Read Online The Oil Jar and Other Stories by Luigi Pirandello - Free Book Online

nothing but that pair of arms, good ones, that God had given him. Cheerfully, as always. Working and singing, all in a professional way: his mattock and his song. It wasn’t for nothing they called him Liolà, the poet. He smiled even at the air he breathed, because he felt loved by everyone, because of his helpfulness and good nature, because of his unfailing good humor, because of his youthful good looks. The sun had not yet managed to tan his skin, to wither the beautiful golden blonde of his curly hair, which plenty of women would have envied him, all those women who blushed in their agitation if he looked at them in a certain way with those extremely vivid blue eyes.
    That day, he was fundamentally less afflicted by the case of his cousin Zarù than by the sulky treatment he would receive from his Luzza, who for six days had been yearning for that Sunday to spend a little time with him. But could he in all conscience shirk that duty of Christian charity? Poor Giurlannu! He was engaged, too! What a disaster, all of a sudden like that! He was knocking down the almonds out there, on the Lopes farm at Montelusa. The morning before, Saturday, the weather had begun to threaten rain; but there seemed to be no imminent danger of its falling. Toward noon, however, Lopes said: “Things happen fast; I wouldn’t want my almonds to lie on the ground, exposed to the rain.” And he had ordered the women who were gathering them to go up to the storehouse and shell them. “You,” he said, addressing the men who were knocking down the nuts, among them Neli and Saro Tortorici, “you, if you want, go up, too, with the women to shell them.” Giurlannu Zarù said: “Fine, but will I still get my full day’s wages, twenty-five soldi?” “No, half-pay,” said Lopes; “I’ll count it in when I pay you; for the rest of the day, the rate is half a lira, like the women.” What an outrage! Why? Maybe there wasn’t enough work for the men to do and earn a full day’s pay? It wasn’t raining; in fact, it didn’t rain all that day, or that night. “Half a lira, like the women? said Giurlannu Zarù. “I wear pants. Pay me for the half day at the rate of twenty-five soldi, and I’ll leave.”
    He didn’t leave; he stayed there waiting until evening for his cousins, who consented to shell almonds, at the rate of half a lira, along with the women. At a certain point, however, tired of standing around idle and looking on, he had gone into a nearby stable to catch a nap, asking the work crew to wake him up when it was time to go.
    They had been knocking down almonds for a day and a half, but not many had been gathered. The women suggested shelling all of them that very evening, working late and staying there to sleep for the rest of the night, then making their way back up to the village the next morning, getting up while it was still dark. And that’s what they did. Lopes brought them boiled beans and two bottles of wine. At midnight, when the shelling was over, all of them, men and women, went out to sleep in the open air on the threshing floor, where the straw that had been left there was wet with dew, as if it really had rained.
    â€œLiolà, sing!”
    And he, Neli, had begun singing, all at once. The moon passed in and out of a dense tangle of little white and black clouds; and the moon was Luzza’s face, smiling and darkening in accordance with the vicissitudes—now sad, now happy—of love.
    Giurlannu Zarù had remained in the stable. Before dawn, Saro had gone to awaken him and had found him there, swollen and black, with a raging fever.
    That is the story Neli Tortorici told there, at the barber’s; at a certain point the barber, his attention wandering, nicked him with the razor. A tiny cut, near his chin, that wasn’t even visible—forget it! Neli didn’t even have time to feel it, because Luzza had