"Be quiet. He didn't hear me."
| Cuccu bellu 's lizu | Cuckoo, beauty of lily fair, |
| Cantos annos bi cheret a fagher | In how many years shall my |
| fixu? | son be here? |
This time the cuckoo gave a reasonable answer, and the children in the great silence, broken only by the melancholy oracle, went on with questions not entirely merry.
| Cuccu, bellu e sorre | Cuckoo, beauty and sister dear. |
| Cantos annos bi cheret a mi | In how many years will my |
| morrer? | death draw near? |
Once Anania went away by himself. He walked along the high road, up and up; then crossed the copses and climbed among the granite boulders, traversing long hollows covered with the little violet flowers of the heather. At last he reached the top of what seemed an immense mountain. The sun had vanished, but he fancied there were great fires flaming behind the purple hills of the horizon, and sending up burning light over the whole sky. Anania was frightened by the red heaven; by the height he had reached, and the terrible silence which surrounded him. He thought of Zuanne's father and looked round in a panic. Ah! though he meant to be a soldier he was mortally afraid of robbers! and the long black cloak on the sooty wall at home gave him spasms of terror. Almost head over heels he fled from his peak and was glad when he heard Zuanne calling him. Zuanne's great wish was to see the brigands; so Anania told him where he had been and described the black mountains and the flaming sky; then added that he had seen them. The widow's son was first contemptuous, then excited. He looked at Anania with respect, as thoughtful and taciturn they returned home together, followed by the goats whose little bells tinkled plaintively in the silence of the twilight.
When he was not running beside Zuanne, little Anania passed the day in the great court of the church of the Martyrs. He played with the sons of the wax-candle-maker, who had his workshop close by. The quiet Courtyard was shadowed by great trees, and surrounded by an arcade falling into ruin. A little stone stair led to the church, on the simple facade of which a cross was painted. Anania and the candlemaker's children spent hours on the little stair, playing with the pebbles and making little candles of chalk. A yawning carabiniere[8] used to stand at the window of the ancient convent; in the cells military boots and tunics were visible; and a voice might be heard singing in falsetto with a Neapolitan accent—
"A te questo rosario"—
Some monk—one of the few left in the damp and decadent spot—dirty, tattered, with broken sandals, would pass through the court mumbling his prayers in dialect. Sometimes the soldier at the window, the friar on the staircase, amused themselves talking to the children. The carabiniere would turn sharp to Anania and ask news of his mother.
"What's she doing?"
"She's spinning."