Читать книгу Ashes (Cenere) - Grazia Deledda - Страница 8

One day in March, Bustianeddu invited Anania to dine with him. The skin-dealer was away on his business, and the boy, after two days' imprisonment for truancy, was alone at home. On his right cheek was the mark of a heavy blow administered by his irate parent.

"They want to make a scholar of me," he said to Anania, spreading out his hands like a man discussing some matter of importance, "but I don't intend to be a scholar. I intend to be a pastry-cook. Why shouldn't I?"

"Yes, why not?" echoed Anania.

"Because they think it disgraceful!" said the other, drawling the word contemptuously, "they think learning a trade is disgraceful when one might be a scholar. That's what my relations say. But I've got a joke ready for them! Just you wait a bit."

"What are you going to do?"

"I'll tell you afterwards. Now we'll have dinner."

He had prepared macaroni; at least he gave this name to certain lumps, greasy, and hard as almonds, seasoned with dried tomatoes. The boys ate in company with a grey cat, which snatched morsels from the dish with his paw, and ate them furtively in a corner.

"How clever he is!" said Anania, following the creature with his eyes; "our cat has been stolen!"

"Lots of ours have been stolen. They disappear and we don't know what becomes of them."

"All the cats in the place disappear. What do the people who take the poor things do with them?"

"They roast them. Cat is good, you know; just like hare. On the continent they sell cats as hares. So my father says."

"Has your father been to the Continent?"

"Yes; and I intend to go myself."

"You?" said Anania, laughing enviously.

Bustianeddu thought the moment had come for telling his plans. "I can't stay here," he said pompously. "I intend to go away. I'll find my mother and be a pastry-cook. If you like, you may come with me."

Anania grew red with excitement. His heart beat very loud.

"But we've no money," he observed.

"We'll take the hundred lire which are in that chest of drawers. If you like, we'll take them now. Only we must hide them for a while, for if we set out at once my father will guess we've got them. We'll wait till the cold weather's over. Then we'll go. Come here."

He led Anania to a dirty room where was great confusion of evil smelling lamb's skins. He found a key in a hiding-place and opened a drawer with it. The drawer contained a red note for a hundred lire, some silver and a few smaller notes. The little thieves took the red note, shut the drawer and put back the key in its place.

"Now you keep it," said Bustianeddu, "and when it's dark we'll hide it down the hole of the oak tree in the garden behind the mill. Then we'll wait."

Before he had time to object, Anania found the note thrust into his bosom, and rubbing against his precious amulet. He passed a day of intolerable anxiety; fevered with remorse and terror, hope and the wildest of projects.

To escape! to escape! How and whither he knew not, but his dream was to come true. He was sick with alarm and joy. A hundred seemed a treasure inexhaustible; but for the present he felt himself guilty of a grave crime, and the hour which was to deliver him from the stolen property seemed to be never coming.

It was by no means the first time the boys had trespassed in Uncle Pera's garden; it was easy to jump down from the window of the unused mill stable. But never had they ventured in at night and it was some time before they could screw up their courage for the deed. The evening was clear and cold. A full moon rose behind the black crags of Orthobene and flooded the garden with gold. The two children, flattening their noses against the window pane, heard a long despairing wail, a human or superhuman lament.

"Whatever's that?" said Anania; "it must be a devil! I won't go. I'm frightened."

"Then stay here, silly. It's only a cat!" said Bustianeddu scornfully, "I'm going. I'll hide the money in the oak, where Uncle Pera won't think of looking. Then I'll come back. You stay here and keep watch. If any danger comes, whistle."

What this danger might be the two friends did not know, but the mere imagination sufficed to make the adventure delightful; the fantastic moonlight, even the long drawn lamentation of the cat, added to its flavour. Bustianeddu jumped down into the orchard, Anania stayed at the window, all eyes and ears, trembling a little with fear. Hardly had his companion vanished in the direction of the oak tree, when two black shadows passed close to the window. Anania shuddered, whistled faintly, and crouched to conceal himself. What spasms of alarm and strange enjoyment did he not feel. How ever would Bustianeddu escape? What was actually happening down there in the dark? Oh! the lament of the torn-cat was more horrible than ever! It ended in a wild and lacerating shriek; then ceased. Silence. What mystery! What horror! Anania's heart was bursting in his bosom. What had befallen his friend? Had he been seized? arrested? He would be taken off to prison, and Anania himself would have his part in the woeful punishment!

He had no idea of running away. He waited under the window courageously.

"Anania! Where the devil are you gone to?"

Anania leaned out, extended a hand to his friend, marvellously preserved.

"The devil!" repeated Bustianeddu, panting, "I managed that admirably."

"Did you hear me whistle? I whistled very loud."

"I didn't hear you at all. But I did hear two men coming. I hid under the cabbages. Who do you suppose they were? Uncle Pera and Maestro Pane. What do you suppose they were doing? They were snaring cats. The caterwauler got caught and Uncle Pera killed him with his stick. Maestro Pane put the beast under his cloak and said quite jolly, 'What a fat one!' 'Not so bad,' said Uncle Pera, 'the last was as thin as a tooth-pick.' Then they went away."

"Oh!" cried Anania open-mouthed.

"When they go in they'll roast him. Then they'll have supper. Now we know what becomes of our cats. They snare 'em—those two. It's a mercy they didn't see me."

"And the money?"

"That's all right. Hidden. We'll go in now, Ninny. You're no good."

Anania was not offended. He shut the window and they went back to the olive-mill. The usual scene was in progress. Efès, leaning against the wall was singing his accustomed song:—