Turlendana, who had lost the recollection of these places through a long absence, and who in his long peregrinations had forgotten the sentiments of his native land, was striding along with the tired, regular step of haste, looking neither backward nor around him.
When the camel would stop at a tuft of wild grass, Turlendana would utter a brief, hoarse cry of incitement. The huge reddish quadruped would slowly raise his head, chewing the morsel heavily between his jaws.
“Hu, Barbara!”
The she-ass, the little snowy white Susanna, protesting against the tormenting of the monkey, from time to time would bray lamentingly, asking to be freed of her rider.
But the restless Zavali gave her no peace; as though in a frenzy, with quick, short gestures of wrath, she would run over the back of the beast, jump playfully on her head, get hold of her large ears; then would lift her tail and shake the hairs, hold it up and look through the hairs, scratch poor Susanna viciously with her nails, then lift her hands to her mouth and move her jaws as though chewing, grimacing frightfully as she did so. Then suddenly, she would jump back to her seat, holding in her hands her foot, twisted like the root of a bush, and sit with her orange coloured eyes, filled with wonder and stupor, fixed on the sea, while wrinkles would appear on her head, and her thin pinkish ears would tremble nervously. Without warning she would make a malicious gesture, and recommence her play.
“Hu, Barbara!”
The camel heard and started to walk again.
When the group reached the willow tree woods, at the mouth of the River Pescara, figures could be seen upon its right bank, above the masts of the ships anchored in the docks of Bandiera. Turlendana stopped to get a drink of water from the river.
The river of his native place carried to him the peaceful air of the sea. Its banks, covered with fluvial plains, lay stretched out as though resting from their recent work of fecundity. The silence was profound. The cobwebs shone tranquilly in the sun like mirrors framed by the crystal of the sea. The seaweed bent in the wind, showing its green or white sides.
“Pescara!” said Turlendana, with an accent of curiosity and recognition, stopping still to look at the view.