|Ntoni went out to sea every blessed day, and had to row, tiring his
back dreadfully. But when the sea was high, and fit to swallow them all
at one gulp--them, the _Pravvidenza_, and everything else--that boy
had a heart as brave as the sea itself--“Malavoglia blood!”--said his
grandfather; and it was fine to see him at work in a storm, with the
wind whistling through his hair, while the bark sprang over the big
waves like a porpoise in the spring.
The _Provvidenza_ often ventured out into blue water, old and patched
though she was, after that little handful of fish which was hard to
find, now that the sea was swept from side to side as if with brooms.
Even on those dark days when the clouds hung low over Agnone, and
the horizon to the east was full of black shadows, the sail of the
Provvidenza might be seen like a white handkerchief against the
leaden-colored sea, and everybody said that Padron ’Ntoni’s people
went out to look for trouble, like the old woman with a lamp.
Padron ’Ntoni replied that he went out to look for bread; and when the
corks disappeared one by one in the wide sea, gleaming green as grass,
and the houses of Trezza looked like a little white spot, so far off
were they, and there was nothing all around them but water, he began to
talk to his grandsons in sheer pleasure. La Longa and the others would
come down to the beach to meet them on the shore as soon as they saw the
sail rounding the Fariglione; and when they too had been to look at the
fish flashing through the nets, and looking as if the bottom of the boat
were full of molten silver; and Padron ’Ntoni replied before any one
had asked, “Yes, a quintal or a quintal twenty-five” (generally right,
even to an ounce); and then they’d sit talking about it all the evening,
while the women pounded salt in the wooden mortars; and when they
counted the little barrels one by one, and Uncle Crucifix came in to
see how they had got on, to make his offer, so, with his eyes shut; and
Goosefoot came too, screaming and scolding about the right price, and
the just price, and so on; then they didn’t mind his screaming, because,
after all, it was a pity to quarrel with old friends; and then La
Longa would go on counting out sou by sou the money which Goosefoot had
brought in his handkerchief, saying, “These are for the house; these are
for the every-day expenses,” and so on. Mena would help, too, to pound
the salt and to count the barrels, and she should get back her blue
jacket and her coral necklace, that had been pawned to Uncle Crucifix;
and the women could go back to their own church again, for if any young
man happened to look after Mena, her dowry was getting ready.
“For my part,” said ’Ntoni, rowing slowly, slowly round and round,
so that the current should not drive him out of the circle of the net,
while the old man pondered silently over all these things--“for my part,
all I wish is that hussy Barbara may be left to gnaw her elbows when we
have got back our own again, and may live to repent shutting the door in
my face.”
“In the storm one knows the good pilot,” said the old man. “When we are
once more what we have always been, every one will bear a smooth face
for us, and will open their doors to us once more.”
“There were two who did not shut their doors,” said Alessio, “Nunziata
and our cousin Anna.”
“‘In prison, in poverty, and in sickness one finds one’s friends’; for
that may the Lord help them, too, and all the mouths they have to feed!”
“When Nunziata goes out on the downs to gather wood, or when the rolls
of linen are too heavy for her, I go and help her too, poor little
thing,” said Alessio.
“Come and help now to pull in this side, for this time Saint Francis has
really sent us the gift of God!” and the boy pulled and puffed, with his
feet braced against the side of the boat, so that one would have thought
he was doing it all himself. Meanwhile ’Ntoni lay stretched on the
deck singing to himself, with his hands under his head, watching the
white gulls flying against the blue sky, which had no end, it rose
so pure and so high, and the _Provvidenza_ rushed on the green waves
rolling in from farther than the eye could see.
“What is the reason,” said Alessio, “that the sea is sometimes blue
and sometimes green and then white, then again black as the sand of the
beach, and is never all one color, as water should be?”
“It is the will of God,” replied the grandfather, “so the mariner can
tell when he may safely put out to sea, and when it is best to stay on
shore.”
“Those gulls have a fine time of it, flying in the air; they need not
fear the waves when the wind is high.”
“But they have nothing to eat, either, poor beasts.”
“So every one has need of good weather, like Nunziata, who can’t go to
the fountain when it rains,” concluded Alessio.
“Neither good nor bad weather lasts forever,” observed the old man.
But when bad weather came, and the mistral blew, and the corks went
dancing on the water all day long as if the devil were playing the
violin for them, or if the sea was white as milk, or bubbling up as if
it were boiling, and the rain came pouring down upon them until evening,
so that no wraps were proof against it, and the sea went frying all
about them like oil in the pan, then it was another pair of shoes--and
’Ntoni was in no humor for singing, with his hood down to his nose,
bailing out the _Provvidenza_, that filled faster than he could clear
out the water, and the grandpapa went on repeating, “White sea, sirocco
there’ll be!” or “Curly sea, fresh wind!” as if he had come there only
to learn proverbs; and with these blessed proverbs, too, he’d stand in
the evening at the window looking out for the weather, with his nose in
the air, and say, “When the moon is red it means wind; when it is clear,
fine weather; when it is pale it means rain.”
“If you know it is going to rain,” said ’Ntoni, one day, “why do we go
out, while we might stay in bed an hour or two longer?”
“‘Water from the sky, sardines in the net,’” answered the old man.
Later on ’Ntoni began to curse and swear, with the water half up to
his knees.
“This evening,” said his grandfather, “Maruzza will have a good fire
ready for us, and we shall soon be quite dry.”
And at dusk when the _Provvidenza_, with her hull full of the gifts
of God, turned towards home, with her sail puffing out like Donna
Rosolina’s best petticoat, and the lights of the village came twinkling
one by one from behind the dark rocks as if they were beckoning to each
other, Padron ’Ntoni showed his boys the bright fire which burned in
La Longa’s kitchen at the bottom of the tiny court in the narrow black
street; for the wall was low, and from the sea the whole house was
visible, with the tiles built into a shed for the hens, and the oven on
the other side of the door.
“Don’t you see what a blaze La Longa has got up for us?” said he, in
high spirits; and La Longa was waiting for them, with the baskets
ready. When they were brought back empty there wasn’t much talking;
but instead, if there were not enough, and Alessio had to run up to the
house for more, the grandfather would put his hands to his mouth and
shout, “Mena! Oh, Mena!” And Mena knew well what it meant, and they
all came down in procession--she, Lia, and Nunziata, too, with all her
chicks behind her; then there was great joy, and nobody minded cold or
rain, and before the blazing fire they sat talking of the gifts of God
which Saint Francis had sent them, and of what they would do with the
money.
But in this desperate game men’s lives are risked for a few pounds of
fish; and once the Malavoglia were within a hair’s-breadth of losing
theirs all at once, as Bastianazzo had, for the sake of gain, when they
were off Agnone as the day drew to a close, and the sky was so dark that
they could not even see Etna, and the winds blew and swept up the waves
so close about the boat that it seemed as if they had voices and could
speak.
“Ugly weather,” said Padron ’Ntoni. “The wind turns like a silly
wench’s head, and the face of the sea looks like Goosefoot’s when he is
hatching some hateful trick.”
The sea was as black as the beach, though the sun had not yet gone down,
and every now and then it hissed and seethed like a pot.
“Now the gulls have all gone to sleep,” said Alessio.
“By this time they ought to have lighted the beacon at Catania,” said
’Ntoni; “but I can’t see it.”
“Keep the rudder always north-east,” ordered the grandfather; “in half
an hour it will be darker than an oven.”
“On such evenings as this it is better to be at Santuzza’s tavern.”
“Or asleep in your bed, eh?” said the old man; “then, you should be a
clerk, like Don Silvestro.”
The poor old fellow had been groaning all day with pain. “The weather is
going to change,” he said; “I feel it in my bones.”.
All of a sudden it grew so black that one couldn’t even see to swear.
Only the waves, as they rolled past the _Provvidenza_, shone like
grinning teeth ready to devour her; and no one dared speak a word in
presence of the sea, that moaned over all its waste of waters.
“I’ve an idea,” said ’Ntoni, suddenly, “that we had better give the
fish we’ve caught to-day to the devil.”
“Silence!” said his grandfather; and the stern voice out of that
darkness made him shrink together like a leaf on the bench where he sat.
They heard the wind whistle in the sails of the _Provvidenza_, and the
ropes ring like the strings of a guitar. Suddenly the wind began to
scream like the steam-engine when the train comes out from the tunnel in
the mountain above Trezza, and there came a great wave from nobody knew
where, and the _Provvidenza_ rattled like a sack of nuts, and sprang up
into the air and then rolled over.
“Down with the sail--down!” cried Padron ’Ntoni. “Cut away, cut away!”
’Ntoni, with the knife in his mouth, scrambled like a cat out on the
yard, and standing on the very end to balance himself, hung over the
howling waves that leaped up to swallow him.
“Hold on, hold on!” cried the old man to him, through all the thunder
of the waves that strove to tear him down, and tossed about the
_Provvidenza_ and all that was inside her, and flung the boat on her
side, so that the water was up to their knees. “Cut away, cut away!”
called out the grandfather again.
“Sacrament!” exclaimed ’Ntoni; “and what shall we do without the sail,
then?”
“Stop swearing; we are in the hands of God now.”
Alessio, who was grasping the rudder with all his force, heard what his
grandfather said, and began to scream, “Mamma, mamma, mamma!”
“Hush!” cried his brother, as well as he could for the knife in his
teeth. “Hush, or I’ll give you a kick.”
“Make the holy sign, and be quiet,” echoed the grandfather, so that the
boy dared not make another sound.
Suddenly the sail fell all at once in a heap, and ’Ntoni drew it in,
furling it light, quick as a flash.
“You know your trade well, as your father did before you,” said his
grandfather. “You, too, are a Malavoglia.”
The boat righted and gave one leap, then began to leap about again among
the waves.
“This way the rudder, this way; now it wants a strong arm,” said Padron
’Ntoni; and though the boy, too, clung to it like a cat, the boat
still sprang about, and there came great waves sweeping over it that
drove them against the helm, with force enough nearly to knock the
breath out of them both.
“The oars!” cried ’Ntoni; “pull hard, Alessio; you’re strong enough
when it comes to eating; just now the oars are worth more than the
helm.”
The boat creaked and groaned with the strain of the oars pulled by those
strong young arms; the boy, standing with his feet braced against the
deck, put all his soul into his oar as well as his brother.
“Hold hard!” cried the old man, who could hardly be heard at the other
side of the boat, over the roaring of the wind and the waves. “Hold on,
Alessio!”
“Yes, grandfather, I do,” replied the boy.
“Are you afraid?” asked ’Ntoni.
“No, he’s not,” answered his grandfather for him; “but we must commend
ourselves to God.”
“Holy devil!” exclaimed ’Ntoni. “Here one ought to have arms of iron,
like the steam-engine. The sea is getting the best of it.”
The grandfather was silent, listening to the blast.
“Mamma must by this time have come to the shore to watch for us.”
“Don’t talk about mamma now,” said the old man; “it is better not to
think about her.”
“Where are we now?” asked ’Ntoni after some time, hardly able to speak
for fatigue.
“In God’s hands,” answered the grandfather.
“Then let me cry!” exclaimed Alessio, who could bear it no longer; and
he began to scream aloud and to call for his mother at the top of his
voice, in the midst of the noise of the wind and of the sea, and neither
of them had the heart to scold him.
“It’s all very well your howling, but nobody can hear you, and you had
best be still,” said his brother at last, in a voice so changed and
strange that he hardly knew it himself. “Now hush!” he went on; “it is
best for you and best for us.”
“The sail!” ordered Padron ’Ntoni. “Put her head to the wind, and then
leave it in the hands of God.”
The wind hindered them terribly, but at last they got the sail set, and
the _Provvidenza_ began to dance over the crests of the waves, leaning
to one side like a wounded bird.
The Malavoglia kept close together on one side, clinging to the rail. At
that moment no one spoke, for, when the sea speaks in that tone no one
else dares to utter a word.
“Only Padron,” ’Ntoni said, “Over there they are saying the rosary for
us.”
And no one spoke again, and they flew along through the wild tempest and
the night, that had come on as black as pitch.
“The light on the mole!” cried ’Ntoni; “do you see it?”
“To the right!” shouted Padron ’Ntoni; “to the right! It is not the
light on the mole. We are driving on shore! Furl, furl!”
“I can’t,” cried ’Ntoni; “the rope’s too wet.” His voice was hardly
to be heard through the storm, so tired he was. “The knife, the knife!
quick, Alessio!”
“Cut away, cut away!”
At that moment a crash was heard; the _Pravvidenza_ righted suddenly,
like a still spring let loose, and they were within one of being flung
into the sea; the spar with the sail fell across the deck, snapped like
a straw. They heard a voice which cried out as if some one were hurt to
death.
“Who is it? Who called out?” demanded ’Ntoni, aiding himself with his
teeth and the knife to clear away the rigging of the sail, which had
fallen with the mast across the deck, and covered everything. Suddenly
a blast of wind took up the sail and swept it whistling away into the
night. Then the brothers were able to disengage the wreck of the mast,
and to fling it into the sea. The boat rose up, but Padron ’Ntoni did
not rise, nor did he answer when ’Ntoni called to him. Now, when the
wind and the sea are screaming their worst together, there is nothing
more terrible than the silence which comes instead of the voice which
should answer to our call.
“Grandfather! grandfather!” called out Alessio, too; and in the silence
which followed the brothers felt the hair rise up on their heads as if
it had been alive. The night was so black that they could not see from
one end of the boat to the other, and Alessio was silent from sheer
terror. The grandfather was stretched in the bottom of the boat with his
head broken. ’Ntoni found him at last by groping about for him, and
thought he was dead, for he did not move, nor even breathe. The helm
swung from side to side, while the boat leaped up and then plunged
headlong into the hollows of the waves.
“Ah, Saint Francis de Paul! Ah, blessed Saint Francis!” cried the boys,
now that they knew nothing else to do. And Saint Francis mercifully
heard while he passed through the whirlwind helping his flock, and
spread his mantle under the _Provvidenza_ just as she was ready to crash
like a rotten nut on the “Cliffs of the Domes,” under the lookout of
the coast-guard. The boat sprang over the rocks like a colt, and ran
on shore, burying her nose in the sand. “Courage, courage!” cried the
guards from the shore; “here we are, here we are!” and they ran here and
there with lanterns, ready to fling out ropes.
At last one of the ropes fell across the _Provvidenza_, which trembled
like a leaf, and struck ’Ntoni across the face like a blow from a
whip, but not the gentlest of caresses could have seemed sweeter to him
at that moment.
“Help, help!” he cried, catching at the rope, which ran so fast that he
could hardly hold it in his hands. Alessio came to his assistance
with all his force, and together they gave it two turns around the
rudder-post, and those on shore drew them in.
Padron ’Ntoni, however, gave no sign of life, and when the light
was brought they found his face covered with blood, and the grandsons
thought him dead, and tore their hair. But after an hour or two arrived
Don Michele, Rocco Spatu, Vanni Pizzuti, and all the idlers that had
been at the tavern when the news had come, and by force of rubbing and
of cold water they brought him to himself, and he opened his eyes. The
poor old man, when he heard where he was, and that there wanted less
than an hour to reach Trezza, asked them to carry him home on a ladder.
Maruzza, Mena, and the neighbors, screaming and beating their breasts in
the piazza, saw him arrive like that, stretched out on the ladder, pale
and still, as if he had been dead.
“’Tis nothing, ’Tis nothing!” called out Don Michele, at the head
of the crowd. “’Tis only a slight thing.” And he went off to the
druggist’s for the Thieves’ vinegar. Don Franco came himself with it,
holding the bottle with both hands; and Goose-foot, too, came running,
and his wife and Dumbbell and the Zuppiddi and Padron Cipolla and all
the neighborhood, for at such a time all differences are forgotten;
there came even poor La Locca, who always went wherever there was a
crowd or a bustle, by night or by day, as if she never slept, but was
always seeking her lost Menico. So that the people were crowded in the
little street before the Malavoglia’s house as if a corpse had been
there, and their cousin Anna had to shut the door in their faces.
“Let me in, let me in!” cried Nunziata, pounding with her fist on the
door, having run over only half dressed. “Let me in to see what has
happened to Cousin Maruzza!”
“What good was it sending us for the ladder if we can’t come in and see
what’s going on?” shouted the son of La Locca.
The Zuppidda and the Mangiacarubbe had forgotten all the hard words that
had passed between them, and stood chatting before the door, with hands
under their aprons. Yes, it was always so with this trade, and it was
bound to finish this way one day or another. Whoever marries their
daughter to a seafaring man is sure to see her come back to the house
a widow, and with children into the bargain; and if it had not been for
Don Michele there would have remained not one of the Malavoglia to carry
on the family. The best thing to do was to do nothing, like those people
who got paid for just that--like Don Michele, for example; why, he
was as big and as fat as a canon, and he ate as much as ten men, and
everybody smoothed him down the right way; even the druggist, that was
always railing at the King, took off his great ugly black hat to him.
“It will be nothing,” said Don Franco, coming out of the house; “we have
bandaged his head properly; but if fever doesn’t come on, I won’t answer
for him.”
Goosefoot insisted on going in “because he was one of the family,
almost,” and Padron Fortunato, and as many more as could manage to pass.
“I don’t like the looks of him a bit!” pronounced Padron Cipolla,
shaking his head. “How do you feel, Cousin ’Ntoni?”
For two or three days Padron ’Ntoni was more dead than alive. The
fever came on, as the apothecary had said it would, but it was so strong
that it went nigh to carry the wounded man off altogether. The poor old
fellow never complained, but lay quiet in his corner, with his white
face and his long beard, and his head bound up. He was only dreadfully
thirsty; and when Mena or La Longa gave him to drink, he caught hold of
the cup with both trembling hands, and clung to it as if he feared it
would be taken from him.
The doctor came every morning, dressed the wound, felt his pulse, looked
at his tongue, and went away again shaking his head.
At last there came one evening when the doctor shook his head more sadly
than ever; La Longa placed the image of the Madonna beside the bed, and
they said their rosary around, it, for the sick man lay still, and never
spoke, even to ask for water, and it seemed as if he had even ceased to
breathe.
Nobody went to bed that night, and Lia nearly broke her jaws yawning, so
sleepy was she. The house was so silent that they could hear the glasses
by the bedside rattle when the carts passed by on the road, making
the watchers by the sick man start; so passed the day, too, while the
neighbors stood outside talking in low tones, and watching what went on
through the half-door. Towards evening Padron ’Ntoni asked to see each
member of his family one by one, and looking at them with dim, sunken
eyes, asked them what the doctor had said. ’Ntoni was at the head of
the bed, crying like a child, for the fellow had a kind heart.
“Don’t cry so!” said his grandfather, “don’t cry. Now you are the head
of the house: Think how they are all on your hands, and do as I have
done for them.”
The women began to cry bitterly, and to tear their hair, hearing him
speak in that way. Even little Lia did the same, for women have no
reason at such times, and did not notice how the poor man’s face worked,
for he could not endure to see them grieve for him in that way. But the
weak voice continued:
“Don’t spend money for me when I am gone. The Lord will know that you
have no money, and will be content with the rosary that Mena and Maruzza
will say for me. And you, Mena, go on doing as your mother has done, for
she is a saint of a woman, and has known well how to bear her sorrows;
and keep your little sister under your wing as a hen does her chickens.
As long as you cling together your sorrows will seem less bitter. Now
’Ntoni is a man, and before long Alessio will be old enough to help
you too.”
“Don’t talk like that, don’t! for pity’s sake, don’t talk so!” cried the
women, as if it were of his own free-will that he was leaving them. He
shook his head sadly, and replied:
“Now I have said all I wished to say, I don’t mind. Please turn me on
the other side. I am tired. I am old, you know; when the oil is burned
out the lamp goes out too.”
Later on he called ’Ntoni, and said to him:
“Don’t sell the _Provvidenza_, though she is so old; if you do you will
have to go out by the day, and you don’t know how hard it is when Padron
Cipolla or Uncle Cola says to you, ‘There’s nobody wanted on Monday.’
And another thing I want to say to you, ’Ntoni. When you have put by
enough money you must marry off Mena, and give her to a seaman like her
father, and a good fellow like him. And I want to say, also, when you
shall have portioned off Lia, too, try and put by money to buy back the
house by the medlar-tree. Uncle Crucifix will sell it if you make it
worth his while, for it has always belonged to the Malavoglia--and
thence your father and Luca went away, never to return.”
“Yes, grandfather, yes, I will,” promised ’Ntoni, with many tears. And
Alessio also listened gravely, as if he too had been a man.
The women thought the sick man must be wandering, hearing him go on
talking and talking, and they went to put wet cloths on his forehead.
“No,” said Padron ’Ntoni, “I am in right senses. I only want to finish
what I have to say before I go away from you.”
By this time they had begun to hear the fishermen calling from one door
to another, and the carts began to pass along the road. “In two hours it
will be day,” said Padron ’Ntoni, “and you can go call Don Giammaria.”
Poor things! they looked for day as for the Messiah, and went to the
window every few minutes to look for the dawn. At last the room grew
lighter, and Padron ’Ntoni said, “Now go call the priest, for I want
to confess.”
Don Giammaria came when the sun had already risen; and all the
neighbors, when they heard the bell tinkle in the black street, went
after it, to see the viaticum going to the Malavoglia. And all went in,
too; for when the Lord is within the door can be shut upon nobody; so
that the mourning family, seeing the house full of people, dared not
weep nor cry; while Don Giammaria muttered the prayers between his
teeth, and Master Cirino put a candle to the lips of the sick man, who
lay pale and stiff as a candle himself.
“He looks just like the patriarch Saint Joseph, in that bed, with
that long beard,” said Santuzza, who arranged all the bottles and
straightened everything, for she was always about when Our Lord went
anywhere--“Like a raven,” said the druggist.
The doctor came while the vicar was still there, and at first he wanted
to turn his donkey round and go home again. “Who told you to call the
priest?” he said; “that is the doctor’s affair, and I am astonished that
Don Giammaria should have come without a certificate. Do you know what?
There is no need of the priest--he’s better--that’s what he is.”
“It is a miracle, worked by Our Lady of Sorrows,” cried La Longa; “Our
Lady has done this for us, for Our Lord has come too often to this
house.”
“Ah, Blessed Virgin! Ah, Holy Virgin!” exclaimed Mena, clasping her
hands; “how gracious art thou to us!” And they all wept for joy, as if
the sick man were quite ready to get up and be off to his boat again.
The doctor went off growling. “That’s always the way. If they get well
it is Our Lady has saved them; if they die, it is we who have killed
them.”
“Don Michele is to have the medal for throwing the rope to the
_Provvidenza_, and there’s a pension attached to it,” said the druggist.
“That’s the way they spend the people’s money!”
Goosefoot spoke up in defence of Don Michele, saying that he had
deserved the medal, and the pension, too, for he had gone into the
water up to his knees, big boots and all, to save the Malavoglia--three
persons. “Do you think that a small thing--three lives?--and was within
a hair’s-breath of losing his own life, too, so that everybody was
talking of him: and on a Sunday, when he put on his new uniform, the
girls couldn’t take their eyes off him, so anxious were they to see if
he really had the medal or not.”
“Barbara Zuppidda, now that she’s got rid of that lout of a Malavoglia,
won’t turn her back on Don Michele any more,” said Goosefoot. “I’ve
seen her with her nose between the shutters when he’s passed along the
street.”
’Ntoni, poor fellow, as long as they couldn’t do without him, had
run hither and thither indefatigably, and had been in despair while
his grandfather was so ill. Now that he was better, he took to lounging
about, with his arms akimbo, waiting till it was time to take the
_Provvidenza_ to Master Zup-piddu to be mended, and went to the tavern
to chat with the others, though he hadn’t a sou to spend there, and told
to this one and that one how near he had been to drowning, and so passed
the time away, lounging and spitting about, doing nothing. When any one
would pay for wine for him he would get angry about Don Michele, and say
he had taken away his sweetheart; that he went every evening to talk
to Barbara at the window; that Uncle Santoro had seen him; that he had
asked Nunziata if she hadn’t seen Don Michele pass by the black street.
“But, blood of Judas! my name isn’t ’Ntoni Malavoglia if I don’t put a
stop to that. Blood of Judas!”
It amused the others to see him storm and fume, so they paid for him to
drink on purpose. San-tuzza, when she was washing the glasses, turned
her back upon them so as not to hear the oaths and the ugly words that
were always passing among them, but hearing Don Michele’s name, she
forgot her manners, and listened with all her ears. She also became
curious, and listened to them with open mouth, and gave Nunziata’s
little brother and Ales-sio apples or green almonds to get out of them
what had passed in the black street. Don Michele swore there was no
truth in the story, and often in the evening, after the tavern was shut,
they might be still heard disputing, and her voice would be audible,
screaming, “Liar! Assassin! Miscreant! Thief!” and other pretty names;
so much so that Don Michele left off going to the tavern at all, and
used to send for his wine instead, and drink it by himself at Vanni
Pizzuti’s shop.