The Storyteller

New Zealand Tablet, 23 July 1908, Page 3

The Storyteller

ALESSANDRO

Alessandro— the strength of the sea in the erect, superb carriage of his body, tanned to a .glowing warmth by the sun of Southern Italy— Alessandro, as I remembered him of' old, met me, as I. stepped off the puffing, snorting little train. Two years had made no perceptible change in the joyous figure before me. ' . . . . . - I rejoiced that Alessandro should be the first to welcome me ; somehow It seemed a good augury of the future. My. content increased as the minutes flew by, for did I not, find my rooms in old Giuseppe's house waiting'jFor me— the very rooms I had occupied two years before.. Giuseppe, .one of. the few men spared by the cruel sea, had passed, the number. ". of .years allotted to man, and was~yet as -hale and strong as a- man "of sixty. _The old mane's joy at my return well-nigh equalled my own, though it was : much more L vbluble. ' ,''..', ' The Signora is pleased to be content with little,' he courteously said. • Had Maria. not gone to the saints, things, weuld be much better. Or,' he added regretfully, • had she only left me a daughter. Man is not made to care "for. himself.' 'But you are an exception,' I answered. ,• F#v\ women can keep house and cook as you can.' ' ■ '-"'"V. " ' The Signora is kind'; but— it is not man's work.' '. -"" 'You should have married, again, Giuseppe." lif is hanT to live alone.' • , 'To marry, twice! The Signora is pleased; to jest.' The old brown eyes looked reprovingly into, mine, and I felt duly humbled. • • \ \ The little town had a strangely 'peaceful look to one who had fled from the turmoil of a great city. ' A^nong all the changes of two years, however, -Alessandro aloneiremained unchanged. He had not married, and I wondered ■ why. He- had thought once of emigrating— of going to America— and' had asked my advice. ' No, no,' I cried eagerly, * you must not go. You would not be happy. It would be jvorse than the very worst that you could imagine.' "*" '„ 0 He nodded gravely and accepted my decision, and- ever since I have felt a moral responsibility for his .welfare.- It was just after this talk that I thought how suitable it would be for him to marry Annunziata. That Annunziata had other views I soojj discovered, and when she married Marco Santo I felt more heartbroken -for Alessandro than he felt for himself. Alessandro's sturdy, blunt-prowed boat, with Jts enormous sail, that to my land- faring eyes looked dangerously risky, was beating out to , sea. The sky was dull and lowering, the waves, as they broke at the foot oT the old sea-wall, held a sullen menace in their roar. The little street had lost its glowing color, and - to-day looked grey and old. A group of women chatting by the fountain caught my eye, their briHiant garments making a riot of color, against the dull day. Annunziata, her dark eyes eloquent with joy, hurried forward to meet me. 'And the bambino is well?' I asked, after her own many inquiries. ' Yes, Donna Lisa ; he is well and so beautiful. ' 'You have forgotten to tell me his name,' I began. 'The Signora must pardon. The joy of seeing " her again made me forgetful. The name is Marco~ Stefano Lucia ■Speranza.-' ' . - '. I gasped — then inquired faintly: 'Why Lucia?' 'Because he was born on the festa of Santa LUcia ; Mjarco, because it is his father's name^; arid Stefario-^-Marco wished .Ste.fario'. because it was he who made ' possible, our .-marriage. You remember, Signora, he took him in his boat ,\vhen; hd one else would.' The dark eyes overflowed for "*a' second -at the "thought of those unhappy days. '„' And Speranza is because*' we*^ Marco .,and^l-j-desired him, "to have your name.' '~~ ' •-•-•'■•"'-^ <„ - 1. murmured my thanks. ' But what do you really call him?' I -''queried.' ' '. ' We. 'call him Speranza. There is no other -of that name in la citta*.' •. . 'Tell me of Marco— he is still a' shoemaker?' I asked. ' Yes, Signora.' Then rapidly, in her native tongue: ' Look at that water, that sky, there ' making an excited gesture in the -direction of the women, gazing across the grey stretch of sea. ' They are all suffering, praying for their men — mine is on land.'

• But there is danger and suffering on the land, Annunziata.' 1 I know,' she assented gravely. ' Only— the sea is cruel, he is. hungry — always.' I left her, promising to see my namesake very soon. Such a cheerless day ! I half made up my mind to leave it, to .go inside and devote myself to letter-writing. Then I remembered my wide window looking over the grey sea. I was in no mood for such companionship, so I kept on, past the shabby houses with their high steps, not minding where. l went, only keeping my eyes fixed on the white-capped mountains. The storm clouds had scattered before I turned my back to. the hills, and when I reached home Giuseppe was standing in the doorway, his bronze-brown eyes twinkling merrily from under his wild thatch of hair. ' The Signora has a visitor,' he announced with much ceremony. 4 And it is ?' I inquired carelessly. ' Alessandro, Signora. He said he would wait for the Signora's return.' I found big Alessandro standing before my window, looking strangely out of place in my low-walled room. He saluted me courteously— these peasants' manners put mine to shame, and after two years' absence -the contrast was all the greater. ' The Signora can see far,' he remarked after he was seated. ' Almost as far as C .' He named the land that lay below the horizon. I laughed. 'Yes; is it not wonderful? You like it, Alessandro?' • Yes, Signora ; and yet "he paused and looked at me as if in doubt. 'What is it?' I asked. 'It is as the Signora says — wonderful out there— it is so near; while in here—" He glanced around. 'I feel caged— trapped. To have it so near and yet — not to be on it. I could not bear it, Signora. It is calling me. It does not call the Signora?' • Sometimes,' I answered. ' I am not a sailor like you, Alessandro. lam neither brave nor skilled on the sea. lam afraid of it, yet I love it, and this is the only way I can have it.' I pointed to my wide window. He nodded, apparently understanding my whim. , A glowing, flaming sunset was tinting the water and lighting up the few sails that were lazily drifting before the breeze. The old sea-wall, with the nets drying on it and the waves lapping idly at the foot, seemed part of creation, so blended was it with the earth color around. A couple of fishermen with baskets of vivid-hued fish came up the beach, a group of sun-tanned, shouting children following every step. From my point of vantage we gazed at the joyous life, somewhat in the manner of Olympian deities amused by these mortals of a little day, whose intense, beauty-loving nature was ever a source of joy. Nothing morbid, nothing unclean ever came near to this little sea town. Alessandro was laughing heartily at the bare-legged children hopping around the well-filled baskets. 'Little pests, Signora, they could- well be called. Look at Nicola, small imp that he is. The Signora- knows he is too old to play all day.' Alessandro muttered something, under his breath that my quick ears failed to catch. Rising rapidly to his feet, an inscrutable 'look in his velvet brown eye's, he bade me a courteous farewell, praying me to remember that always, always his boat was at my disposal. I- told him truthfully that I was looking forward with great pleasure to many days spent on the sea with him for boatman. A red tint that the compliment called to his cheek showed' beneath the brown. A final bow and- he was gone. It was some days before f could claim the promised boat. The day was golden warm, with a blaze of sunshine, when I stood on the beach watching for Alessandro. • He soon came, and close at his heels was Nicola, the dancing, shouting Nicola, whom' only a few days ago he had so indignantly dubbed ' an imp, a pest.' The imp stood, silent enough now, aa suspense — with bated breath — while Alessandro asked my. permission to take him with us. His eyes, that I knew could hold, so much mischief, looked solemnly into mine, his brown, naked toes digging into and grasping the sand. The permission was given, and with a shout of joy he made off in the direction of the boat. I looked inquiringly at Alessandro. '.The : Signora is too good,'.:he protested. ' She should not be worried^ with such wickedness. Nicola wild, but he has made me' promises. He Has no one. to mind. '

'Why has he, no one?' I asked. ' Maddalena was always a good mother.' ~~ ' The best— the very best ! ' he added. ' Only she is young and alone.' 'Alone!' I laughed at the notion. 'With that youngster?' . ' She needs -some one to help' her. ' He looked at me in all seriousness, as if to chide me for laughing. We were soon cutting rapidly through the clear watery th«boat careening under the big sail. The gorgeous splendor of the sunset was before us when we turned homeward, and when the little town came in sight it was glowing, with the reflected glories of the flaming sun. Maddalena was watching for us : from the sea-wall; Alessandro greeted her with a loud, ringing call and a glad toss of his scarlet cap; Nicola tried a feeble imitation, and nearly lost himself overboard. 'He is safe, thanks # to Alessandro,' I called as I jumped from the boat "and climbed the stone steps to where Maddalena stood.- She seemed absurdly young to be the mother "of the sturdy little ragamuffin that capered beside me. "- " ' 'You should Jiave been with us, Maddalena; the .day was beautiful and Alessandro's boat went as easily as a seagull. 1 ' The Signora knows I have work to do,' she answered. ' I cannot spare so many hours ; Besides, I care not to be on the sea, only to look at it when the sun shines. Has Nicola been a wicked boy?' I assured her nothing could have been more lamb-like ttfan Nicola's behaviour, owing, I promptly added, to his* regard for Alessandro. ' Ah, he is always good with him,' she sighed. ' I trybut he will not mind me. We are good comrades, we play games together; but when I try to discipline him— h&r-runs away. ' ' Alessandro,' I said, as he ran quickly uj> the steps, ' Maddalena says she wishes she could make- Nicola .mind like -.you do. She wants to know how you manage it. Will you ?' ' Ah, Signora 1 Never, never did I say that, 1 she cried. I" stopped, astonished at the emphatic denial. Alessandro, looking like a convicted criminal, stood twisting his cap, the" red' that mounted to his cheeks vying with Maddalena's 'kerchief.' I glanced from one to the other. Alessaadro finally broke the uncomfortable silence. 'I will tell, if Maddalena wishes.' But Maddalena shook her head with great energy, and raised a pair of beseeching eyes to Alessandro. ' You are both certainly very foolish,' I continued. ' There' can be no reason why I should not be told. Nicola is a very bad boy — sometimes, and if Alessandro knows ' ' No, no, Signora ; Nicola is not bad, he is never bad, not like ' She would have named a dozen imps had I not interrupted. 'Itis as you please, Maddalena. The Signora is tired.' I" broke in rather ungraciously. 'I will say good-night.' 'Adieu!' I called back, standing a "moment to, watch the three as they moved off. Nicola waving frantic good-byes from his high perch on Alessandro's shoulders, and Maddalena, laughr ing merrily at the happy nonsense of the two. ' Giuseppe ' — I was sitting at supper, the antique lamp giving little light beyond the white cover — ' the sea was more beautiful to-day than I have ever, seen it. It was glorious. We went on — on, as if there was no ending; then home, straight home into the golden sunset.' •The Signora should have been a fisherman,' he replied; which matter-of-fact speech brought me down from my airy flight. •Never, Giuseppe, never!' I cried, with more energy than the situation demanded. ' I hate killing things, and I'm afraid of the water.' , 'The Signora need not fear,' he replied soothingly. 'She can never be a fisherman.' ~ - - ' Giuseppe, why has Maddalena so much trouble with Nicola?' The old man stopped in his serving and stared at me. The change in the conversation had been too swift, for' his slow-working mind. - ' Is Nicola a very wicked boy, Giuseppe?' I asked, putting the question in a simpler form. • Not wicked at all, Signora, only mischievous.' ' Then, why '—returning resolutely to my first proposition— ' does Maddalena have so much trouble with hi.m?' 'Maddalena is young, she yields to all his demands too much ; she is wrong. "•

' Giuseppe,' I said, in a coaxing voice, ' this salad and wine are too good to be enjoyed alone.- Take that chair and this,' I filled a glass and held it towards him. Protesting feebly, he did as I bade him. ' Now, tell me all about Maddalena. ' ' There is nothing to tell. The Signora knows she married very young. Her husband was a -Ibrave man and a good fisherman. One October day he was drowned, and she was left with the child.' ' She loved him?' I asked. ' She adores him still,' he answered. ' Poor Matteo was a good man, but not handsome. - The Signora must remember him — a short, broad man, wiLli small eyes and red cheeks, and hands — hands like that,' he cut "a swift circle in the air with one finger. - ' And Maddalena is so beautiful,' I murmured, a picture of the' departed "Matteo rising before hiy eyes. 'And Alessandro,' I went on meditatively, ' why should the boy mind him — what does he do?' ' Giuseppe drained the last drops in his glass, put it down on the table, pushed back his chair, and stood up. ' The Signora must know,' he answered. The Signora did not know, and for all her adroit questioning was not going to know ; so, with a few more words, I left my host and climbed the narrow stairs. One of the great feasts of our Lady was near, and the town was fairly seething with excitement. It was the most important festa of the whole year. The church was dressed in the gayest and stiffest of paper flowers, green boughs stuck everywhere, the tallest tapers only were used to light the altar. At the head of the procession our Lady's statue was to be carried, gowned in gorgeous clothes and covered with a lace veil, the work of her loving children. The stiff, overdressed little figure, that to my critical Northern eyes seemed but a travesty, was to their loving Southern hearts and vivid imaginations almost a living memorial of their Blessed Mother. 1 donned a white dress, and instead of my sombre black ribbons tied on our Lad\''s own color, in honor of her festa, as a token that, for once, . l would forget I was a calculating, critical American, and become" forthwith a gay, glad-hearted child of Italy, prepared to walk beside her image with a fervjnt prayer, and — if necessary — to dance merrily with a light heart. So did my simple blue ribbons become symbolic. I ignored Giuseppe's astonished stare at my unusual adornment. Annunziala, with my namesake comfortably asleep in the bend of her arm, walked home with me after Mass to my studio. The baby of many names had become familiar with every nook of my small domicile, and often risked, his precious person many times a day by sucking my brushes, licking paints, or bedaubing his little face with indiscriminate colors. Annunziata and I became so occupied in sudden', life-saving onslaughts that we could think of little else. ' Annunziata,' I began, 'do you not consider children a great care?' ' No, Signora,' Annunziata answered instantly. ' Speranza is not a care ; he is a pleasure, a joy. ' ' That is just the way,' I replied dryly. 'He is a play-toy now — a doll that you dress ' ' And love, the mother added wisely, wondering, I am sure, what was coming next. ' Yes, and love,' I amended. ' Then when they grow big they run wild, pay no heed to your wishes.' ' Why is the Signora thinking such thoughts?' Annunziata asked me soberly, looking at the wee' man "on the floor. ' My thoughts are with Maddalena, -for- I remember when - Nicola was as he is,' I answered, pointing to the baby on the floor. ' There is nothing "talked of in the town but Nicola's pranks and the trouble he. gives Maddalena.' . -" ' — -- Annunziata looked at me, with an expression in her big black reyes that I did not understand. 'Well?' I inquired. 'If the Signora does nob know ' This' was too much. ■ . ' No, I do not know,' I answered very, decidedly. ' But you are going to tell me. ' . 'Itis no mystery,' Annunziata began. ' The whole town knows it. Alessandro wants to marry Maddalena— ever since the last festa, a year ago — and she will not' have him. She thinks, and I do also, Signora, that marrying twice is not right. We all think so,' she added, with a tone of grave decision in her voice, as of one who sat in judgment. ' k . ' That is why he cares so for Nicola !' • " -. ' It is the short way to the mother's heart.' ' And Maddalena?' I asked, - - -

She shrugged her shapely shoulders. ' Second marriages are wrong,'- she maintained -doggedly, merciless as happy people can be. 'We have told her. ' " Again the official tone,, the red lips set firmly, together, the narrow brows' nearly meeting in a disapproving frown. .' - ' You mean that you went to her and told her she must -not marry Alessandro?' I questioned. ~"' Not — "must not" — Signora,' she corrected, •' only better not. She agreed, after a few tears. We told her that in, the memory even of Giuseppe there had been no one wedded twice.' ' Suppose- ' I suggested, after we had talked some "time. 1 Suppose she cares for him as you care for Marco?' • ' Impossible,' she answered quickly. ' May be so,' I replied carelessly, hoping she might remember the unhappiness of her own courtship, and have mercy. ' That true love seldom runs smooth is as old — as ojd as — Italy,' I finished. 'Speranza mia ' — stooping to pick, up my ridiculous namesake — ' tell your mother — some day — to remember how desolate her heart was when she stood on the shore and watched a tiny boat, with two men in it, tossed about by the mad furyx of the sea.' I longed to add to the mother — ' that all your unhappiness came from foolish, narrow prejudifcc, because in the memory of man a Galdi had never wed any but seamen, and Marco, to whom you gave your heart, was a «follower of the gentle craft, a son of St. Crispin.' I think from all the stories I heard that Nicola's guardian angel must have had a busy time. I almost doubted some of the pranks, when I thought of the small figure I had seen at the festa, walking beside our Lady's statue, holding the lighted candle bravely aloft — though his arms must have ached ,. the heavy burden. From the seraphic expression of his face one might have thought he was absorbed in prayer. Maddalena had pointed him out to me with triumphant pride. ' The Signora sees for herself,' she whispered. 'He is Pn, angel ;I am indeed fortunate. Yet they would make me believe he is wicked.' I assented faintly, doubt in my heart. Had I not seen him, on his way to church, give Angelo a ducking in the fountain,,, tripping him up skilfully, in all his gay festa attire, as he wasl running past, and disappearing still more skilfully before the victim's screams brought his mother, who gave him a sound spanking. Some days after I met ihaddalena, looking as if all the cares of the universe had settled on her shoulders. ' Had I seen Nicola?' I shook my head. She had heard about Angelo, she told me. ' And on the festa ' — the tears rolled unchecked down the smooth olive cheek. Nicola had been severely chastised and forbidden to leave the house. I think, from Maddalena's vivid description and the tears that fellduring "the recital, that it was the first punishment — the veryfirst — she had ever inflicted on her offspring in the whole course of his seven years. Being absolutely unprecedented, he had resented it bitterly, and Maddalena's voice choked with sobs as she told me that he had run away, and she' could not find him. What could she do? Where could she look .for him? She knew he had gone to join the brigands. The idea of Nicola trudging off on his fat brown legs to join the brigands was amusing. I consoled the disconsolate mother as best I could, begging her not to worry, that he would come home . when he was hungry, which I felt sure would be soon. The town was a small one, and before sunset every nook and cranny had been searched for the runaway, but no trace " was found. Maddalena, dry-eyed now and desperate,; sat athome and refused to be comforted. The boats were all in, all but Alessandro 's 5 he had sailed for a port farther south, and . would be gone for twenty-four hours. ' The -next -day, boats and fishing neglected, ' with Qnly a, few., • hours' sleep, the men started out again ; a.single thought' possessed the town — to find." Nicola, imp though .'he was, and to see the sorrow leave Maddalena's' eyes. r % . (To be concluded.)