SIX MONTHS OF drawn-out silence went by, bringing uncommon relief to Lolai and the Murru family. Those who had avoided daytime strolls and spent months living by the fire began to set foot outdoors, while the wheat in the fields turned yellow and glossy, caressed by the wind on sultry days. The entire valley was bathed in golden sunlight and the river—especially choppy in that section—swelled at every bend, and every pebble in its bed glowed in the reflections. On the right bank, away from the lunchtime bustle in the small, stone houses, an expanse of grass extended as far as the eye could see, surrounded by daisies and a welcoming silence, occasionally interrupted by a sparrow.
A few shepherds would stop there, preceded by their herds, and the odd hungry wayfarer would snack in the shade of a fig tree. The gentle gurgling of the crystalline water was the nearest thing to heaven a particular kind of person could dream of—one who was no stranger to the instinct for deception, but who was still faithful to the promise of freedom—the freedom of unspoilt nature and no remuneration. From the heart of the village, through the open windows looking out onto the main street, wafted a blend of smells as tempting to humans as to the animals returning from the fields.
One evening, Tore was sitting in the kitchen with Teresa, doing the accounts for the tavern and the store. He shook his head, a discouraged expression on his face.
‘Are we in trouble?’ she asked.
‘We’ve been selling a little less since Bruno died, but we’ll manage, you’ll see, Signora.’
She looked up at him from the table, annoyed. ‘I know we’ve come some way from the Collus’ courtyard, but how many times have I told you that you can call me Teresa?’
‘You know I could never do that. If it hadn’t been for you, God only knows what would have become of me—’
‘Nonsense,’ she said, interrupting him.
‘Even keeping the books,’ he said, looking at the table, ‘is something I learnt from Bruno. But without your ideas this place wouldn’t have lasted two days, believe me.’
‘I’m not so sure…’
‘It’s a difficult time, but the company will have to continue with the works for at least another season. And the charcoal burners will need to eat, won’t they?’ Tore said with a shrug.
‘So it seems…’ she said, nodding, her open palm on her temple. ‘As a matter of fact, there’s a way of putting something aside before the winter.’
Tore looked at her, puzzled.
‘Leave it to me,’ she said. ‘At least that way you won’t have to go around the fairs every week.’
‘You know I’m happy to do it.’
‘I know, but at your age it’s better not to push it,’ she replied with a sly smile.
‘Are you trying to say I’ve become too old?’ Tore asked with a grimace of mock outrage.
Teresa laughed and raised her hands in apology. ‘No, on the contrary! You grow wiser every year, that’s why I need you here.’
She stood up from the table and touched his shoulder, and he smiled back at her before wishing her goodnight and returning to the barn. Left alone in the dark kitchen, Teresa put the papers away and took a deep breath to shake off all the tiredness built up over the past weeks. Negotiating was the one thing in which Bruno had no equal; his calmness had left the people of Lolai in no doubt that Teresa had chosen a real treasure as a husband. But now, without him, she had to find other ways.
Rita came down the stairs and reported that the children were asleep; given how late it was, Teresa asked her to stay the night and the girl accepted with a polite smile.
Whenever Rita stayed over at the Murrus’, she’d occupy the small room on the ground floor, next to the kitchen. It was a dark room—furnished with nothing but a rickety iron bed, a bedside table nibbled on by woodworm and a long brass mirror on the wardrobe door—and the only part of it visible from the road was a small wooden window that protruded from under the roof. In summer, Rita would usually rest there in the coolness, and every so often—when she heard sounds from the road—she would borrow a chair from the kitchen and crane her neck out of the window to try to guess the identity of the passers-by just from their ankles and their voices, while she herself remained hidden.
The following evening the charcoal burners stopped by to eat at the tavern. Tore was busy decanting the leftover oil into large demijohns enclosed in wickerwork, while Rita was clearing the main room and opening the windows to air it. Teresa hadn’t been seen all evening.
Wiping his soiled mouth, Carlo stood up, signalling to the other two to stay seated. Tommaso followed him with his eyes, while Giovanni was distracted by some children impatient to see yet another card trick. Carlo stopped in front of Rita and glanced over the counter.
‘Is Teresa in the kitchen? I’d like to say hello.’
‘Yes, she’s preparing the meat for tomorrow. I’m not sure if she—’
‘I’ll be quick.’
Without another word, he walked across the threshold and found her quartering a rabbit on a large wooden board. At the hard, precise thud of the cleaver on the base of the animal’s neck, Carlo stepped back for a second, then smiled.
‘The secret is to imagine an enemy’s head, right?’
Teresa did not reply, nor give him the satisfaction of looking up; with another abrupt blow, she severed the rabbit’s thigh with a clean chop. Carlo took a tentative step closer to the counter.
‘Do you have something to say to me?’ Teresa said.
‘Actually, yes. I wanted to offer my condolences.’
She looked up and studied him with a stern expression.
‘I know I shouldn’t, after what happened, but I wanted to apologise. I overstepped the mark. We’d had too much to drink that night.’
‘Water under the bridge,’ she said.
They stood in silence for a few seconds, then Carlo turned towards the exit. ‘We’re leaving tomorrow, but we won’t be away long.’
Teresa mumbled.
He stopped by the door. ‘Did you say something?’ His face froze as he waited for an answer. Forcing himself not to let it show, Carlo put his hands in the pockets of his jacket, but his eyes didn’t shift away from Teresa’s.
‘If possible, I’d like to talk to you about the agreement you made with my husband for the coming season.’
The man’s face twitched and the hint of a smile disappeared.
‘Now that I have to handle this instead of him, I need to split the expenses refund into two instalments. Half now and half at the end of the work.’
Carlo briefly looked away before replying. ‘Do you need to buy something for the store? I can help you—’
‘No, no. I just need to get some provisions. Would that be possible?’
‘I think so.’
‘Thank you.’
Teresa gave him a relaxed, sincere smile, so unexpected that it nailed him to the threshold.
‘You’re even more beautiful as a widow, Teresa,’ he said softly, before turning away and leaving the kitchen.
Back at his table, Tommaso stared at Carlo without saying anything, the tremor in his lip betraying a peculiar interest in the conversation that had just taken place.
‘So?’
‘She wants half the payment in advance.’
‘Oh, so that’s it, is it?’
‘She says she needs the money for provisions.’
‘Naturally. The cat may hide, but the tail always sticks out.’
Carlo did not reply, and Tommaso carried on sliding his tongue between his teeth, still staring into the kitchen.
Tore had just finished decanting the oil and realised that the room was almost empty.
‘Do you need a hand to take him away?’ he said politely to Carlo and Tommaso.
Barely able to stand up, Giovanni was whispering something in Rita’s ear. He dropped a limp arm around her neck and she laughed.
‘Giovanni, let’s go—ajò, it’s late. Goodnight,’ Tommaso called brusquely.
Once the three men had left the tavern, Teresa came out of the kitchen and Tore gave her a worried look. ‘Everything all right?’
She nodded, then asked Rita to take the children to bed.
Maddalena looked up at her mother with a sad expression. ‘Mamma, aren’t you coming?’
Teresa looked at Tore, who gestured at her not to worry. She took her daughter’s hand and left the room, followed by Francesco and Rita, who held Emilio in her arms.
On that Sunday at the end of November, casa Murru remained silent in the shade of the lemon trees, soaked in the memory of the singing in the square on the occasion of the feast of Saint Cecilia. The festivities had begun the previous evening and ended shortly after dawn. Teresa came out of the front door without looking around, trying to make as little noise as possible. She knew that, after a late night, the rest of the village would be kept at home by the heat and by hunger.
She was going to find Maria, although she hadn’t told anyone. She was certain that, in the unlikely event someone came knocking at the door of the store, they would give up without too many questions. The old woman lived some distance away from her, but Teresa was in the mood for a walk. She took advantage of the fact that time slowed down in the heat—every summer it arrived all of a sudden—to think about what she would say to Maria, as she walked towards the two rows of cypresses leading to the large iron cemetery gate, to the spot where the land sloped down to the fields.
Maria’s abode looked more like a ramshackle hovel than a house, with an ill-fitting door and an odour of mould you could smell all the way from the road. Teresa had avoided this place for many years, though she couldn’t have said why.
On her way, she had picked enough bluebells from the bushes to make a bunch and was still brooding over what to say and how to say it, without reaching a conclusion.
Out of the blue, Tommaso appeared, coming towards her across the cemetery. His hands were dirty, his forehead sweaty and he looked tired. His eyes widened when he saw her, but he gave a quick smile to conceal his surprise.
‘Good morning, Teresa! What brings you here?’
Teresa hesitated for a moment, staring at the flowers in her hand.
‘Have you come to see Bruno?’
Teresa nodded politely.
‘Carlo wanted to give you the good news, but since I’m here I might as well do it. The company has agreed, and we’ll bring you the advance in a couple of days.’
Teresa beamed. ‘Thank you very much.’
‘Don’t thank us, we only told the truth: that you’re the best cook on the island.’
Seeing her embarrassment, Tommaso pointed at the flowers. ‘You’d better go: men don’t like to be kept waiting.’
She thanked him with a nod and he walked past her. Before reaching the exit, however, he said loudly, ‘By the way, Teresa, remember to put all the money somewhere safe, or else you may lose it like the Loccis lost their donkey!’
‘What happened?’ Teresa said, staring at the two grey tombstones at her feet.
‘They had their donkey stolen the other day. Apparently, criminals broke into their house, removed the head collar from the animal’s neck and led it away. The Loccis were hoping to sell it at the market, so now they have to find another way not to starve to death. You can never be sure of anything these days. Good day to you, Teresa, and give my regards to Bruno.’
He waved and disappeared beyond the gate, whistling. Teresa looked up at the trees that divided the tombstones into tidy rows beneath a pastel-blue sky which, unlike her, seemed to be calmly waiting for lunchtime. Then she followed the path to the far end of the cemetery, holding the flowers in her hand. When she reached Bruno’s grave, she read once again the white inscription below the dark letters spelling his name.
HOPE IS THE STRENGTH TO LOVE LIFE EVERY DAY UNTIL THE DAY THE SUN SETS NO LONGER
She wiped a tear from her cheek and for a moment seemed to have forgotten what had prompted her out of the house. All her worries about the past, and about Maria, that woman who gave her no answers, had vanished beneath the distress caused by the charcoal burner’s words. Teresa returned to the entrance and pushed the gate open with one hand; for the first time ever, she didn’t stop at the Collus’ chapel. She had difficulty walking, as though the arid ground beneath her feet had cracked into huge, sliding clumps of earth.
When she reached Maria’s hut, she opened the door, but Maria was not inside. The smell of mould was increasingly strong and despite the heat, the branches that acted as a roof made the temperature cooler than on the road. Teresa walked around the room, then went to look for Maria round the back, in the small, wild garden, but didn’t find her there either. When Maria wasn’t at home, she usually wandered the streets, and when she wasn’t walking around she would sit in the church; so Teresa retraced her steps and headed to the square.
Fleeting, twisted thoughts were milling in her head as she panted up the last stretch of road. She’d worn black since the funeral—more out of loyalty to the promise made on her wedding day than social convention—and at that time of day, the dark cloth of her skirt was awfully heavy. She felt her cheeks and ears burning under her shawl. When she heard voices, she realised she was outside Annedda’s house. She waved and Annedda responded with a strained smile, scrutinising Teresa for longer than was necessary.
Teresa walked past the door and continued on to the church, hoping finally to come across Maria. Once in the square she saw that the main door to the church was shut, while the wooden sacristy entrance was ajar. She approached and, through the chink, saw Maria kneeling in the confessional; on the other side of the cubicle, she could make out Don Giuseppe’s shadow behind the mesh. Teresa held her breath so she wouldn’t miss a word. Maria was listening and nodding, but Teresa couldn’t catch the priest’s voice. Once the two had concluded the rite and Maria had crossed herself, Teresa withdrew into the shade of the trees at the back.
When they emerged and saw her, they both turned pale. Don Giuseppe was the first to rouse himself.
‘Teresa! What brings you here? Has something happened?’
‘No, I was just going for a walk.’
Maria was staring at the ground; she looked dumbfounded.
‘It’s very hot today; you shouldn’t walk around in the sun at this time of day. Maria wanted to confess so we came here, where it’s cool,’ he continued, bestowing upon the old woman the hasty glance of someone trying to get out of a tricky situation. ‘In any case, it’s late. A good day to you both.’
He vanished around the corner and Teresa stared at the bruja for a few seconds, sweat beading her forehead. Their bodies stood opposite each other, unmoving, as if they were preparing for a duel.
Maria was still avoiding Teresa’s gaze, looking fixedly at the ground in the hope that it would swallow her up and save her from further questions.
‘You owe me an explanation.’ Teresa was unable to conceal her impatience as she uttered the words.
Maria raised her head very slowly, her eyes staring into space. Teresa touched her arm gently, but the old woman seemed frozen.
‘I’m tired of this silence. What were you doing at my house that night?’ Unable to restrain herself any longer, Teresa was screaming. ‘Talk to me!’
The old woman squinted and looked at a spot in the distance, her face pale and her back stooped. Teresa was panting, trying to catch her breath. When the other woman remained silent, she turned towards the fountain and took a sip of water. Apart from the two of them, the square was deserted and the sky had started to cloud over.
Teresa wiped her mouth with her hand and went back to Maria, who had crossed her arms over her belly and was moaning, repeating words like a litany through half opened lips. She rocked back and forth, covering her face with her rough, thin hands, and then seemed all of a sudden to collapse. Instinctively, Teresa reached out to support her and took her over to a low stone wall at the side of the entrance to the sacristy.
Maria gradually stopped shaking, but she was still panting. ‘I saw him…’ she said, looking into Teresa’s face for the first time. ‘Clothes down by the river…it was all dark…Bruno came out of the water…like a corpse…then he said…’ Her voice was filled with fear. ‘He said…’ she repeated, without finishing her sentence. She resumed her soft moaning for a few seconds, covering her eyes with her hands, before whispering, ‘Tell her to make sure all the windows are locked.’
Then Maria suddenly fell silent, her eyes once again staring into space.
‘But it wasn’t him…’ she resumed. ‘It was the devil…Don Giuseppe’s right. Fiat su dimoniu…’
The old woman started rocking back and forth again, and left the wall to go back to the road.
‘Wait!’ Teresa took a few steps but stopped, overwhelmed by the heat.
Maria, on the other hand, turned to leave, repeating those two words. ‘Su dimoniu…su dimoniu…’
Teresa watched her walk back towards su cuccuru, while the blue sky turned grey. That her screaming had not gone unnoticed was now the day’s one true certainty.