already been seeing each other since before that night or if it was something born later, but now you have cleared everything up for me. Well done, brother Ture, you’ve caught the little dove at last!”
Ture was astonished; he thought he had done everything with the utmost reserve that time at the trough, but his sister had understood everything anyway. He felt like a fool, but it mattered little, and asked Concetta for advice on how he could tell Rosa about his imminent departure.
His sister eventually ruminated on Rosa’s words.
“If, as she told you, she has waited more than a year, will be able to do it again; indeed, now that you have declared your love, she has an even better reason. Now you are together, and she has the certainty that you want each other. Write to her, don’t forget and do as I say: send the letters for our mother here in San Giorgio, those for Rosa to me and have them delivered to Zi Strino’s shop in San Basilio; no one will suspect a brother at war who writes to his sister.”
Ture smiled and felt relieved, and the two hugged each other affectionately. He thought of what a good wife and excellent mother his sister would be one day. So clever and wise already at eighteen, who knows at twenty or twenty-five.
The next day Ture waited again for Rosa at the trough
As soon as she arrived, together with his sister, Ture called her aside, not caring about Lia’s reaction, who ignored him completely.
He reported the events of the previous day and those that would happen from then on.
