Back Home to the Maremma
The next morning broke clear and cool, and Giorgio set out before sunup
for Doctor Celli's villa. He carried only a small parcel containing
his clothes, which were wrapped about a chunk of bread and a salami.
If Gaudenzia was fit to travel, he would make her load as light as
possible.
The shadowed road was still cool from the night, and the birds only
beginning to sing. Giorgio whistled as he strode along, and the notes
came so light and fast he could hardly keep up with them. The song
he whistled was about the common road to glory, and there was such a
bursting in his chest that he half ran the shadowy climbing way to the
villa on the hilltop.
The sun was less than an hour high when he stood at Doctor Celli's
door, completely out of breath. "Suppose," he suddenly thought, "the
doctor is a late riser! Suppose word has not reached him that I am
coming and he is off hunting rabbits in the hills. Suppose the weasely
groom is in charge!"
But before Giorgio could pick up the brass knocker, a beautiful shiny
one made in the image of a unicorn, the door opened wide and Doctor
Celli, with a dog at his heels, stepped outside.
"Buon giorno," he smiled in welcome. "Your whistling and the barking
of my hound announced you well ahead of time. Before I take you to the
mare, I have some things to explain." He led the way to an ornamental
bench in the midst of a rose garden, and motioned Giorgio to sit beside
him. The red-eyed hound nosed the boy appraisingly, then flopped at his
feet.
Doctor Celli began, choosing his words carefully. "To you, I believe I
can talk as man to man."
Giorgio felt a stab of uneasiness at the tone of voice. He reached down
and scratched the dog's head, trying not to show concern.
"I doubt the mare is fit for travel," the doctor went on. "The hurt
tendon still gives her much discomfort. Maybe in a month or two she
will be ready. And if, in the meanwhile, you wish to stay here and work
in the grape harvest, I would be pleased."
"A month or two!" Giorgio stared at the man, unbelieving.
Doctor Celli got to his feet and touched Giorgio on the shoulder.
"Follow me," he said, and he walked down the path to a cluster of
outbuildings. "I will show you where she is stabled. I have no groom
now, so her bed may be soiled and her white coat stained." And in the
same breath he added, "Poor beast, it was an evil bump she had in the
Prova. The cartilage above the hoof is badly damaged, and the nervous
tic tortures her. But of these maladies you are already aware."
He turned to smile at Giorgio as they came to a halt before the
closed door of a narrow stone building. He made no move to open
it. "Sometimes with strangers she is quite savage," he explained.
"Therefore, I think it imperative that you establish at once who is
master. Perhaps," he questioned, "perhaps you wish to go in alone?"
Giorgio looked at the forbidding, heavy door. He drew a deep breath,
hesitated, then lifted the latch and pushed. The creaking of the hinges
sent Farfalla rearing to the rafters. Quietly Giorgio stepped inside
and closed the door. He stood transfixed at the change in her--the ribs
showing, the mantle harsh. Her stall was big enough, but lit by only
one window, too high for looking out. It smelled of cold earth and hay
and dung. All this he sensed in some faraway place in his mind. He had
never before been alone with the mare, and he stood motionless, making
no sound.
She too was electric with curiosity, pulling in the scent of him,
blowing it out with a rattling snort.
"I am here," the boy said in a quiet tone. "It's only me."
The mare's head jerked high, her nostrils flared red, her ears
flattened. "Stay back!" she warned. Fear was strong in her, but spirit,
too. When Giorgio did not retreat, she wheeled about, took aim, and
like a cat ready to spring, she gathered herself for a mighty kick.
In the split second before her heels lashed out, he leaped against
her rump, pressing his body hard against her. She was trapped as if
her hind legs had been hobbled! Through his clothes he could feel her
break out in lather. He too was drenched in sweat. Relief and happiness
flooded into him as her muscles relaxed. He had won the first skirmish.
He went around now to her head and gently took hold of her halter.
"You, so soft-eyed," he said. "You could not hurt me. Not ever. I am
not afraid. Why are you afraid? Come," he coaxed, trying the new name
softly. "Come, Gau-den-zia." And he led her out into the morning.
Doctor Celli could not hide his surprise. "Colombo!" he shouted to his
farmer, who was throwing a pan of soaked acorns to the sow. "Look here!
Already she knows who is master."
The farmer and Doctor Celli stood back in amazement while Giorgio
lifted her hurt foot and held it between his knees. Carefully he
pressed his hand from her hock down her cannon bone and along the
tendon to a point just above the fetlock. To his great relief he could
tell that the tendon was not bowed.
"The leg," Giorgio said, "should be rested if...."
Doctor Celli nodded. "So I told you! A month, maybe."
"No! No!" the boy spoke quickly. "If the tendon bowed out, then she
would need rest. But now we got to keep her leg moving. The gristle
otherwise will harden."
The men exchanged glances, eyeing each other with doubtful, questioning
looks.
Giorgio pretended not to notice. He spoke with a bold sureness that
surprised even himself. "If you please," he said, "I now make a
poultice of flour and alum for the bruised place, and if you don't
mind, we leave at once. It is sixty kilometers to Monticello and I must
stop often to rest her."
The farmer disappeared to fetch the flour and alum, and Doctor Celli
himself produced the bridle.
"She does not willingly take the bit," he said. "I will help you."
Giorgio smiled and shook his head. He led the mare inside her stable
and cross-tied her to iron rings fastened to opposite walls. Then he
saw that underneath her chin was a raw, red place. He thought a moment,
and took from his pocket the rabbit's foot. Much as he prized it for
a good luck charm, he skinned it and wrapped the soft fur about the
chinstrap of the bridle.
"Now, Gaudenzia," he said as if he were talking to a small child, "with
rabbit's fur the strap will not chafe the sore spot."
It took only a little firmness to slip the bit between her teeth and
to adjust the throat latch. And she actually pushed her leg against
Giorgio's hand while he bound the poultice in place.
* * * * *
For as long as he lived, Giorgio knew he would never forget this day.
Of all the masters Gaudenzia had known, she had singled _him_ out as
the one to trust! Why else did she let him leap aboard without bolting?
Why else did she travel the mountainous country with scarce any
favoring of her hurt leg? Why else did she swivel her ears to pull in
his talk, or a snatch of his song?
The trip took all day, with Giorgio walking up the hills and riding
down. Whenever they came to a stream, he let her wade into it, let
her paw and plash to her heart's content. It was a remedy Babbo had
handed down. "One thing you must know about horses," he had said time
and again. "Soak hurt feet and legs in mountain streams, and you leave
behind the fever and the pain."
Giorgio wished he could make the day last forever. In riding, he and
Gaudenzia fitted together as if some sculptor had molded them all of
one piece. In walking, they were a team, enjoying the cool wind in
their faces and the warm sun on their backs.
It was good to see the country again! The little checkerboard farms
with rows of grapevines holding hands, and hills swelling away to the
horizon, and cypress trees marching bold and black against the sky.
They met farmers with guns on their shoulders, and lean dogs nosing
for game. And they saw oxen slow-footing as they turned over the clods
of earth.
They saw strawstacks, layered golden and brown, like mocha tortes. At
thought of the tortes Giorgio was suddenly hungry. Standing at the side
of the road, one arm through the reins, he ate his bread and salami
and watched Gaudenzia graze. He wondered how far into the distance she
could see. He studied her purple-brown eyes, but all he saw in them was
his own reflection.
The sun was slipping into the folds of the mountains when they reached
the wild loveliness of the Maremma. Never had it seemed so boundless.
To Giorgio it was not lonely looking at all. He bristled at the
thought. To him the tangle of brush and brake was beautiful, and the
wild birds more plentiful than anywhere, and the autumn weeds winking
bright and yellow in the roughed-up land. He stopped at a small wayside
shrine decorated with a bouquet of dahlias, and asked a blessing for
his new responsibility.
As they took off again, he noticed that the mare had lifted one of the
flowers from the shrine. He laughed to the wind and the echo rolled
back to him.
At last, in the thickening twilight, they wound up the hill to the
huddled houses of Monticello. He clucked to Gaudenzia, asking her to
trot the last few meters home in triumph. Her hoofbeats alerted the
whole village.
Shutters flew open. Heads popped out. Voices shouted.
"Look! Look what Giorgio brings home! A white scarecrow!" And the
children made a sing-song of it. "A white scarecrow! A white scarecrow!"
"Hey, Giorgio! She's got ribs like a washboard!"
"If you sell her for nothing, I wouldn't buy."
The jokes were all good natured, and in high spirits Giorgio leaped
from Gaudenzia's back and led her to Pippa's stable. But Pippa was not
there. In her place stood a red motor scooter with Babbo's old cap on
the handle bars.
For a moment Giorgio felt grief. Then he wiped it away as if it were a
cobweb. He had to think ahead now. "It is better Pippa is not here,"
he said to the mare. "Nobody now can be jealous." He showed Gaudenzia
around, showed her the old donkey cart and the trunk with the oats in
it and the big wide windows. "You have only a little alley for view,"
he explained, "but nicer than Doctor Celli's stable with windows too
high for seeing out. No?"
As he took off her bridle, she rubbed her head against him where
the leathers had been. He sighed happily, feeling singled out and
special again. "At last you have come to me!" he said. Then he went
to the trunk and scooped up a measure of grain. Before pouring it
into the manger he sifted it between his fingers, removing the dried
grasshoppers and beetles.
It was late evening when his family returned home from the farm where
they had been gathering grapes. But they all had to see the mare, and
admire her points, even though she was not in a welcoming mood.
That night when Giorgio went to bed in the family bedroom he did not
mind that Emilio, with arms and legs flung wide, slept crosswise,
taking up most of the bed. As the wind blew cool, he pulled up the
cover, making it snug about Emilio's back. It was good to feel cozy and
warm and welcome; good to belong to a family again.
Before he dozed off, he saw through the open window a fingernail
moon far away above the mountain. A new moon, a new mare, a new
beginning....