The little acrobat: a story of Italy

by Janie Prichard Duggan

Luigi at the window above had seen the money given to Natale, but he asked no questions of the boy, who, after kicking his heels against the wall for some time longer, was presently called to his supper.

There was a flush on Natale’s cheeks and a brightness in his eyes which even Sora Grazia noticed, and as the evening was cool, she thought it wise to forbid his sitting out on the balcony or the wall, as was his wont, until bedtime. He looked feverish, she said, and in her own mind she planned a cup of hot camomile tea as a remedy at bedtime. Natale’s disappointment at this command to keep indoors showed so plainly upon his childish features that Sora Grazia was provoked, and for the first time since the boy had been with her she used harsh tones.

“There! you may as well go to bed at once!” she cried, as he was leaving the kitchen, without a word it is true, but with the light all gone from his face. “I can never please you, whatever I do, and you are here only to waste food and sulk. Go to bed, Natale!”

Luigi had gone off directly after eating his supper, about some matter of business with one of his superiors at the church, so he was not there to take Natale’s part.

It is hard enough to be sent to bed on an ordinary night and at one’s regular time, as any child will agree, but to be forbidden the early hours of a moonlit evening outdoors, especially when one’s little head is teeming with wild, delicious ideas of flight—away from daily baths, from the cramping walls of a house, and out into the freshness and freedom of the night, which has no terror for the dwellers in tents, was well-nigh unbearable.

Ah! how little Sora Grazia knew of the anguish she was causing!

But Natale obediently stumbled slowly upstairs in the dark to the bedroom, and when there, crouched in his usual place on the floor behind the flower pots without an audible murmur.

The little acrobat had made no plans at all, but with the touch of the money given him by the kind old gentleman on San Vito, an impulse to seek his freedom had occurred to his mind, and in the half-hour while he continued on the wall, furtively handling the coins in his pocket, he had wished,—only wished, however,—that he might have the courage to steal out into the moonlight, after eating, while Sora Grazia should be about her dish-washing, and Luigi poring over one of his little black books, perhaps, by the light of the candle in the kitchen. He had often thought of Olga’s words, “I would run after the wagon, if I were you,” but he had been too closely watched during the first day or two to admit of his carrying out so bold a plan, and since then, for the rest of the long, dreary week since the caravan had gone, he had not had the spirit to undertake such a measure. The whole world seemed to intervene between himself and the beloved company who had gone, and he felt sure that he would be seen by some mistaken person and brought back, even before he could reach the river, if he should attempt to follow.

Until to-night no thought of leaving under the protection of the friendly darkness had come to him, and he had only been able to see himself flying down the sunny road in full view of all the village, to be promptly turned back again by some carriage driver of the place, or some schoolboy bigger than himself and therefore stronger. Besides, he had had no money, and Natale had traveled enough to know that a few cents in one’s pocket make one’s road easier and less long. So the days had passed, and Natale was fast drifting into a state of listless torpor which must have ended in illness, had not Mr. Grantly changed a five-franc note at the fruit shop that sunny afternoon and taken a stroll along San Vito where Natale sat “sulking” on the wall!

Presently, as the little child continued to gaze longingly out into the moonlight, a ray of further hope illumined his mind. As Luigi had gone to the church now, it would be late before he would return. Sora Grazia always sat dozing on her stool in the doorway until time for barring the door and going to bed. Why should he not slip past her and away into the shadows of the street, before Luigi should return? His heart leaped at the thought, and he rose noiselessly to his feet and glanced around the darkening room. His small cot stood smooth and white against the wall. Another thought struck him, and he quailed with a sense of utter discouragement. When Luigi should come in,—and he might be very early, one never knew,—the runaway would be missed straightway from the empty little bed, and easily overtaken if he should have taken the regular road down the hill.