“Why didn’t Zia Maddalena keep her money in the bank, instead of that foolish place?”
“One must hide one’s money somewhere. Cousin Sofia had hers all in her pillow. She never forgot it but ran out with it under her arm.”
Immense sums of money were lost in this way. Sicilians distrust banks; the majority keep their money hidden in their houses. The thieves, knowing this habit, knew just where to look.
We chose a dress for Zia Maddalena and one for Cousin Sofia; then Caterina took us to call on her relations. We found them hard at work, building a little shack from what looked like American lumber. Zia Maddalena, a gay little old woman, with a load of boards on her back, scolded her two small grandsons.
“Do me the favor to work a little faster, Checco. The rain will begin before we have the roof on. Birbante! Are you not ashamed? You are slower than a sheep.”
Caterina made us known to aunt and cousin. Zia Maddalena welcomed us; Sofia, sitting on the ground, suckling her infant, smiled and nodded.
“I have lived on this spot for thirty-seven years,” the old woman began. “She was born here,” pointing to Sofia. “Do you think I would live anywhere else? Later we shall have one of the American barracks. The Signore will speak to the Sor Comandante of us?”
Sofia handed the baby to her mother, picked up a stone for a hammer and began to nail down the roof.
“That’s the little scamp who steals the nails from camp,” said Patsy, “a handful at a time. Look at the size of his fist!”
I gave Zia Maddalena the garments we had brought.