At this point it became necessary for Brancaccia to disappear somewhat suddenly with the baby.
“It was festa,” said Peppino, “and Letterio was drinking and his friends were telling to drink some more, and he was drinking plenty much. Then was he going out in a very hurry and was telling that he would be married very directly and was meeting a girl and was telling: ‘Please, you, marry me this day.’ And the girl was telling: ‘Go away, Letterio, you are a drunk man.’ And he was finding another girl and they was telling the same things—plenty girls—all that day. Afterwards many weeks are passing and Letterio don’t be asking to be married, he was telling always that he would not be married never, never, never; also with the suspicion that no girl would take him. Excuse me, it is like the man who was fell down from the horse and was telling that he was go down—was not fell down. And it was festa again and Letterio was drinking plenty much again and was going on the street again and was meeting a girl again and was telling: ‘Please, you, marry me very directly.’ And the girl was replying: ‘Yes.’“
“But surely,” I exclaimed, “surely they were not so silly as to get married when he was sober, were they?”
It seemed, however, that they were. To save the expense and avoid the chaff that would have attended a marriage in Castellinaria, they went to the next village for a couple of days and returned married.
“But when the man,” said Peppino, “must be finding the courage in the bottle, this is not a good thing. The
courage for the happy marriage must be in the heart. We know that good wine it is sincero, it makes to be speaking the truth; yes, very likely. But the wine it is sometimes traditore, it can also be telling the—what is bugia? Excuse me, it is the lie.”
“And so Letterio is married?”
“Look here, he was married. Now I shall tell you. Oh! what a bad woman she was! Impossible to keep her in the albergo. ‘Please go away, Letterio; I am very sorry; you and your wife also.’ And went away, to his home in Messina and his wife also. In the winter was coming the disaster, the terremoto, the earthquake, and the city was finished to be consumed and the train was bringing the fugitives all day and all night. I was down to the station, Brancaccia was making ready the beds, Carmelo was driving them up and was bringing more and then more—broken people, also whole people, all without nothing, very undressed, and the albergo was became a hospital, a refugio, and the doctors were committing operations upon them in the bedrooms and were curing them and curing them till they died and went away in the cimitero—Oh! it was very pitiful—and sometimes they were repairing them and sending them away in the train. And I was making the journey with the hopeness to un-dig Letterio. During three days was I searching the mournful ruins of Messina but I don’t be finding Letterio, nor alive nor dead, nor his wife, and I am unhappy; also Brancaccia is unhappy. This is why she was now going away with Ricuzzu.”
“Oh! I thought probably the baby had—”
“Yes, many times that is the explication, but this time it is other; it is that she don’t like to be hearing the story of Letterio. I shall tell you that Brancaccia is a gentle person, very tender in the heart.”