Читать книгу Reeds in the Wind - Gracia Deledda - Страница 5

The Pintor ladies waited in vain for their nephew over the next few days and weeks.

Esther had special bread baked: white bread, loose and tender like a host, the kind that is only baked on high feast days; and without her sisters' knowledge, she also secretly bought a small basket of baked goods. After all, a guest came to visit, and hospitality is sacred. But Ruth dreamed of the arrival of the nephew night after night, and every day at three o'clock - the hour when the stagecoach arrived - she looked out from the gate. But time passed, and all around remained silent and unchanged.

In the first days of May Noemi stayed alone in the house because the sisters had been making a pilgrimage to the feast of Our Lady, like every year, for a long time Time. For repentance, as they said, but also for pleasure.

Noemi took pleasure in neither one nor the other; but as she sat in the warm shade of the house on that long, shining afternoon, she accompanied the sisters in a wistful spirit on their way. She saw the gray, round church again, which looked like a large nest hidden in the grass of the wide courtyard; saw the stone huts in the wide circle, between which a colorful, picturesque crowd cavorted like a gypsy tribe; saw the roughly timbered lookout tower above the pastor's hut, the blue-misty distance, the rustling trees and the sea shimmering between the silver dunes. And while she was thinking about all these things, she wanted to cry; but she bit her tongue and was ashamed of her emotion.

Every year spring filled her with this strange unrest. But she sensed that it was only a passing mood, a feeling of weakness that disappeared with the first sultry summer sultry. Longingly, she let her thoughts wander, completely surrendered to the drowsy silence that lay around: over the red poppies in the courtyard, over the mountain slope, over which the shadow of a cloud slipped now and then, over the whole village, almost all of its inhabitants were at the party.

And again she lingered there in thought.

You think she is still a young girl and is standing in the waiting room above the pastor's hut on a gentle evening in May. The lunar disc appears copper-redfrom the sea. Wailing and sighing, the sounds of the accordion ring out through the courtyard, in which a bright brushwood fire flickers, and its reddish glow clearly sets off the slender, brown figure of the musician and the bluish faces of the young girls and boys from the gray of the wall Sardinian round dance. Their shadows swirl ghostly over the trampled grass and the walls of the little church; the golden buttons and silver braids of the costumes and the accordion handles glitter and sparkle; everything else is blurred in the pearlescent luster of the moonlit night.

Noemi remembered that she had never taken part in the hustle and bustle, while the older sisters laughed and enjoyed themselves and Lia crouched shyly in a mossy corner of the courtyard, as if she had already thought of fleeing back then.

The festival lasted nine days and finally grew into an exuberant, uninterrupted dance with the sound of the accordion and happy chants. But Noemi was always standing in the lookout, between the remains of the feast; around them shimmered empty bottles, a broken plate, a grass-green apple, a forgotten bucket or spoon; The stars above the courtyard also trembled as if under the pounding beat of the dance. Only she did not dance, only she did not laugh and hoped at the sight of the cheerfully whirling crowd that she too would be able to take part in the joys of life again.

But the years passed, the joys of life were played out far from the village, and to be enjoyed to be able to, her sister Lia had finally escaped from the house ...

But she was still sitting on the rotten veranda of the old house, as she was at the pastor's waiting room.

Towards sunset there was a knock on the gate, which she kept closed.

It was old Aunt Pottoi who asked whether she needed her services; and although Noemi did not ask her to stay, she sat on the ground with her back to the wall, loosened her handkerchief over her brightly decorated neck and began to chat sadly about the party.

“Everyone is there now - including my grandchildren, may the Lord protect them. Oh yes, everyone is there now and it's nice and cool with the sea in front of their eyes ... "

"And why didn't you go there too?"

“And the little house, Your Grace? No, as poor as a house is, it should not be left entirely alone; otherwise the wisp settles in. It's just like this: the old look after the house, the young go out having fun. "

She sighed, lowered her face to look at the corals on her chest and put them in order, and told how she used to go to the festival - with her husband, her daughter and the dear neighbors. Then she looked up again and looked at the old cemetery.

“These days I always feel as if the dead are rising again. In one long train I see hermake a pilgrimage to the festival. And I believe, as once did, to see Frau Maria, your mother, blessed, sitting on the bench in the corner of the great courtyard. She always looked like a queen with her yellow skirt and her black, brightly embroidered cloth. And all the women from the area sat around her like maids ... 'Come on, Pottoi,' she always said to me, 'try this coffee. Well how do you like it? Good? '- Yes, she was always so kind, so friendly. Oh, and that's why I prefer not to go there anymore; it seems to me that I have left something there that I cannot find again ... "

Noemi nodded vigorously and bent low over her handicraft; the old woman's voice resounded in her ear as from the distant past.

“And first Don Zame, Your Grace! That was the soul of the festival. He cursed often, drove between the others like a storm, but was basically good-hearted. Sunshine always follows a storm. Oh yes, the other day, when I was sitting in front of my little house and spinning flax, I thought I suddenly heard the sound of a horse's hoofs. And right, there he is already ridden on, on his black horse, with bulging cross sacks ... He trots past and nods gently to me: 'Hey, Aunt Pottoi, would you like to come to the party? Got up in no time, old witch! ‹«

Moved, she imitated the voice of the "illustrious dead"; then suddenly she asked, spinning her thoughts on:

"And young Herr Giacinto isn't coming here after all?"

Noemi froze; for she did not allow anyone to interfere in her affairs.

"We shall welcome him when he comes," she replied coolly. But when the old woman was gone, she picked up the thread of her thoughts. And again she lived so deeply in the past that she was removed from the present.

And while the warm shadow of the house slid on and on through the courtyard and the smell of milkweed wafted sweeter and sweeter up from the plain, she remembered Lia's flight more and more clearly. It's a mild evening, just like today; the white and green spotted mountain weighs heavily on the house, the sky is as if made of shiny gold. Lia lingers in the upper rooms and flits silently to and fro; then she steps out on the veranda, pale, in a black dress, with dark hair that is a reflection of the golden-blue sky; s tono it overlooks the castle ruin, then suddenly hitting the heavy lids on, winces and raises his arms as if she wanted to soar like a swallow the golden blue. Slowly she comes down now, goes to the well, sprinkles the flowers, and while the delicate scent of gold lacquer mixes with the tart scent of milkweed in the air, the first stars appear above the mountain.

And now she goes back upstairs and sits on the top step, her hand on the rope, her eyes fixed on the twilight.

Noemi could still see her sitting there, as on the last evening when she passed by to sleep walk. They slept together in one bed, but that evening she had waited in vain for them. She finally fell asleep while waiting and was still waiting.

Everything else whirled confusedly through her memory, unspeakably anxious hours and days full of mysterious horror, as one only experiences in a feverish dream ... All she saw was the pale, contorted face of the servant, who looked motionless, with his head bowed, as he was looking for a lost item there.

"Quiet blood, mistresses!" He muttered; but then he ran through the village himself, asked everyone if they hadn't seen Lia, looked into all the wells and peered into the distance.

And then Don Zame returned home.

With this memory it went like a storm through Noemi's mind. Each M al overcame then the desire to pull away - fortzueilen how to break the terrible spell.

So she got up and went upstairs to her room.

The same room she once slept in with Lia; the same rusty iron bed, painted with long- faded golden leaves and grapes, only one of which shimmers red or blue here and there like a real berry; the same whitewashed walls, the same pictures in the black frames; the same worm-eaten cupboard on which oranges and lemons glow like golden apples in the setting sun.

Noemi opened the cupboard to store her embroidery, and the fishing rod screeched like a broken string through the silence, while the now radiant sun cast a rosy glow on the linen in the blue-covered fans.

Everything in there was neatly arranged: on top, some embroidery, silk scarves, and blankets that had turned saffron yellow over time; including the laundry smelling of fresh quince and a number of rush and wicker baskets, from whose yellow braid the symbols of Sardinian folk art stand out in black: small bowls and fish.

Noemi put her handicraft in one of these baskets and picked up another. Underneath was a bundle of papers: family certificates, baptism and marriage certificates, legacies and trial files, carefully tied with a yellow ribbon to protect against evil spells. And that little yellow ribbon, which could not prevent the family inheritance from being passed into the hands of others and the trial being decided in favor of the opponents, wrapped around the dead Papi he a letter that Noemi every time she got the basket picked up, observed with horrified eyes how one may look at the corpse of a drowned man slowly floating on the waves from the seashore.

It was the letter Lia had written after the escape.

Today Noemi was caught up in dark memories. The absence of the sisters and onesecret fear of being alone brought her close to the past. Even the orange-red twilight, the mountain shrouded in bluish veils, the scent of the evening, everything reminded her of the time twenty years ago. She stood silent and dark in the light between the little window and the cupboard, almost like a messenger from the past who had come up from the old churchyard to check on the abandoned house. She adjusted the cups and embroidery, closed the closet door and opened it again, and the screeching of the door hinge echoed eerily through the house.

Finally, with a sudden resolve , she pulled the letter out of the bundle. It was still completely white, in a white envelope, as if it had only been written yesterday, as if no one had read it yet.

Noemi sat on the bed. But no sooner had she turned the page and put her hand on the brass knob of the bed when there was a knock below: first once, then three times, then again and again.

She raised her head and looked into the courtyard with frightened eyes.

It can't be the postman, can it? No, it has already passed.

The blows boomed loudly through the quiet courtyard. That was how her father always knocked when they didn't open the door straight away .

She put the letter aside and hurried downstairs, but stopped at the gate, listening. Her heart was beating violently, as if it was about to burst.

My God! It won't be him.

Finally she asked rather harshly: "Who's out there?"

"A friend," answered a strange voice.

But Noemi could not open it, her hands were trembling so violently.

Outside the gate, leaning on a bicycle, stood a young man who looked almost like a worker. Tall, pale, in a green suit, with dusty yellow boots and a perky mustache the same color as the boots. When he saw Noemi, he took off the cap that was visible in his thick, shimmering golden hair, and smiled at her with beautiful, white teeth that gleamed between his full lips.

She recognized him immediately by his eyes. Large, almond-shaped, greenish-blue eyes. Of course, those were the Pintor's eyes! But her confusion grew as the stranger rushed up the steps to the gate and embraced her in his sinewy arms.

“Aunt Esther! It's me ... And the other aunts? "

"I'm Noemi ..." she stammered self-consciously; but immediately afterwards she composed herself again. “We weren't expecting you. Esther and Ruth are at the party ... "

"Oh - it's a party here?" He said, pulling his bicycle, to which a dusty suitcase was strapped, up the steps. “Right, I remember. The feast of Mary, isn't it? Ah, and that ... "

He seemed to recognize the surroundings. Yes, there was the vestibule his mother told him about so oftenwould have. He pushed his bike towards it, brushed the dust off the suitcase with a handkerchief, and began to unbuckle it.

Noemi thought: I have to get Auntie Pottoi, have to send to Efix ... How am I supposed to deal with everything on my own ? Oh, the others knew for sure that he was coming and left me alone.

The embrace of the strange man who came from somewhere, from the wide world, filled her with secret fear; but she was well aware of the duties of hospitality and could not neglect them.

"Occurs! Do you want to wash yourself We'll bring the suitcase upstairs later. I'll get a woman in a moment to clean our house ... At the moment I'm all alone ... and I really wasn't expecting you ... "

She tried to cover up her poverty; but he also seemed to know about her, because without waiting for service, he carried his suitcase up to the room that Aunt Esther had already prepared for him, then came down again at ease and went to the well to wash himself. just like the servant.

Noemi followed him with a towel under his arm.

“Yes, I'm from Terranova. Incidentally, it drives very well on the road. Yes, I passed the church too, but I didn't notice anything about the festival. Yes, the village is extinct - and very crumbled, yes. «

He answered all of Noemi's questions in the affirmative, but looked rather distracted.

“Why didn't I write? Well - because after Aunt e Esther's letter I was n't in the clear. Outdo rdem I was sick and - and wuss te nich t been ... open, decided I before yesterday me; a friend drove away from me. Well, and so I left yesterday because the sea was so calm ... "

He dried himself off and headed for the kitchen. Noemi followed him.

So Esther wrote to him! And so he set off - like a party!

He sat down on the old bench across from the mountain, which threw its bluish shadow into the kitchen, crossed his long legs, crossed his long arms on his chest and stroked them with his white hands . Noemi noticed that his stockings were green. A strange color for men's stockings! And while she turned on the fire, she repeated to herself :

Ah - so Esther wrote to him secretly. Let her take care of him now!

And she was almost afraid to turn around and squint at the young man's figure, so strange in every respect, who sat motionless on the bench, as if he would never get up from her again.

Then he started talking about his journey, about the lonely road, and asked how far it was to Nuoro. There - he wants to go to Nuoro soon. To the manager of a large steam mill, a friend of his father's who had promised him a job.

»How far is it to Nuoro by bike? I can not tell you that. A couple of hours. I rode to Nuoro once many years ago. The path is beautiful, yes, and so is the city; the air is good, the people friendly. There is no fever there either - with us, and everyone can work hard and earn money there. All foreigners have become rich there, while here everything lies dead. «

"Yes, yes, that's right!"

She got some eggs to bake a pancake.

"You see, there is not even meat here every day, not to mention wine ... And what is the name of this mill manager? Do you know him?"

No, he didn't know him. But if he went to Nuoro he would certainly find a job.

Noemi smiled darkly and mockingly as she loosened the pancake in the pan. Finding a job is easy to say! There are so many job seekers!

"So you've given up your post there?" She said hastily, without looking up.

Giacinto did not answer immediately; Apparently he was very curious how the pancake would turn out, which she was now carefully turning.

A few drops of oil fell into the embers, a cloud of mist spread across the kitchen; then the pan began to stew softly and Giacinto said:

“Oh, it was so insignificant! And not even safe - and so responsibly. «

He said no more, and Noemi asked no further questions. The hope that he would go to Nuoro soon made her gracious and patient. She set the table in the dining room next door, which was bare and damp like a tavern, and set the meal in front of him, apologizing for not being able to offer him anything else.

"Here - with us it means to be frugal ..."

Giacinto cracked nuts between his strong hands and listened to the peal of the herds as they passed behind the house. It was pretty dark already; the mountain now lay gloomy, and in the damp room with the green-spotted walls it was dead silent as in a secluded grotto. The colorful pictures that Noemi created of the festival made a great impression on him. He looked at her rather tired and sleepy, and her dark figure, which stood out sharply against the still light window, her full hair and her small hands resting on the wobbly table seemed to remind him of the wistful stories his mother had told him; for he began to ask about people in the village who had long since died or who were completely indifferent to Noemi.

“Uncle Pietro? What kind of person is Uncle Pietro anyway? He's the richest here in the village, isn't he? How much can he have? "

“Yes, he is rich, but a stubborn head ! And haughty like a peacock. «

"He's lending money at usurious interest?"

Noemi blushed because, although she was very tense with her cousin, she found it almost a personal insult that Giacinto dared to call a noble Pintor a usurer.

“Who told you that? Oh, you should n't even say such a thing in jest. «

“But the priest and his sister, aren't they usurers? Aren't they very rich too? How much do they have? "

“No, what do you think of! Usury at most drives the Milese, but a permitted usury - thirty per cent, no more ... "

“Oh, is that legal usury? And then what is more illegal? "

Noemi leaned over the table and whispered: "A thousand out of a hundred - and sometimes even more."

But instead of being astonished, Giacinto poured himself another glass of wine and said thoughtfully: “Hmm, usury has gotten out of hand too . Cardinal Rampollo's nephew went to the dogs in this way. «

After supper he wanted to leave. He asked where the post office was and Noemi accompanied him out into the street and pointed to the little square in front of Milese's house in the distance.

As soon as he was gone, she looked around shyly and went to old Aunt Pottoi's hut. The little door was open, but inside everything was dark, and only at the shy calls from Noemi did the old woman emerge from the dark background of the room with a burning pinewood in her hand.

“It's me, Aunt Pottoi! You have to send someone to Efix right away. Giacinto has arrived ! And then you have to sleep with me today for eight. - I am afraid to be left alone - with a stranger. "

“I'd like to fetch someone and send them to the estate. But I can't sleep with you; no, I will not let my little house bewitched by the wisp ... "

And so that this shouldn't sneak in in her absence, she let the pine wood burn over the door.