THE FOLLOWING MORNING, as sunlight slanted down the foliage of still slumbering trees, the Murrus’ front door shuddered under the double blow of a magenta-coloured stone set in a heavy gold ring. Behind Don Giuseppe’s right knuckle, and behind the polite pretext for his visit, was concealed the calculated intention to meddle once again in the lives of the Murrus. When he didn’t hear movement from behind the door, he began walking back down the street towards the church.
From behind him, however, came Rita’s mellow voice, so faint it could have come from kilometres away. ‘Don Giuseppe! Come in, we’re awake.’
The priest bowed his head and raised a hand in a gesture of apology, then walked back up to the Murrus’ house. As soon as he stepped inside, he remembered that the last time he’d been there had been the long night of Bruno’s death. The memory of the dying man’s brief confession loomed in his mind as Rita led the way across the courtyard. Although absorbed in thought, the priest glanced into the back of the barn.
‘Are you looking for Tore?’ Rita asked. ‘He left early this morning: it’s market day.’
‘No, actually I’m looking for Teresa. But only if it’s not too much bother.’
‘She wasn’t very well yesterday, but she recovered quickly.’
‘I can always come back…’ he said, just as Teresa’s face popped out of the kitchen.
‘I’m sorry, Don Giuseppe,’ she said with an embarrassed smile, arranging her hair. ‘I didn’t expect a visit at this time.’ She looked tired and her eyes were puffy, but her smooth, still-suntanned skin glowed. It made the priest think of the golden profile of a mountain moments before sunset.
‘Would you like some coffee?’ Rita asked when they were in the kitchen.
‘Yes, please,’ the priest replied.
Teresa pulled a chair out next to the table and invited him to sit.
‘Rita was saying you weren’t very well yesterday,’ he said, crossing his hands over his cassock.
‘That’s right. It must’ve been something I ate. I’m better today, but I don’t feel like going out.’
‘Even the Lord allowed himself a day of rest,’ Don Giuseppe said with a half-smile. ‘With all there is to do…’
‘I mustn’t complain. Some days are tough, but you gradually get used to it.’
Rita took two cups from the dresser and poured the priest some coffee. He thanked her with a nod.
‘As I was crossing the courtyard, I thought of Bruno again,’ he continued, after taking a sip. Then he looked into Teresa’s eyes solemnly. ‘He was a good man. That night, face to face with Our Father, he truly repented. He was worried about you and the children, and he didn’t want to disappoint you. You must be very proud of your husband, Teresa, for the man and father that he was.’
Teresa’s forehead seemed to contract in an effort to contain her emotion. Rita, too, struck by this reaction, gave the priest an alarmed look, not knowing what to do. The man nodded at her, indicating that everything was under control.
Teresa covered her face with her hands to hide a few silent tears running down her cheeks. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Come now, it’s all over,’ Don Giuseppe said, but his voice seemed to falter in his attempt to compose the next sentence. When he spoke again, his tone had become serious, detached. ‘There’s a time for mourning and a time for joy, and we were not made to be alone,’ he concluded, lifting the cup to his mouth again. ‘I know you have new plans in mind.’
He followed his words with a long pause, to savour Teresa’s surprise, and Rita’s, which was even greater. The girl had withdrawn to the opposite corner of the kitchen and she and the priest stared at Teresa expectantly, until she looked up, annoyed.
‘Excuse me?’
‘Oh, nothing, just rumours in the village. Tommaso told me you received an advance from the company,’ he added, looking around to examine the house. ‘Are you thinking of getting some work done?’
Teresa kept her eyes firmly on the priest to meet his fleeting gaze. ‘Maybe.’
‘Very good, the important thing is never to lose the desire to change,’ Don Giuseppe replied, contented. ‘It’s also what Bruno would have wanted,’ he added, carefully enunciating every word.
Teresa unexpectedly shifted, joining her hands in a vice. ‘Would you like some water?’ she asked, impassive.
‘No, thank you, I’m all right,’ Don Giuseppe replied, still looking at her as she went to the sink. ‘There’s something I’ve never told you about his confession.’
Teresa did not stir, and the priest half-closed his eyes, feigning concentration. ‘Bruno told me you were always angry, unhappy. Now that things are getting complicated, any offer, however humble, is worth considering. You have three children who depend on you, tiring work, a business to run. Not a quiet life, don’t you think?’
Standing with her back to the priest, Teresa raised her eyebrows. ‘Did my husband tell you all this?’
‘Of course,’ the man replied, trying to conceal his annoyance at this question. ‘What are you insinuating? That I’m lying about the final wishes of a dying man?’
‘Say what you mean.’
He looked at her with defiance. ‘I think you should marry Carlo.’
Rita followed this conversation in disbelief, realising that, this time, contrary to what had happened in her case, Don Giuseppe’s words had struck home. Teresa didn’t look at him but at her, and Rita turned quickly towards the man, who was staring at Teresa. None of the three was returning the look directed at them, nor appeared ready to speak.
The silence was interrupted only by Francesco, Maddalena and Emilio, who walked into the kitchen, sleepy and surprised to see the guest. Rita quickly put her hands around the children’s shoulders to take them outside, but Teresa stopped her.
‘Let them come in,’ she said.
Emilio ran over to his mother and she smiled and took him in her arms. The priest put a hand on Francesco’s head and Teresa’s jaw instantly tightened. ‘Say goodbye to Don Giuseppe: he came to call, but now he’s leaving.’ She uttered this sentence with the same solemnity he had used for his unsolicited advice.
The priest rose from the table, pushing himself up with his hands in an effort to conceal his indignation. ‘Yes, it’s time I got going.’
‘If anyone asks, tell them we don’t need anything, that we’re managing very well on our own,’ she said with a forced smile, which Don Giuseppe returned, absorbing the blow.
‘Have a good day,’ he replied.
Rita walked with him across the courtyard, and when they were by the front door, gave him a look of resignation. ‘I’ve also tried, but she doesn’t want to know.’
The priest put his hand on the girl’s as she held the iron handle. ‘She’ll change her mind, you’ll see, it’s only a matter of time. We all want what’s best for her and the children. Only tell me something,’ he said, leaning forward and lowering his voice. ‘Do you know where all that money comes from?’
‘I’m not sure. Last week she was talking about plans to extend the house; maybe that’s why she needed the advance.’
‘A wasteful home is an unlucky home. Try to persuade her to hold on to it: organising a wedding can be costly.’
‘I’m sure she won’t listen to me.’
‘I saw how she was looking at you earlier. She’s just waiting for an opportunity to send you away, but she’s taken on a role that doesn’t belong to her. Besides, stubbornness runs in the family. Sooner or later, a skittish horse gets tamed. One just needs patience.’ Don Giuseppe gave Rita’s hand another tap and walked out of the gate. ‘Take care of yourself.’
She responded with a faint, confused smile and waved him goodbye.
~
The following evening, an unexpected storm hit the village. Lemons fell from the trees and rolled down the cobbles, and Tore, on his way back from the markets, had to stop the cart before any of them got stuck under a wheel. He stroked the frightened donkey’s muzzle to soothe it and picked two bruised lemons from the ground; then he turned up the collar of his jacket and dragged the animal up the slope.
As he approached the barn, Teresa hastened towards him, an expression of relief on her face. ‘I was worried. How did it go?’
‘I found almost everything,’ Tore replied, trying to urge the donkey to follow him. ‘The only thing I didn’t get was a few spools of string because they’d run out.’
Teresa took a step forward and hugged him. ‘Come inside, I’ve made lamb.’
They headed to the tavern and where they found the three charcoal burners, the Loccis, Biccu and Annedda, Miriam and the other women waiting. Giovanni waved his berritta in greeting, while Tommaso drained the little wine left in his glass and looked at them both without saying anything. Carlo, on the other hand, stood up as soon as he saw them come in, went over, muttered a flustered greeting and proffered his hand to Tore. He’d never been so formal, but Tore concealed his surprise by extending his own hand in response.
‘How did it go at the market?’ Carlo asked.
Tore gave a brief nod.
‘Thank God. It’s a good thing you came back before the bad weather.’ Carlo looked at Teresa as he spoke, then raised his hand to his chest, as though to take something out of his pocket. ‘Teresa, may I—’
‘Dinner will be ready in a couple of minutes,’ she said brusquely, on her way to the kitchen.
Tore shrugged and walked past the charcoal burners’ table, as they muttered remarks about the scene they had just witnessed. Carlo, though, continued to stand, looking in the direction of the kitchen.
‘He insists on pestling water in the mortar,’ Tommaso declared to Giovanni, pointing at Carlo and chewing a piece of lamb with his front teeth. ‘But water is still nothing but water.’
‘Love is bad news,’ Giovanni replied. ‘But what can we possibly say to him?’
‘A tree must be straightened when it’s young, it’s too late once it’s become knotty.’
‘Just let him get on with it,’ Giovanni concluded with a smile, as Carlo came to sit back down.
‘You’ll see, in the end it’ll be up to me to sort it all out, as usual,’ Tommaso said, sucking his greasy forefinger with moist lips.
‘So?’ Giovanni asked Carlo as the latter dropped on the chair with a thud.
‘I’m waiting for everyone to leave. It has to be just the two of us alone,’ he said softly, looking agitated. ‘If she says no again today…’
‘It’ll be fine,’ Giovanni replied, tapping him on the back. ‘Rita says that Don Giuseppe’s also been to see her. She knows she can’t refuse: we’re the ones who put food on her table. Tocca, finish your drink and relax.’
Carlo nodded doubtfully and the rest of dinner continued without a hitch. Teresa avoided being seen in the main room as best she could, and on the few occasions she left the kitchen, it was to ask Tore to take more bread to the tables. She also avoided looking around, but felt the eyes of the three men on her, each of them trying to conceal his awkwardness but waiting for the next move.
When the last pieces of lamb had disappeared from the plates and the last sip of wine was drained from the glasses, the patrons said goodbye and headed home. Giovanni, too, walked across the room and took a pair of woollen gloves from his jacket in readiness for the bad weather, which gave no sign of easing off. Then he gave Tommaso’s arm a little tap.
‘Ajò, let’s go, otherwise we’ll be here till dawn.’
Tore, tired after his trip, had just left the room. Rita kissed her beau goodnight and took the children to bed. Carlo was toying with breadcrumbs on the table, making no sign of getting up, while Teresa went back and forth from the kitchen, clearing up. When everybody had gone, she disappeared out the back and returned with a broom.
‘We’re about to close,’ she said to Carlo.
He gave a faint smile. ‘I must tell you something,’ he said, fingering the sheet of paper in his hand.
Teresa’s eyes widened. ‘No, please…’
‘It’s not another letter. Look,’ he said, walking clumsily towards her between the tables.
Teresa moved back, instinctively fastening her grip on the broomstick. A nauseating stench of wine was coming from Carlo’s furred mouth, and his eyes were bloodshot. Although he’d had little sleep as he waited for this moment, and he was doing his best to suppress his euphoria, his awkward attempt to gain Teresa’s attention made him appear shorter and almost harmless. His thick beard concealed his mouth, and he seemed so insecure that for a moment Teresa almost felt sorry for him.
‘Did you read the one I gave you?’
She nodded suspiciously.
‘You know that everything I do, I do for you,’ he said, unfolding the paper.
Teresa glimpsed the inky pattern of a seal in the right-hand corner, and as Carlo spoke, she figured it couldn’t be worse than a marriage proposal.
‘Tommaso and I have been lucky,’ he said. ‘It’s not easy to accept strangers in your home, but you’ve done it since day one. So I went to the town hall.’
He began to read in a thin, pompous tone. Although he stopped in a few places to decipher the mayor’s handwriting, Teresa gathered that he’d applied for and obtained a change in residency. She frowned, her emotions like waves on a stormy sea.
Carlo looked up from the paper and showed her a black squiggle next to the seal. ‘I’d never put my signature to anything before.’
Teresa was desperate, dizzy. She wanted to tell him that, for so many reasons, it had been a bad idea, only she didn’t know how to.
‘Are you glad?’ he asked, recovering a little courage.
‘I’m glad you feel comfortable here,’ she said, ‘but my answer is still no.’
Carlo’s expression, though incredulous, didn’t change. ‘Don’t you think it’s time we got a little friendlier towards each other?’
His earlier hopeful expression was returning bit by bit. He now seemed immune to Teresa’s words, as though her refusal was a joke.
‘You’re even more beautiful when you’re angry,’ he said, scratching his moustache with his forefinger. ‘I know I didn’t behave well in the beginning. But now you need a husband.’
‘I don’t need anything,’ she replied, charging her words with the unwavering force of a verdict.
Carlo folded the paper again and put it back in his pocket. Then he took a step forward and put an arm around her. ‘I don’t wish to take Bruno’s place. I just want to be at your side,’ he whispered, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. Then he grabbed her face hard and turned it towards his.
Feeling his lips on hers, Teresa channelled all her strength into her slender arms and struggled out of his grip. ‘Don’t touch me!’ she screamed, waving the broom.
As though suddenly awakened from a dream, Carlo grabbed her wrist and squeezed it until she dropped the broom on the floor.
‘Calm down, I was only joking,’ he said, not letting go of her wrist and putting his free hand on his crotch. Teresa instinctively closed her eyes as Carlo unbuttoned his trousers in a frenzy, feigning incredulity. ‘What, going all shy now?’
‘Leave me alone!’ Teresa yelled at the top of her voice.
Taken aback, Carlo let go of her. She’d barely picked up the broomstick from the floor when he was already standing in her way, trousers undone and a smug sneer on his face.
‘Go away, all three of you,’ Teresa said, indicating the door. ‘You’re no longer welcome here.’
‘Look, if you carry on like this it’ll end in tears. I’ve asked you in every possible way.’ Carlo’s olive-green eyes had become small and cold.
‘I’ll never marry you, miserabbili,’ Teresa whispered through clenched teeth.
Carlo stood silent, his fists on his hips. ‘Go to hell, you whore…’
Alarmed by the strange noises, Tore came in and found them facing each other, Teresa holding the broom and Carlo, his back to Tore, busy fastening his belt.
‘What’s happening?’ Tore asked her anxiously.
Teresa did not reply.
Carlo turned to the table and picked up his berritta. He put it on his head, smiled at Tore and pointed at Teresa’s shoulder.
‘Nothing, I was talking to Teresa and a spider suddenly fell on her from the ceiling,’ he said calmly. ‘She screamed in fear. We looked for it everywhere, but now it’s nowhere to be seen. It looked dangerous. I tried to squash it, but it disappeared. Better luck next time.’
He opened his arms in a gesture of resignation and headed to the door. ‘Goodnight. Be careful, Teresa, watch out for the creepy-crawlies,’ he said, walking out.