Read Online The Night Falling by Katherine Webb - Free Book Online
Authors: Katherine Webb
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pleased rather than not – pleased to have cause to punish. Perhaps it relieves his boredom. The men mutter to each other that he has sold his heart to the devil for a life of ease. But the day is long and the hours even longer, and the minutes stretch out into aeons to a boy of eleven, and so Ettore edges over to the newly broken stone, making some charade of picking weeds as he goes, and tries to see any perfect shells, newly come to light. If there are any, bedded into rocks of a size he can conceal, he will try to spirit them home for his collection. Once or twice Valerio has tried to cut a shell free for him, but they always shatter.
There’s a minute flutter of raindrops then. Across the field, weed-pullers and stone-breakers pause and turn their eyes briefly to the sky. But that’s all there is; those few drops.
‘You’re not paid to watch the weather, you fools,’ Ludo Manzo shouts at them. As one, the men go back to work. All but Ettore. There, facing the sky a few metres away, is the perfect specimen. A scallop shell as wide as the palm of his hand, turned upwards like a bowl and now with one spot of rain marking it darkly, as though it was meant to be. It’s embedded in a chunk of tufo that he might just be able to carry home, wrapped in his cap. He crouches over it and wriggles his fingers underneath it, hefting it to check the weight. It’s at the top end of what he can hope to conceal, and he lingers in indecision, wondering if it’s worth asking Valerio to try to cut it smaller, though he’s unlikely to under Ludo’s watchful eye; wondering if he could come back for the shell later, if he hides it now; wondering if he should just grab it and hope for the best at the end of the day.
‘Ettore, what are you doing? Are you crazy?’ says Pino near his ear, in the loudest of whispers. Ettore leaps up in alarm, knocking Pino’s chin with the top of his head so that both of them wince.
‘Mother of God, Pino! Don’t sneak up like that!’
‘I just didn’t want Manzo to see you! What are you doing? Oh … not another shell. It’s a nice one,’ he concedes, crouching. ‘But how many more do you need?’
‘I like them,’ Ettore mutters. He shrugs, and his friend looks at him with his head on one side, squeezing the soft flesh under his chin into a little roll. Against all logic, Pino, at eleven, is almost chubby. The neighbours all pinch his cheeks in delight, and say that he has a lucky angel watching him, feeding him honey in his sleep. They ruffle his hair, when it’s not shaved off for lice, hoping that some of his luck will pass to them, and to their own weedy, infested children.
Pino stands up, grabs Ettore’s sleeve and pulls him away. They walk a few paces, then he bends and scrabbles at a thistle in a desperate show of industry. Ettore gazes back at the rock, trying to fix its location in his mind for later.
‘Come on ! Please , Ettore!’ Pino begs. They all fear Ludo Manzo, but Pino fears him more than all the rest, because Ludo seems to hate him for some reason. Maybe it’s his ready smile, or the way he laughs at things that others can barely find a smile for; maybe it’s the way he looks well fed, though he is not. Maybe it’s because, however harshly Ludo treats him, Pino is never crushed. Before long, he will be smiling again.
‘All right, all right, let go! You’re the one who’ll catch his eye!’ Ettore casts a glance in the direction of the corporals, and sees that they are all watching them. Three of them, including Ludo, mounted on wiry brown horses. They are on the far side of the field so he can’t see their faces, but he feels their eyes on him and it turns his knees to water. He crouches down, wants to disappear; he grabs at weeds and begins to pull them up with feverish vigour, stuffing them into his canvas sack. Fear churns in his guts. ‘Pino, don’t look up,’ he whispers, and Pino turns pale. His eyes are wide enough to fall out of his head; his
There’s a minute flutter of raindrops then. Across the field, weed-pullers and stone-breakers pause and turn their eyes briefly to the sky. But that’s all there is; those few drops.
‘You’re not paid to watch the weather, you fools,’ Ludo Manzo shouts at them. As one, the men go back to work. All but Ettore. There, facing the sky a few metres away, is the perfect specimen. A scallop shell as wide as the palm of his hand, turned upwards like a bowl and now with one spot of rain marking it darkly, as though it was meant to be. It’s embedded in a chunk of tufo that he might just be able to carry home, wrapped in his cap. He crouches over it and wriggles his fingers underneath it, hefting it to check the weight. It’s at the top end of what he can hope to conceal, and he lingers in indecision, wondering if it’s worth asking Valerio to try to cut it smaller, though he’s unlikely to under Ludo’s watchful eye; wondering if he could come back for the shell later, if he hides it now; wondering if he should just grab it and hope for the best at the end of the day.
‘Ettore, what are you doing? Are you crazy?’ says Pino near his ear, in the loudest of whispers. Ettore leaps up in alarm, knocking Pino’s chin with the top of his head so that both of them wince.
‘Mother of God, Pino! Don’t sneak up like that!’
‘I just didn’t want Manzo to see you! What are you doing? Oh … not another shell. It’s a nice one,’ he concedes, crouching. ‘But how many more do you need?’
‘I like them,’ Ettore mutters. He shrugs, and his friend looks at him with his head on one side, squeezing the soft flesh under his chin into a little roll. Against all logic, Pino, at eleven, is almost chubby. The neighbours all pinch his cheeks in delight, and say that he has a lucky angel watching him, feeding him honey in his sleep. They ruffle his hair, when it’s not shaved off for lice, hoping that some of his luck will pass to them, and to their own weedy, infested children.
Pino stands up, grabs Ettore’s sleeve and pulls him away. They walk a few paces, then he bends and scrabbles at a thistle in a desperate show of industry. Ettore gazes back at the rock, trying to fix its location in his mind for later.
‘Come on ! Please , Ettore!’ Pino begs. They all fear Ludo Manzo, but Pino fears him more than all the rest, because Ludo seems to hate him for some reason. Maybe it’s his ready smile, or the way he laughs at things that others can barely find a smile for; maybe it’s the way he looks well fed, though he is not. Maybe it’s because, however harshly Ludo treats him, Pino is never crushed. Before long, he will be smiling again.
‘All right, all right, let go! You’re the one who’ll catch his eye!’ Ettore casts a glance in the direction of the corporals, and sees that they are all watching them. Three of them, including Ludo, mounted on wiry brown horses. They are on the far side of the field so he can’t see their faces, but he feels their eyes on him and it turns his knees to water. He crouches down, wants to disappear; he grabs at weeds and begins to pull them up with feverish vigour, stuffing them into his canvas sack. Fear churns in his guts. ‘Pino, don’t look up,’ he whispers, and Pino turns pale. His eyes are wide enough to fall out of his head; his
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