He was staring at a little gold bordered cup reserved exclusively for him. Good-bye, little cup! Just once more to-morrow, and then, Good-bye. A lump rose in his throat.
"I'll go to my godfather later. I've got to finish packing," he said, as if talking to the cup.
"Suppose we never see each other again?" he said to Aunt Tatàna. "Suppose I die before I come back? I daresay it would be better. What's the good of living to be old?"
Aunt Tatàna, looked at him anxiously, crossed herself and said, "Have you been having bad dreams last night? Why does my little lamb without wool talk like this? Have you the headache?"
"You don't understand!" he cried, springing to his feet. He went to his room and packed his books and dearest possessions, now and then his eyes turned to the window.
What would he see from the window of the room which awaited him at Cagliari? The sea? The real sea? The infinite distance of azure water, under the infinite distance of azure heaven? The thought of all that azure had a soothing effect. He repented having been cross to Aunt Tatàna. He was very ungrateful—still nerves are nerves and uncontrollable. But he would not be ungrateful. No! throw down portmanteau, books, boxes, rush to the kitchen, where the good woman is sweeping with an air half sad, half philosophical, grieving probably over the tragic words of her lamb without wool, fall upon her, enfold her and her broom in one embrace, and drag her into a vertiginous whirl of a dance!
"Bad boy, what's the matter with you?" cried the elderly woman palpitating with joy. And then in the middle of the dance he was off again, running and imitating the puffing of a train.
His packing done, he went on with his good-bye visits, going first to Maestro Pane. The old carpenter's shop, generally thronged, was at the moment deserted, and Anania had to wait some time sitting on the bench, his feet among the abundant shavings which strewed the floor. A light breeze blew in from the door, agitating the great cobwebs and the layers of sawdust.
At last Maestro Pane came in, put on an old soldier's tunic, its buttons carefully polished, and smiled with childish satisfaction when Anania told him he looked like a general.
"I have the helmet too," he said, "but when I put it on the children laugh. So you're off, my boy? God go with you and help you. I have nothing to give you."