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Authors: Giovanni Verga
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wage.
Meanwhile she waited for her fiancé to return from La Piana, where he had gone reaping to scrape together the money they needed to set up some sort of home together, and pay the parish priest.
One evening, as she was spinning, she heard an ox-cart coming toa halt at the end of the lane, and saw Janu coming towards her, looking pale and strange.
‘What’s the matter?’ she said.
‘I’ve been ill. The fever took hold of me again, down there in that accursed Piana. I lost a full week’s work, and spent what little money I’d earned on food.’ She led him quickly into the house, unfolded the straw pallet, and tried to give him the small amount she had tucked away there in the foot of a stocking.
‘No,’ he said. ‘Tomorrow I shall go to Mascalucia for the pruning of the olives, and that’ll keep me going. When the pruning is over we’ll get married.’
He had a troubled air about him as he made this promise, and stood leaning against the doorpost, with his scarf wound over his head, looking at her with eyes that were close to tears.
‘But you’re not well!’ said Nedda.
‘I know, but I’m hoping to get better now that I’m here, and in any case the fever only comes on every three days.’
She looked at him without saying a word, and felt as if her heart was breaking to see how pale and thin he looked.
‘Will you be able to keep your balance up there on the high branches?’
‘With God’s help!’ Janu replied. ‘Goodbye now, I can’t keep the carter waiting after giving me a lift here from La Piana. I’ll soon be back!’
It was some little time before he could drag himself away from her, and when he finally did, she went along with him to the main road. She stood and watched him disappearing into the distance without shedding a tear, even though she felt she would never see him leaving her again. Her heart missed another beat, like a sponge being squeezed just one more time, and he waved and called out her name as he passed from view round the bend in the road.
Three days later she heard a great commotion outside in the road. She looked over the wall and saw a group of peasants and neighbours crowding round Janu, who was stretched out on the rungs of a ladder, white as a sheet, his head bound round with a scarf that was sodden with blood. As she trod the
via dolorosa
along the road leading back tohis house, he held her by the hand and told her how the fever had weakened him so much that he had fallen from the top of a tree and ended up in the sorry state she could see him in.
‘You knew in your heart what would happen!’ he murmured, with a sad smile on his lips. She was wide-eyed as she listened, holding him by the hand, her face as pallid as his own. On the following day he died.
As she felt the sad legacy of her dead companion moving about inside her body, Nedda hurried off to the church to pray for his soul to the Holy Virgin. But in the churchyard she came face to face with the priest, who knew of her shame, and, hiding her face in her mantilla, she turned back again in utter despair.
From then on, whenever she went looking for a job, they simply laughed in her face, not so much to pillory the girl for her sins as because she could no longer work as diligently as before. After being rejected and laughed at so many times that she no longer dared show her face, she stayed inside the house, like a bird that has retired wounded to its nest. The few
soldi
she had put away in the foot of the stocking were spent one after the other, to be followed by her fine new dress, and the fine silk scarf. Zio Giovanni gave her what little help he could, drawing on that sense of tolerance and reviving charity without which the moralizing of a parish priest is barren and unjust, and so prevented her from dying of hunger. She eventually gave birth to a rickety and stunted baby girl, and when they told her it was not a boy she wept in the way she had wept on the evening when she had closed the
Meanwhile she waited for her fiancé to return from La Piana, where he had gone reaping to scrape together the money they needed to set up some sort of home together, and pay the parish priest.
One evening, as she was spinning, she heard an ox-cart coming toa halt at the end of the lane, and saw Janu coming towards her, looking pale and strange.
‘What’s the matter?’ she said.
‘I’ve been ill. The fever took hold of me again, down there in that accursed Piana. I lost a full week’s work, and spent what little money I’d earned on food.’ She led him quickly into the house, unfolded the straw pallet, and tried to give him the small amount she had tucked away there in the foot of a stocking.
‘No,’ he said. ‘Tomorrow I shall go to Mascalucia for the pruning of the olives, and that’ll keep me going. When the pruning is over we’ll get married.’
He had a troubled air about him as he made this promise, and stood leaning against the doorpost, with his scarf wound over his head, looking at her with eyes that were close to tears.
‘But you’re not well!’ said Nedda.
‘I know, but I’m hoping to get better now that I’m here, and in any case the fever only comes on every three days.’
She looked at him without saying a word, and felt as if her heart was breaking to see how pale and thin he looked.
‘Will you be able to keep your balance up there on the high branches?’
‘With God’s help!’ Janu replied. ‘Goodbye now, I can’t keep the carter waiting after giving me a lift here from La Piana. I’ll soon be back!’
It was some little time before he could drag himself away from her, and when he finally did, she went along with him to the main road. She stood and watched him disappearing into the distance without shedding a tear, even though she felt she would never see him leaving her again. Her heart missed another beat, like a sponge being squeezed just one more time, and he waved and called out her name as he passed from view round the bend in the road.
Three days later she heard a great commotion outside in the road. She looked over the wall and saw a group of peasants and neighbours crowding round Janu, who was stretched out on the rungs of a ladder, white as a sheet, his head bound round with a scarf that was sodden with blood. As she trod the
via dolorosa
along the road leading back tohis house, he held her by the hand and told her how the fever had weakened him so much that he had fallen from the top of a tree and ended up in the sorry state she could see him in.
‘You knew in your heart what would happen!’ he murmured, with a sad smile on his lips. She was wide-eyed as she listened, holding him by the hand, her face as pallid as his own. On the following day he died.
As she felt the sad legacy of her dead companion moving about inside her body, Nedda hurried off to the church to pray for his soul to the Holy Virgin. But in the churchyard she came face to face with the priest, who knew of her shame, and, hiding her face in her mantilla, she turned back again in utter despair.
From then on, whenever she went looking for a job, they simply laughed in her face, not so much to pillory the girl for her sins as because she could no longer work as diligently as before. After being rejected and laughed at so many times that she no longer dared show her face, she stayed inside the house, like a bird that has retired wounded to its nest. The few
soldi
she had put away in the foot of the stocking were spent one after the other, to be followed by her fine new dress, and the fine silk scarf. Zio Giovanni gave her what little help he could, drawing on that sense of tolerance and reviving charity without which the moralizing of a parish priest is barren and unjust, and so prevented her from dying of hunger. She eventually gave birth to a rickety and stunted baby girl, and when they told her it was not a boy she wept in the way she had wept on the evening when she had closed the
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