In the long, hard fatiguing pilgrimage where every step costs untold
pain, where every look sees a precipice, a young peasant accompanies us
as a guide.
One reads trouble and misery in his dark eyes, his voice is low and
dragging, almost complaining.
Are you from Ottaiano, I ask him, while going up the steep road.
--Yes, I and my family are from that place.
--Did you run away from there in that terrible night?
--Yes, we fled just about dawn when the fall of stones was at its
worst.
--And how long did this last?
--Fully twenty four hours madam, from ten o'clock on Saturday night,
till ten o'clock on Palm Sunday.
A whole day, yes, a whole day. He doesn't lie nor exaggerate. If he
did, how could all this ruin be around us?
--Did your house fall down? I inquire.
--Yes, he answers sadly. There it stands on that height yonder. Look
at it! look at it! All I possessed is buried there! My bed, my poor
furniture, all.
Tears gather in his eyes. At least have you saved your family?
--Yes, he murmurs, they are at Sarno. But I have lost all. I was
supporting them, and have lost my wagon and my two mules, for I was a
driver.
--Are they buried?
--The wagon can be seen under the stones; and as he speaks he seems to
take heart all at once, It can be seen! perhaps I shall be able to drag
it out. But the mules! The mules are dead. How shall I manage?
A deep sigh heaves his broad chest.
--And you have come back here, I ask him? Many of you have come back?
--I have come back. This is my country. I have come to try to save my
wagon and those poor animals, Nothing, nothing!
--Will you remain here?
--I shall! Where could I go? This is my country. I will also make my
family return from Sarno. If you knew how many have returned!
--How many? How many?
--At least three thousand. Many have come back the following day. You
see, we could not stay away.
--And where do they live?
--Nearly all sleep out in the fields under straw sheds, and the others
in the few houses that remain standing now.
--They are building cabins, and little by little you will see every
body, coming back to their own country.
--Was this place, fine? I ask him quite touched.
--The finest of all, and our country is fine!
And he utters these words enthusiastically, but again he looks down
sighing, and is silent.