She stopped short, choosing silence for urging the boy on.
Giorgio blurted out: "Mamma! It is the secret arrangements between the contradas. The Palio is a religious festival. Is it right, do you think, to hold your horse back, to make her lose? What if"—the words came tight and strained—"what if for Gaudenzia another fantino should be chosen? And I should have to strike her?"
The shaping of the pies went on in silence.
"I had to ask it! Everyone in Onda is happy. And the Chief is happy. And Gaudenzia is happy. But I, I am sad! Some nights, for hours I do not sleep. How can I be a fantino so soon again if in my heart there is a heaviness? How can I?"
The mother sighed deeply. Why is it, she thought, that always children have questions like knots which they throw into the lap of the mother? Little children, little knots; big children, big knots. Always it is so. She thought a long time and the room grew so still that the whir of a hummingbird at a flower in the window sounded big and loud.
"I think there is someone," she said at last, "who could ease your burden."
Giorgio was hearing with every fiber. "Tell me! Who is it?"
The mother seemed to be talking to herself, convincing herself. "Yes! He would be the one; he is wise in the mysteries that trouble the heart."
"Who, Mamma?"
"He is a thoughtful, listening man."