Back Home to the Maremma
The next morning broke clear and cool, and Giorgio set out before sunup for Doctor Celli's villa. He carried only a small parcel containing his clothes, which were wrapped about a chunk of bread and a salami. If Gaudenzia was fit to travel, he would make her load as light as possible.
The shadowed road was still cool from the night, and the birds only beginning to sing. Giorgio whistled as he strode along, and the notes came so light and fast he could hardly keep up with them. The song he whistled was about the common road to glory, and there was such a bursting in his chest that he half ran the shadowy climbing way to the villa on the hilltop.
The sun was less than an hour high when he stood at Doctor Celli's door, completely out of breath. "Suppose," he suddenly thought, "the doctor is a late riser! Suppose word has not reached him that I am coming and he is off hunting rabbits in the hills. Suppose the weasely groom is in charge!"
But before Giorgio could pick up the brass knocker, a beautiful shiny one made in the image of a unicorn, the door opened wide and Doctor Celli, with a dog at his heels, stepped outside.
"Buon giorno," he smiled in welcome. "Your whistling and the barking of my hound announced you well ahead of time. Before I take you to the mare, I have some things to explain." He led the way to an ornamental bench in the midst of a rose garden, and motioned Giorgio to sit beside him. The red-eyed hound nosed the boy appraisingly, then flopped at his feet.
Doctor Celli began, choosing his words carefully. "To you, I believe I can talk as man to man."
Giorgio felt a stab of uneasiness at the tone of voice. He reached down and scratched the dog's head, trying not to show concern.
"I doubt the mare is fit for travel," the doctor went on. "The hurt tendon still gives her much discomfort. Maybe in a month or two she will be ready. And if, in the meanwhile, you wish to stay here and work in the grape harvest, I would be pleased."
"A month or two!" Giorgio stared at the man, unbelieving.
Doctor Celli got to his feet and touched Giorgio on the shoulder. "Follow me," he said, and he walked down the path to a cluster of outbuildings. "I will show you where she is stabled. I have no groom now, so her bed may be soiled and her white coat stained." And in the same breath he added, "Poor beast, it was an evil bump she had in the Prova. The cartilage above the hoof is badly damaged, and the nervous tic tortures her. But of these maladies you are already aware."
He turned to smile at Giorgio as they came to a halt before the closed door of a narrow stone building. He made no move to open it. "Sometimes with strangers she is quite savage," he explained. "Therefore, I think it imperative that you establish at once who is master. Perhaps," he questioned, "perhaps you wish to go in alone?"
Giorgio looked at the forbidding, heavy door. He drew a deep breath, hesitated, then lifted the latch and pushed. The creaking of the hinges sent Farfalla rearing to the rafters. Quietly Giorgio stepped inside and closed the door. He stood transfixed at the change in her—the ribs showing, the mantle harsh. Her stall was big enough, but lit by only one window, too high for looking out. It smelled of cold earth and hay and dung. All this he sensed in some faraway place in his mind. He had never before been alone with the mare, and he stood motionless, making no sound.
She too was electric with curiosity, pulling in the scent of him, blowing it out with a rattling snort.
"I am here," the boy said in a quiet tone. "It's only me."
The mare's head jerked high, her nostrils flared red, her ears flattened. "Stay back!" she warned. Fear was strong in her, but spirit, too. When Giorgio did not retreat, she wheeled about, took aim, and like a cat ready to spring, she gathered herself for a mighty kick. In the split second before her heels lashed out, he leaped against her rump, pressing his body hard against her. She was trapped as if her hind legs had been hobbled! Through his clothes he could feel her break out in lather. He too was drenched in sweat. Relief and happiness flooded into him as her muscles relaxed. He had won the first skirmish.
He went around now to her head and gently took hold of her halter. "You, so soft-eyed," he said. "You could not hurt me. Not ever. I am not afraid. Why are you afraid? Come," he coaxed, trying the new name softly. "Come, Gau-den-zia." And he led her out into the morning.
Doctor Celli could not hide his surprise. "Colombo!" he shouted to his farmer, who was throwing a pan of soaked acorns to the sow. "Look here! Already she knows who is master."
The farmer and Doctor Celli stood back in amazement while Giorgio lifted her hurt foot and held it between his knees. Carefully he pressed his hand from her hock down her cannon bone and along the tendon to a point just above the fetlock. To his great relief he could tell that the tendon was not bowed.
"The leg," Giorgio said, "should be rested if...."
Doctor Celli nodded. "So I told you! A month, maybe."
"No! No!" the boy spoke quickly. "If the tendon bowed out, then she would need rest. But now we got to keep her leg moving. The gristle otherwise will harden."
The men exchanged glances, eyeing each other with doubtful, questioning looks.
Giorgio pretended not to notice. He spoke with a bold sureness that surprised even himself. "If you please," he said, "I now make a poultice of flour and alum for the bruised place, and if you don't mind, we leave at once. It is sixty kilometers to Monticello and I must stop often to rest her."
The farmer disappeared to fetch the flour and alum, and Doctor Celli himself produced the bridle.
"She does not willingly take the bit," he said. "I will help you."
Giorgio smiled and shook his head. He led the mare inside her stable and cross-tied her to iron rings fastened to opposite walls. Then he saw that underneath her chin was a raw, red place. He thought a moment, and took from his pocket the rabbit's foot. Much as he prized it for a good luck charm, he skinned it and wrapped the soft fur about the chinstrap of the bridle.
"Now, Gaudenzia," he said as if he were talking to a small child, "with rabbit's fur the strap will not chafe the sore spot."
It took only a little firmness to slip the bit between her teeth and to adjust the throat latch. And she actually pushed her leg against Giorgio's hand while he bound the poultice in place.
For as long as he lived, Giorgio knew he would never forget this day. Of all the masters Gaudenzia had known, she had singled him out as the one to trust! Why else did she let him leap aboard without bolting? Why else did she travel the mountainous country with scarce any favoring of her hurt leg? Why else did she swivel her ears to pull in his talk, or a snatch of his song?
The trip took all day, with Giorgio walking up the hills and riding down. Whenever they came to a stream, he let her wade into it, let her paw and plash to her heart's content. It was a remedy Babbo had handed down. "One thing you must know about horses," he had said time and again. "Soak hurt feet and legs in mountain streams, and you leave behind the fever and the pain."
Giorgio wished he could make the day last forever. In riding, he and Gaudenzia fitted together as if some sculptor had molded them all of one piece. In walking, they were a team, enjoying the cool wind in their faces and the warm sun on their backs.
It was good to see the country again! The little checkerboard farms with rows of grapevines holding hands, and hills swelling away to the horizon, and cypress trees marching bold and black against the sky.
They met farmers with guns on their shoulders, and lean dogs nosing for game. And they saw oxen slow-footing as they turned over the clods of earth.
They saw strawstacks, layered golden and brown, like mocha tortes. At thought of the tortes Giorgio was suddenly hungry. Standing at the side of the road, one arm through the reins, he ate his bread and salami and watched Gaudenzia graze. He wondered how far into the distance she could see. He studied her purple-brown eyes, but all he saw in them was his own reflection.
The sun was slipping into the folds of the mountains when they reached the wild loveliness of the Maremma. Never had it seemed so boundless. To Giorgio it was not lonely looking at all. He bristled at the thought. To him the tangle of brush and brake was beautiful, and the wild birds more plentiful than anywhere, and the autumn weeds winking bright and yellow in the roughed-up land. He stopped at a small wayside shrine decorated with a bouquet of dahlias, and asked a blessing for his new responsibility.
As they took off again, he noticed that the mare had lifted one of the flowers from the shrine. He laughed to the wind and the echo rolled back to him.
At last, in the thickening twilight, they wound up the hill to the huddled houses of Monticello. He clucked to Gaudenzia, asking her to trot the last few meters home in triumph. Her hoofbeats alerted the whole village.
Shutters flew open. Heads popped out. Voices shouted.
"Look! Look what Giorgio brings home! A white scarecrow!" And the children made a sing-song of it. "A white scarecrow! A white scarecrow!"
"Hey, Giorgio! She's got ribs like a washboard!"
"If you sell her for nothing, I wouldn't buy."
The jokes were all good natured, and in high spirits Giorgio leaped from Gaudenzia's back and led her to Pippa's stable. But Pippa was not there. In her place stood a red motor scooter with Babbo's old cap on the handle bars.
For a moment Giorgio felt grief. Then he wiped it away as if it were a cobweb. He had to think ahead now. "It is better Pippa is not here," he said to the mare. "Nobody now can be jealous." He showed Gaudenzia around, showed her the old donkey cart and the trunk with the oats in it and the big wide windows. "You have only a little alley for view," he explained, "but nicer than Doctor Celli's stable with windows too high for seeing out. No?"
As he took off her bridle, she rubbed her head against him where the leathers had been. He sighed happily, feeling singled out and special again. "At last you have come to me!" he said. Then he went to the trunk and scooped up a measure of grain. Before pouring it into the manger he sifted it between his fingers, removing the dried grasshoppers and beetles.
It was late evening when his family returned home from the farm where they had been gathering grapes. But they all had to see the mare, and admire her points, even though she was not in a welcoming mood.
That night when Giorgio went to bed in the family bedroom he did not mind that Emilio, with arms and legs flung wide, slept crosswise, taking up most of the bed. As the wind blew cool, he pulled up the cover, making it snug about Emilio's back. It was good to feel cozy and warm and welcome; good to belong to a family again.
Before he dozed off, he saw through the open window a fingernail moon far away above the mountain. A new moon, a new mare, a new beginning....
