But a tacit promise of marriage was given many days later, in October,
at the first birth of the oil in the olive, and at the last migration
of the swallows. With Donna Cristina’s permission, one Monday Zacchiele
took Anna to the factory on the hills where his mill was located. They
left by the Portasale, on foot, took the Salaria road, turning their
backs on the river. From the day of the fable of Galeana and Mainetto,
they had experienced, the one toward the other, a kind of trepidation,
a mixture of bashful timidity and respect. They had lost that beautiful
familiarity of previous times; now they spoke seldom together and
always with a hesitating reserve, avoiding each other’s face, with
uncertain smiles, becoming confused at times through a sudden blush,
dallying thus with timid, childish acts of innocence.
They walked in silence, at first, each following the dry and narrow
path which the footsteps of travellers had marked on both sides of the
road, and between them ran the road, muddy and indented with deep ruts
from the wheels of vehicles. The unrestrained joy of the vintage filled
the country; the songs at the crushing of the wine resounded over the
plain. Zacchiele kept slightly in the rear, breaking the silence from
time to time with some remark on the weather, the vines, the harvest of
olives, while Anna examined curiously all of the bushes flaming with
berries, the tilled fields, the water in the ditches; and, little by
little, a vague joy was born in her soul, like one who, after a long
period of fasting, is rejoiced by pleasant sensations experienced long
ago. As the road took a turn up the declivity through the rich olive
orchards of Cardirusso, clearly arose to her mind the remembrance of
Saint Apollinare and the ass and the keeper of the herds. She felt her
blood suddenly surge toward her heart. That episode, buried with her
youth, now revived in her memory with a marvellous clearness; a picture
of the place formed itself before her mind’s eye and she saw again the
man with the hare-lip and again heard his voice, while experiencing a
new confusion without knowing why.
As they approached the factory the wind among the trees caused the
mature olives to fall and a patch of serene sea was revealed from the
heights. Zacchiele had moved to the side of the woman and was looking
at her from time to time with a pious supplicating tenderness. “What
was she thinking of now?” Anna turned with an air almost of fright, as
if she had been caught in a sin. “She was thinking of nothing.” They
arrived at the mill where the farmers were crushing the first harvest
of olives fallen prematurely from the trees. The room for the crushing
was low and dimly lighted; from the ceiling sparkling with saltpetre
hung lanterns of brass which smoked; a cart-horse, blindfolded, turned
with even steps an immense mill-stone; and the farmers, clothed in a
kind of long tunic similar to a sack, with legs and arms bare, muscular
and oily, were pouring the liquid into jugs, jars and vats.
Anna watched the work attentively, and as Zacchiele gave orders to the
workers and wound in and out among the machines, observing the quality
of the olives with great decision of judgment, she felt her admiration
for him increase. Later, as Zacchiele standing before her took up a
great brimful pitcher and on pouring the oil, so pure and luminous,
into a vat, spoke of God’s abundance, she made the sign of the cross,
quite overwhelmed with veneration for the richness of the soil.
There came at length to the door two women of the factory, and
each held at her breast a nursing child and dragged at her skirts
a luxuriant group of children. They fell to conversing placidly,
and, while Anna tried to caress the children, each talked of her own
fertility, and with an honest frankness of speech told of her various
deliverances. The first had had seven children; the second eleven. It
was the will of Jesus Christ, for working people were needed. Then
the conversation turned upon familiar matters. Albarosa, one of the
mothers, asked Anna many questions. Had she never had any children?
Anna, in answering that she was not married, experienced for the first
time a kind of humiliation and grief, before that chaste and powerful
maternity. Then, changing the subject of their discourse, she rested
her hand on the nearest child. The others looked on with wide-open
eyes that seemed to have acquired a limpid, vegetable colour from
the continuous sight of green things. The odour of the crushed olives
floated in the air, penetrating the throat and exciting the palate. The
groups of workers appeared and disappeared under the red light of the
lamps.
Zacchiele, who up to that moment had been watching carefully the
measuring of the oil, approached the women. Albarosa welcomed him with
a merry expression. “How long were they to wait for Don Zacchiele to
take a wife?” Zacchiele smiled, slightly confused by this question,
and gave a stealthy glance at Anna who was still caressing the
rustic child and feigning not to have heard. Albarosa, through a
kindly pleasantry, characteristic of the peasant, embracing Anna and
Zacchiele significantly with a wink of her bovine eyes, pursued her
comment. They were a couple blessed by God. Why were they delaying? The
farmers, having suspended their work to attend to their meal, made a
circle around them. The couple, even more confused by these witnesses,
remained silent in an attitude bordering between tremulous smiles and
shame-faced modesty. One of the youths among the onlookers, inspired by
the affectionate compunctions in the face of Don Zacchiele, nudged his
companions with his elbows. The hungry horse neighed.
The meal was prepared. A strenuous activity invaded the large rustic
family. In the yard, in the open air, among the peaceful olives and
within sight of the sea beneath, the men sat at their meal. The plates
of vegetables, seasoned with fresh oil, smoked; the wine scintillated
in the simple vases of liturgical shape, while the frugal food
disappeared rapidly into the stomachs of the workers.
Anna now felt herself filled by a tumult of joy, and she seemed
suddenly almost united by a kind of friendly domesticity with the two
women. They took her into their houses where the rooms were large and
light, although very old. On the walls sacred images alternated with
pasqual palms; joints of pork hung from the rafters; the posts, ample
and very high, rose from the pavement with cradles beside them; from
all emanated the serenity of family concord. Anna, beholding these
arrangements, smiled timidly at some inward sweetness, and at a certain
point was seized by a strange emotion, almost as if all of her latent
virtues of the domestic mother and her instincts to succour had escaped
and suddenly risen up.
When the women descended again to the yard, the men still remained
around the table and Zacchiele was talking to them. Albarosa took a
small loaf of corn-bread, divided it in the middle, spread it with oil
and salt, and offered it to Anna. The fresh oil, just pressed from the
fruit, diffused in the mouth a savoury, sharp aroma, and Anna, allured,
ate all of the bread. She even drank the wine. Then as the evening
was falling, she and Zacchiele began the descent of the hill on their
return. Behind them the farmers were singing. Many other songs arose
from the fields and pervaded the evening air with the soft fullness
of a Gregorian chant. The wind blew moistly through the olive trees, a
dying splendour between rose and violet suffused the sky. Anna walked
in front with swift steps, grazing the tree-trunks. Zacchiele called
the woman by name; she turned to him humbly and palpitatingly. “What
did he wish?” Zacchiele said no more; he took two steps and arrived at
her side. Thus they continued their walk, in silence, until the Salaria
road no longer divided them. As in going, each had taken the marginal
road, on the right and left. At length they re-entered the Portasale.