The next morning, having recovered from the effects of the wine, Mastro
Peppe awoke, stood up in bed, and stretched himself, listening to the
bells saluting the eve of San Antonio. Already in his mind, in the
confusion of the first awakening, he saw Lepruccio cut into pieces and
cover his beautiful fat pork-meat with salt, and his soul was filled
with happiness at this thought. Impatient for the anticipated delight,
he dressed hastily and went out to the stair-case, wiping his eyes to
see more clearly. Upon the table where he had left the pig, the morning
sun was smiling in, but nothing was there save a stain of blood!
“The pig? Where is the pig?” cried the robbed man in a hoarse voice.
In a frenzy, he descended the stairs, and noticing the open door,
striking his forehead, he ran out crying, and called the labourers
around him, asking every one if they had seen the pig, if they had
taken it. His queries came faster and faster and his voice grew louder
and louder, until the sound of the uproar came up the river to Ciavola
and Ristabilito.
They came tranquilly upon the group to enjoy the spectacle and keep up
the joke. As they came in sight, Mastro Peppe turned to them, weeping
in his grief, and exclaimed:
“Oh, dear me! They have stolen my pig! Oh, dear me! What am I to do
now? What am I to do?”
Biagio Quaglia stood a moment considering the appearance of the unhappy
fellow, his eyes half-closed in an expression which was half sneer,
half admiration, his head bent sideways, as though judging of the
effect of this acting. Then approaching, he said:
“Yes indeed!... One cannot deny it ... You play your part well!”
Peppe, not understanding, lifted his face, streaked with tears.
“Yes, yes indeed! You are becoming very cunning!” continued Ristabilito
with an air of confidential friendship.
Peppe, not yet understanding, stared stupidly at Ristabilito, and his
tears stopped flowing.
“But truly, I did not think you were so malicious!” went on
Ristabilito. “Good fellow! My compliments!”
“What do you mean?” asked La Brevetta between his sobs. “What do you
mean?... Oh, poor me! How can I now return home?”
“Good! Good! Very well done!” cried Ristabilito. “Play your part! Play
your part! Weep louder! Pull your hair! Make every one hear you! Yes,
that way! Make everybody believe you!”
Peppe, still weeping, “But I am telling you the truth! My pig has been
stolen from me! Oh, Lord! Poor me!”
“Go on! Go on! Don’t stop! The more you shout, the less I believe you.
Go on! Go on! Some more!”
Peppe, beside himself with anger and grief, swore repeatedly.
“I tell you it is true! I hope to die on the spot if the pig has not
been stolen from me!”
“Oh, poor innocent fellow!” shrieked Ciavola, jestingly. “Put your
finger in your mouth! How can we believe you, when last night we saw
the pig there? Has San Antonio given him wings to fly?”
“San Antonio be blest! It is as I tell you!”
“But how can it be?”
“So it is!”
“It can’t be so!”
“It is so!”
“No!”
“Yes, yes! It is so! It is so, and I am a dead man! I don’t know how
I can ever go home again! Pelagia will not believe me; and if she
believes me, she will never give me any peace ... I am a dead man!”
“Well, we’ll try to believe you,” said Ristabilito. “But look here,
Peppe. Ciavola suggested the trick to you yesterday. Is it not so that
you might fool Pelagia, and others as well? You might be capable of
doing that.”
Then La Brevetta began to weep and cry and despair in such a foolish
burst of grief that Ristabilito said:
“Very well, keep quiet! We believe you. But if this is true, we must
find a way to repair the damage.”
“What way?” asked La Brevetta eagerly, a ray of hope coming into his
soul.
“I will tell you,” said Biagio Quaglia. “Certainly someone living
around here must have done it, for no one has come over from India to
take your pig away. Is not that so, Peppe?”
“It is well, it is well!” assented the man, his voice still filled with
tears.
“Well, then, pay attention,” continued Ristabilito, delighted at
Peppe’s credulity. “Well, then, if no one has come from India to rob
you, then certainly someone who lives around here must have been the
thief. Is not that so, Peppe?”
“It is well. It is well.”
“Well, what is to be done? We must summon the farm-hands together
and employ some sorcery to discover the thief. When the thief is
discovered, the pig is found.”
Peppe’s eyes shone with greediness. He came nearer at the hint of the
sorcery, which awakened in him all his native superstitions.
“You know there are three kinds of sorcerers, white ones, pink ones,
and black ones; and you know there are in the town three women who know
the art of sorcery: Rosa Schiavona, Rusaria Pajora, and La Ciniscia. It
is for you to choose.”
Peppe stood for a moment in deep thought; then he chose Rusaria Pajora,
for she was renowned as an enchantress and always accomplished great
things.
“Well then,” Ristabilito finished. “There is no time to lose. For your
sake, I am willing to do you a favour; I will go to town and take what
is necessary; I will speak with Rusaria and ask her to give me all
needful articles and will return this morning. Give me the money.”
Peppe took out of his waistcoat three francs and handed them over
hesitatingly.
“Three francs!” cried the other, refusing them. “Three francs? More
than ten are needed.” The husband of Pelagia almost had a fit upon
hearing this.
“What? Ten francs for a sorcery?” he stammered, feeling in his pocket
with trembling fingers. “Here, I give you eight of them, and no more.”
Ristabilito took them, saying dryly:
“Very well! What I can do, I will do. Will you come with me, Ciavola?”
The two companions set off toward Pescara along the path through the
trees, walking quickly in single file; Ciavola showed his merriment
by pounding Ristabilito on the back with his fist as they went along.
Arriving at the town, they betook themselves to the store of Don
Daniele Pacentro, a druggist, with whom they were on very familiar
terms, and here they purchased certain aromatic drugs, having them put
up in pills as big as walnuts, well covered with sugar and apple juice.
Just as the druggist finished the pills, Biagio Quaglia, who had been
absent during this time, came in, carrying a piece of paper filled
with dried excrements of dog, and asked the druggist to make from
these two beautiful pills, similar in size and shape to the others,
excepting that they were to be dipped in aloe and then lightly coated
with sugar. The druggist did as he asked, and in order that these might
be distinguished from the others, he placed upon each a small mark as
suggested by Ristabilito.
The two cheats then betook themselves back to the house of Mastro
Peppe, which they reached in a short time, arriving there at about
noon, and found Mastro Peppe anxiously awaiting them. As soon as he saw
the form of Ciavola approaching through the trees, he cried out:
“Well?”
“Everything is all right,” answered Ristabilito triumphantly, showing
the box containing the bewitched confectionery. “Now, as today is
the eve of San Antonio and the labourers are feasting, gather all the
people together and offer them drink. I know that you have a certain
keg of Montepulciano wine; bring that out today! And when everybody is
here, I will know what to say, and what to do.”