Anna was a constant witness. She introduced the visitors, spread the cloth upon the table, and, in the midst of the siege, brought in glasses full of a greenish cordial mixed by the nuns with special drugs. Once at the top of the stairs she heard Don Fiore Ussorio, in the heat of a dispute, insult the Abbot Cennamele who spoke submissively; and since this irreverence seemed monstrous to her, from that time on she judged Don Fiore to be a diabolical man and at his appearance rapidly made the sign of the cross and murmured a Pater.
One day in the spring of 1856 while on the bank of the Pescara, she saw a fleet of boats pass the mouth of the river and sail slowly up the current of the stream. The sun was serene, the two shores were mirrored in the depths facing one another, some green branches and several baskets of reeds floated in the midst of the current toward the sea like placid symbols, and the barks, with the mitre of Saint Thomas painted for an ensign in a corner of their sails, proceeded thus on the beautiful river sanctified by the legend of Saint Cetteo Liberatore. Recollections of her birthplace awoke in the soul of the woman with a sudden start, at that sight; and on thinking of her father, she was overcome with a deep tenderness.
The barks were Ortonesian skiffs and came from the promontory of Roto with a cargo of lemons. Anna, when the anchors were cast, approached the sailors and gazed at them in silence with a curiosity yearning and fearful. One of them, struck by her expression, recognised her and questioned her familiarly: “Whom was she seeking? What did she want?” Then Anna drew the man aside and asked him if by chance he had seen in the “country of the oranges” Luca Minella, her father. “He had not seen him? He no longer lived with that woman?” The man answered that Luca had been dead for some time. “He was old, and could not live very long?” Then Anna restrained her tears and wished to know many things. “Luca had married that woman and they had had two children. The elder of the two sailed upon a skiff and came sometimes to Pescara for trade.” Anna started.
A perplexing confusion, a kind of troubled dismay seized her mind. She could not regain her equilibrium in the face of these complicated facts. She had two brothers then? She must love them? She must endeavour to see them? Now what ought she to do? Thus, wavering, she returned home. Afterwards, for many evenings, when the barks entered the river, she descended the long dock to watch the sailors. One skiff brought from Dalmatia a load of asses and ponies. The beasts on reaching land stamped and the air rang with their brays and neighs. Anna, in passing, stroked the large heads of the asses.
VII
At about that time she received as a gift from a squire a turtle. This new pet, heavy and taciturn, was her delight and care in her leisure hours. It walked from one end of the room to the other, lifting with difficulty from the ground the great weight of its body. It had claws, like olive-coloured stumps, and was young; the sections of its dorsal shield, spotted yellow and black, glittered often in the sunlight with a shade of amber. The head covered with scales, tapering to the nose and yellowish, projected and nodded with timorous benignity, and it seemed sometimes like the head of an old worn-out serpent that had issued from the husk of its own skin. Anna was much delighted with the traits of the animal; its silence, its frugality, its modesty, its love of home. She fed it with leaves, roots and worms, while watching ecstatically the movement of its little horned and ragged jaws. She experienced almost a feeling of maternity as she gently called the animal and chose for it the tenderest and sweetest herbs. Then the turtle became the presager of an idyl. The squire, on coming many times a day to the house, lingered on the loggia to chat with Anna. Since he was a man of humble spirit, devout, prudent, and just, he enjoyed seeing the reflections of his pious virtues in the soul of the woman. Hence, from habit there arose between the two, little by little, a friendly familiarity. Anna already had several white hairs on her temples, and a placid sincerity suffused her face. Zacchiele exceeded her in age by several years; he had a large head with bulging forehead and two gentle, round, rabbit-like eyes. During their soliloquies they sat for the most part on the loggia. Above them, between the roofs, the sky seemed a transparent cupola, while at intervals the pet doves in their soarings traversed this patch of the heavens. Their conversations turned upon the harvests, the fruitfulness of the earth and simple rules for cultivation, and they were both full of experience and self-denial. Since Zacchiele loved at times, because of a natural diffident vanity, to make show of his knowledge before the ignorant and credulous woman, she conceived for him an unlimited esteem and admiration. She learned from him that the earth was divided into five races of men: the white, the yellow, the red, the black, and the brown. She learned that in form the earth was round, that Romulus and Remus were nourished by a wolf, and that in autumn the swallows flew over the sea to Egypt where the Pharaohs reigned in ancient times. But did not men all have one colour, in the image and semblance of God? How could we walk upon a ball? Who were the Pharaohs? She did not succeed in understanding and thus remained completely confused. However, after that she regarded the swallows with reverence and judged them to be birds gifted with human foresight.
One day Zacchiele showed her a copy of the Old Testament, illustrated with drawings. Anna examined it slowly, listening to his explanations. She saw Adam and Eve among the hares and fawns, Noah half nude kneeling before an altar, the three angels of Abraham, Moses rescued from the water; she saw with joy finally a Pharaoh, in the presence of the rod of Moses, changed into a serpent; the queen of Sheba, the feast of the Tabernacle, and the martyrdom of the Maccabees. The affair of Balaam’s ass filled her with wonder and tenderness. The story of the cup of Joseph in the sack of Benjamin caused her to burst into tears. Now she imagined the Israelites walking through a desert all covered with scales, under a dew that was called manna and which was white like snow and sweeter than bread. After the Sacred History, seized with a strange ambition, Zacchiele began to read to her of the enterprises of the kings of France with the Emperor Constantine up to the time of Orlando, Count of Anglante. A great tumult then upset the woman’s mind, the battles of the Philistines and Syrians she confused with the battles of the Saracens, Holofernes with Rizieri, King Saul with King Mambrino, Eleazar with Balante, Naomi with Galeana.
Worn out she no longer followed the thread of the narrative, but shivered only at intervals when she heard fall from the lips of Zacchiele the sound of some beloved name. And she had a strong liking for Dusolina and the Duke of Bovetto, who seized all of England while becoming enamoured of the daughter of the Frisian King.
The first day of September came. In the air, tempered with recent rain, was a placid autumnal clarity. Anna’s room became the spot for their readings. One day Zacchiele, seated, read “how Galeana, daughter of the King Galafro, became enamoured of Mainetto and wished to make him a garland of green.”
Anna, because the fable seemed simple and rustic, and because the voice of the reader seemed to sweeten with new inflections, listened with evident eagerness. The turtle gently dragged itself over several leaves of lettuce, the sun illumined a great spider’s web upon the window, and one saw the last red flowers of the tobacco plant through the subtle threads of gold.