It is as if thousands of metallic wires were strung in the thick
foliage of the olive-trees. The wind moves the stiff, hard leaves, they
touch the strings, and these light, continuous contacts fill the air
with a hot, intoxicating sound. It is not yet music, but a sound as if
unseen hands were tuning hundreds of invisible harps, and one awaits
impatiently the moment of silence before a powerful hymn bursts forth,
a hymn to the sun, the sky and the sea, played on numberless stringed
instruments.
The wind sways the tops of the trees, which seem to be moving down the
mountain slope towards the sea. The waves beat in a measured, muffled
way against the stones on the shore. The sea is covered with moving
white spots, as if numberless flocks of birds had settled on its blue
expanse; they all swim in the same direction, disappear, diving into
the depths, and reappear, giving forth a faint sound. On the horizon,
looking like grey birds, move two ships under full sail, dragging the
other birds in their train. All this reminds one of a half-forgotten
dream seen long ago; it is so unlike reality.
"The wind will freshen towards evening," says an old fisherman, sitting
on a little mound of jingling pebbles in the shade of the rocks.
The breakers have washed up on to the stones a tangle of smelling
seaweed--brown and golden and green; the wrack withers in the sun and
on the hot stones, the salt air is saturated with the penetrating odour
of iodine. One after another the curling breakers beat upon the heap of
shingle.
The old fisherman resembles a bird: he has a small pinched face and an
aquiline nose; his eyes, which are almost hidden in the folds of the
skin, are small and round, though probably keen enough. His fingers are
like crooks, bony and stiff.
"Half-a-century ago, signor," said the old man, in a tone that was
in harmony with the beating of the waves and the chirping of the
crickets--it was just such another day as this, gladsome and noisy,
with everything laughing and singing. My father was forty, I was
sixteen, and in love of course--it is inevitable when one is sixteen
and the sun is bright.
"'Let us go, Guido, and catch some pezzoni,' said my father to me.
Pezzoni, signor, are very thin and tasty fish with pink fins; they are
also called coral fish because they live at a great depth where coral
is found. To catch them one has to cast anchor, and angle with a hook
attached to a heavy weight. It is a pretty fish.
"And we set off, looking forward to naught but a good catch. My
father was a strong man, an experienced fisherman, but just then he
had been ailing, his chest hurt him, and his fingers were contracted
with rheumatism--he had worked on a cold winter's day and caught the
fisherman's complaint.
"The wind here is very tricky and mischievous, the kind of wind that
sometimes breathes on you from the shore as if gently pushing you into
the sea; and at another time will creep up to you unawares and then
rush at you as if you had offended it. The boat breaks loose and flies
before it, sometimes with keel uppermost, with you yourself in the
water. All this happens in a moment, you have no chance either to curse
or to mention God's name, as you are whirled and driven far out to
sea. A highwayman is more honourable than this kind of wind. But then,
signor, human beings are always more honourable than elemental forces.
"Yes, this wind pounced upon us when we were three miles from the
shore--quite close, you see, but it struck us as unexpectedly as a
coward or a scoundrel. 'Guido,' said my father, clutching at the oars
with his crippled hands. 'Hold on, Guido! Be quick--weigh anchor!'
"While I was weighing the anchor my father was struck in the chest by
one of the oars and fell stunned into the bottom of the boat. I had no
time to help him, signor; every second we might capsize. Events moved
quickly: when I got hold of the oars, we were rushing along rapidly,
surrounded by the dust-like spray of the water; the wind picked off the
tops of the waves and sprinkled us like a priest, only with more zest,
signor, and without any desire to wash away our sins.
"'This is a bad look-out!' said my father when he came to, and had
taken a look in the direction of the shore. 'It will soon be all over,
my son.'
"When one is young one does not readily believe in danger; I tried to
row, did all that one can do on the water in such a moment of danger,
when the wind, like the breath of wicked devils, amiably digs thousands
of graves for you and sings the requiems for nothing.
"'Sit still, Guido,' said my father, grinning and shaking the water
off his head. 'What is the use of poking the sea with match-sticks?
Save your strength, my son; otherwise they will wait in vain for you at
home.'
"The green waves toss out little boat as children toss a ball, peer at
us over the boat's sides, rise above our heads, roar, shake, drop us
into deep pits. We rise again on the white crests, but the coast runs
farther and farther away from us and seems to dance like our boat. Then
my father said to me:
"'Maybe you will return to land, but I--never. Listen and I will tell
you something about a fisherman's work.'
"And he began to tell me all he knew of the habits of the different
kinds of fishes: where, when and how best to catch them.
"'Should we not rather pray, father?' I asked him when I realised that
our plight was desperate; we were like a couple of rabbits amidst a
pack of white hounds which grinned at us on all sides.
"'God sees everything,' he said. 'If he sees everything He knows that
men who were created for the land are now perishing in the sea, and
that one of them, hoping to be saved, wishes to tell Him what he, the
Father, already knows. It is not prayer but work that the earth and the
people need. God understands that.'
"And having told me everything he knew about work my father began to
talk about how one should live with others.
"'Is this the proper time to teach me?' said I. 'You did not do it when
we were on shore.'
"'On shore I did not feel the proximity of death so.'
"The wind howled like a wild beast and furiously lashed the waves; my
father had to shout to make me hear.
"'Always act as if there lived no one better and no one worse than
yourself--that will always be right! A landowner and a fisherman,
a priest and a soldier, belong to one body; you are needed just as
much as any other of its members. Never approach a man with the idea
that there is more bad in him than good; get to think that the good
outweighs the bad and it will be so. People give what is asked of
them.'"
"These things were not said all at once, of course, but intermittently,
like words of command. We were tossed from wave to wave, and the words
came to me sometimes from below, sometimes from above through the
spray. Much of what he said was carried off before it reached my ear,
much I could not understand: is it a time to learn, signor, when every
minute you are threatened with death! I was in great fear; it was the
first time that I had seen the sea in such a rage, and I felt utterly
helpless. The sensation is still vivid in my memory, but I cannot tell
whether I experienced it then or afterwards when I recalled those hours.
"As if it were now I see my father: he sits at the bottom of the boat,
his feeble arms outstretched, his hands gripping the sides of the boat;
his hat has been washed away; from right and left, from fore and aft,
the waves are breaking over his head and shoulders.... He shook his
head, sniffed and shouted to me from time to time. He was wet through
and looked very small, and fear, or perhaps it was pain, had made his
eyes large. I think it was pain.
"'Listen!' he shouted to me. 'Do you hear?'
"'At times,' I replied to him, 'I hear.'
"'Remember that everything that is good comes from man.'
"'I will remember!' I replied.
"He had never spoken to me in this way on land. He had been jovial
and kindly, but it seemed to me that he regarded me with a lack of
confidence and a sort of contempt--I was still a child for him;
sometimes it offended me, for in youth one's pride is strong.
"His shouts must have lessened my fear, for I remember it all very
clearly." The old fisherman remained silent for a while, looking at the
white sea and smiling; then with a wink he said:
"As I have observed men, I know that to remember means to understand,
and the more you understand the more good you see; that is quite true,
believe me.
"Yes, I remember his wet face that was so dear to me, and his big eyes
that looked at me so earnestly, so lovingly, and in such a way that
somehow I knew at the time that I was not going to perish on that day.
I was frightened, but I knew that I should not perish.
"Our boat capsized, of course, and we were in the swirling water, in
the blinding foam, hedged in by sharp-crested waves, which tossed our
bodies about, and battered them against the keel of the boat. We had
fastened ourselves to the boat with everything that could be tied, and
were holding on by ropes. As long as our strength lasted we should
not be torn away from our boat, but it was difficult to keep afloat.
Several times he and I were tossed on to the keel and then washed off
again. The worst of it is, signor, that you become dizzy, and deaf and
blind--the water gets into your eyes and ears and you swallow a lot of
it.
"This lasted long--for full seven hours--and then the wind suddenly
changed, blew towards the coast and swept us along with it. I was
overjoyed and shouted:
"'Hold on!'
"My father also cried out, but I understood only:
"'They will smash us.'
"He meant the stones, but they were still far off; I did not believe
him. But he understood matters better than I: we rushed along amid
mountains of water, clinging like snails to our 'mother who fed us.'
The waves had battered our bodies, dashed us against the boat and we
already felt exhausted and benumbed. So we went on for a long time;
but when once the dark mountains came in sight everything moved with
lightning speed. The mountains seemed to reel as they came towards
us, to bend over the water as if about to tumble on our heads. One,
two! The white waves toss up our bodies, our boat crackles like a nut
under the heel of a boot; I am torn away from it, I see the broken
ribs of the rocks, like sharp knives, like the devil's claws, and I
see my father's head high above me. He was found on the rocks two days
later, with his back broken and his skull smashed. The wound in the
head was large, part of the brain had been washed out. I remember the
grey particles intermingled with red sinews in the wound, like marble
or foam streaked with blood. He was terribly mutilated, all broken, but
his face was uninjured and calm, and his eyes were tightly closed.
"And I? Yes, I also was badly mangled. They dragged me on to the shore
unconscious. We were carried to the mainland beyond Amalfi--a place
unknown to us, but the people there were also fishermen, our own kith
and kin. Cases like ours do not surprise them, but render them kind;
people who lead a dangerous life are always kind!
"I fear I have not spoken to you as I feel about my father, and of
what I have kept in my heart for fifty-one years. Special words may be
required to do that, even a song; but we are simple folk, like fishes,
and are unable to speak as prettily and expressively as one would wish!
One always feels and knows more than one is able to tell.
"What is most striking about the whole matter is that, although my
father knew that the hour of his death had come, he did not get
frightened or forget me, his son. He found time and strength to tell me
all he considered important. I have lived sixty-seven years and I can
say that everything he imparted to me is true!"
The old man took off his knitted cap, which had once been red but had
faded, and pulled a pipe out of it. Then, inclining his bald bronzed
skull to one side, he said with emphasis:
"It is all true, dear signor! People are just as you like to see them;
look at them with kind eyes and all will be well with you, and with
them, too; it will make them still better, and you too! It is very
simple!"
The wind freshens considerably, the waves become higher, sharper and
whiter, birds appear on the sea and fly swiftly away, disappearing in
the distance. The two ships with their outspread sails have passed
beyond the blue streak of the horizon.
The steep banks of the island are edged with lace-like foam, the blue
water splashes angrily, and the crickets chirp on with never a pause.