After the Divorce - Grazia Deledda (reading like a writer .TXT) 📗

his fireplace, was getting supper ready for himself and Costantino, who still made his home with him. Outside, the air felt almost cold, the wind was rising, and long, violet-coloured clouds were flying across the clear, greenish, western sky. Uncle Isidoro was thinking sadly of that evening when, amid the chanting of the women, they had interred Giacobbe Dejas in the dungheap. The earthen pot bubbled on the fire, and from without came the melancholy rustling of the fig-tree and the bushes, shaken by the wind. All at once a low knock came on the door.

“Who is there?” asked Uncle Isidoro.

“Ave Maria!” The salutation came from Aunt Martina Dejas, who now, after satisfying herself that the old man was entirely alone, entered and cautiously closed the door behind her.

“Oh, Martina! Grazia plena!” responded the fisherman, astonished to see who his visitor was.

Her head and shoulders were completely enveloped in a petticoat worn in lieu of a shawl; her features were paler and more gaunt even than ordinary, and to Isidoro she seemed to have aged greatly.

“Sit down, Martina Dejas,” said he politely, offering her a stool. “What good wind blows you here?”

“It’s an ill wind,” she replied. Then, looking all around her, she said: “I want to talk to you privately; can any one hear us? Where is he?”

“Still at the shop; he does not get back till later.”

“Listen,” said the old woman, seating herself; “you can probably guess what it is that brings me here?”

“No, I cannot guess, Martina Dejas,” declared the other, though all the time he knew very well. “But why didn’t you send for me? I would have gone to your house.”

“At my house there is someone who has the ears of a hare; she can hear through a stone wall. Now, listen⁠—I don’t suppose I have to make you promise not to tell any one? You wouldn’t betray my confidence, would you?”

“I will not betray you.”

“You are a man of the Lord, Isidoro Pane; a very dreadful thing has happened; will you help me to set it right?”

“If I can,” he said, spreading out his arms and hands. “Tell me about it!”

The old woman sighed.

“Tell you about it! Yes,” she said, “that is what I am going to do, Isidoro; but what I have to say burns my lips, and you are the only human being I would breathe it to. A terrible misfortune has overtaken my house. Do you see how old I have grown? For months I have not been able to close my eyes. Giovanna, my daughter-in-law, has a lover⁠—Costantino Ledda. You don’t seem surprised!” she added quickly, seeing that the other remained unmoved. “You knew it already! Some one has known about it! Perhaps there are others too⁠—perhaps everyone knows the disgrace of my house!”

“Easy, easy; don’t be frightened. I did not know it, and I don’t think any one else does. It may not be true, either, but if it were, and people knew about it⁠—no one would be surprised.”

“No one would be surprised!”

“Certainly not, Martina Dejas; no one at all. Every one knows perfectly well⁠—pardon me if I speak frankly⁠—that Giovanna married your son entirely from motives of self-interest. Now Costantino has come back; they were in love with one another before, and now they are in love with one another after; it is perfectly natural.”

“It is perfectly natural! How can you say such things, Isidoro Pane? Is it perfectly natural for a woman to be unfaithful? For a beggar taken in out of the streets to betray her benefactors? Is it perfectly natural that my son, Brontu Dejas, who had the courage to do what not another soul would have dreamed of doing⁠—is it natural that he should be deceived?”

“Yes, it is all natural.”

“Ah,” exclaimed Aunt Martina, getting up, her eyes flashing with anger, “then it was quite useless for me to come here!”

“Easy, easy!” said the old man again. “Just sit down, Martina, and tell me quietly what brought you. Let us put all these questions aside⁠—they are of no use now, anyhow⁠—and discuss the situation as it is. I think I can guess what it is you want me to do; you want me to use my influence with Costantino to get him to leave your family in peace⁠—?”

The old woman sat down again, and opened her heart. Yes, that was what she wanted, that Isidoro should do all he could to induce Costantino to give Giovanna up.

“This misery will kill me,” she said in conclusion, her voice trembling; “but at least my Brontu will have been spared. Ah, if he should ever find out about it, he is lost! He is sure to kill some one, either Giovanna or Costantino. I am continually haunted by the most horrible presentiments; I keep seeing a smear of blood before my eyes. You will see, Isidoro; you will see! If we don’t find some way to stop this shameful thing, some horrible tragedy will occur⁠—!”

As she talked, Aunt Martina had been growing steadily paler, until she was now quite livid; her lips trembled, and her eyes gleamed partly with anger, partly with unshed tears.

“You alarm me, and you make me feel very sorry for you as well,” said Uncle Isidoro gravely. “But see here, whose fault is it all? I remember⁠—this visit of yours brings it all back to me⁠—another visit I once had; it was from Giacobbe Dejas, poor soul. Well, he sat there, just where you are sitting now, and he said almost the same words: ‘We must find some way to stop this thing; if we don’t, some terrible misfortune will surely happen!’ And so we did; we tried our best to stop that shameful thing, but without avail. You and your son, and all the rest of you, were determined to bring about your own ruin. You fell into mortal sin; you broke the laws of God, and now your punishment has come!”

“We! only we!” exclaimed the old woman haughtily.