Read Online The Oil Jar and Other Stories by Luigi Pirandello - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Luigi Pirandello
Tags: General Fiction
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appeared at the barberâs door with her mother and Mita Lumìa, Giurlannu Zarùâs poor fiancée, who was yelling and weeping in despair.
It took a lot of talking to make the poor girl understand that she couldnât go all the way to Montelusa to see her fiance: she would see him before evening, as soon as they brought him up as best they could. They were joined by Saro, shouting loudly that the doctor was already mounted and didnât want to wait any longer. Neli drew Luzza aside and begged her to be patient: he would return before evening and would âtell her all sorts of nice things.â
In fact, even sad things like this are nice, for an engaged couple who say them to each other while holding hands and looking into each otherâs eyes.
Â
What a godforsaken road! There were some cliffs that made Dr. Lopiccolo see death before his eyes, even though Saro on one side and Neli on the other were leading the mule by the halter.
From the heights one could make out the entire vast countryside, all plains and dales; planted with grain, olive groves and almond groves; already yellow with fields of stubble and flecked with black here and there by land-clearing fires; in the background one could make out the sea, of a harsh blue. The mulberry, carob, cypress and olive trees still retained their various shades of perennial green; the tops of the almond trees had already thinned out. All around, in the extensive circle of the horizon, there was a sort of veil of wind. But the heat was overpowering; the sun split the stones. From time to time, from beyond the dusty hedges of prickly pear, there was heard the call of a lark or the chatter of a magpie, making the doctorâs mule prick up its ears.
âBad mule! Bad mule!â he would then lament.
In order to keep his gaze fixed on those ears, he didnât even pay attention to the sunshine striking him from the front, and he left his wretched open parasol leaning on his shoulder.
âDonât be afraid, sir, weâre here,â the Tortorici brothers encouraged him.
To tell the truth, the doctor ought not to have been afraid. But he said that he feared for his children. Didnât he have to save his skin for the sake of those seven unfortunates?
To distract him, the Tortoricis started telling him about the bad crops: not much wheat, not much barley, not many beans. As for the almond trees, itâs well knownâthey donât always form good nuts: one year theyâre chock-full, the next year not. They wouldnât even mention the olives: the fog had destroyed them as they were developing. Nor could the farmers make up their losses with the grape harvest, because all the vineyards in the region were stricken by blight.
âFine way to cheer me up!â the doctor would say every once in a while, shaking his head.
After two hours on the road, all topics of conversation were exhausted. Each man was shut up within himself. The road was flat for a long stretch and there, on the deep layer of whitish dust, the conversation was now carried on between the four hooves of the mule and the big hobnailed shoes of the two farmhands. Liolà , at a certain point, began to sing listlessly in low tones; he soon stopped. Not a living soul was to be found on the road, because all the countryfolk were in the village on Sundays, some in church, some shopping, some for amusement. Perhaps out there, at Montelusa, nobody had remained beside Giurlannu Zarù, who was dying all alone; that is, if he was still alive, poor guy.
In fact, they did find him alone, in the little musty stable, stretched out on a low wall: livid, swollen up, unrecognizable, but still alive!
He was breathing stertorously.
Through the barred window, near the manger, the sun came in and struck his face, which no longer seemed human: his nose had been swallowed up in the swelling; his lips were horribly puffed up. And from those lips issued the heavy breathing,
It took a lot of talking to make the poor girl understand that she couldnât go all the way to Montelusa to see her fiance: she would see him before evening, as soon as they brought him up as best they could. They were joined by Saro, shouting loudly that the doctor was already mounted and didnât want to wait any longer. Neli drew Luzza aside and begged her to be patient: he would return before evening and would âtell her all sorts of nice things.â
In fact, even sad things like this are nice, for an engaged couple who say them to each other while holding hands and looking into each otherâs eyes.
Â
What a godforsaken road! There were some cliffs that made Dr. Lopiccolo see death before his eyes, even though Saro on one side and Neli on the other were leading the mule by the halter.
From the heights one could make out the entire vast countryside, all plains and dales; planted with grain, olive groves and almond groves; already yellow with fields of stubble and flecked with black here and there by land-clearing fires; in the background one could make out the sea, of a harsh blue. The mulberry, carob, cypress and olive trees still retained their various shades of perennial green; the tops of the almond trees had already thinned out. All around, in the extensive circle of the horizon, there was a sort of veil of wind. But the heat was overpowering; the sun split the stones. From time to time, from beyond the dusty hedges of prickly pear, there was heard the call of a lark or the chatter of a magpie, making the doctorâs mule prick up its ears.
âBad mule! Bad mule!â he would then lament.
In order to keep his gaze fixed on those ears, he didnât even pay attention to the sunshine striking him from the front, and he left his wretched open parasol leaning on his shoulder.
âDonât be afraid, sir, weâre here,â the Tortorici brothers encouraged him.
To tell the truth, the doctor ought not to have been afraid. But he said that he feared for his children. Didnât he have to save his skin for the sake of those seven unfortunates?
To distract him, the Tortoricis started telling him about the bad crops: not much wheat, not much barley, not many beans. As for the almond trees, itâs well knownâthey donât always form good nuts: one year theyâre chock-full, the next year not. They wouldnât even mention the olives: the fog had destroyed them as they were developing. Nor could the farmers make up their losses with the grape harvest, because all the vineyards in the region were stricken by blight.
âFine way to cheer me up!â the doctor would say every once in a while, shaking his head.
After two hours on the road, all topics of conversation were exhausted. Each man was shut up within himself. The road was flat for a long stretch and there, on the deep layer of whitish dust, the conversation was now carried on between the four hooves of the mule and the big hobnailed shoes of the two farmhands. Liolà , at a certain point, began to sing listlessly in low tones; he soon stopped. Not a living soul was to be found on the road, because all the countryfolk were in the village on Sundays, some in church, some shopping, some for amusement. Perhaps out there, at Montelusa, nobody had remained beside Giurlannu Zarù, who was dying all alone; that is, if he was still alive, poor guy.
In fact, they did find him alone, in the little musty stable, stretched out on a low wall: livid, swollen up, unrecognizable, but still alive!
He was breathing stertorously.
Through the barred window, near the manger, the sun came in and struck his face, which no longer seemed human: his nose had been swallowed up in the swelling; his lips were horribly puffed up. And from those lips issued the heavy breathing,
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