ANOTHER RECONCILIATION
Guiseppe, his cheek still smarting from Pappina's blow, strode along
toward the Quay and its beautiful walk, Corso Garibaldi.
In spite of his intoxication, Guiseppe was conscious of a new respect
for Marta, awakened by her fearless defence of the child she loved.
"They are both against me," he muttered. "Marta--staid, timid
Marta--she becomes a lioness when she fights for Pappina. Who would
believe it? But she is right, Marta's right. I can't beat the minx and
keep her. They are two against me, two against me."
Time and again he turned his head and glared fiercely from under his
shaggy eyebrows at Pappina, and without his usual bullying look at
Marta. His gaze was met unflinchingly by both, who, as he said, seemed
banded against him.
Pappina would not admit, even to herself, that she was afraid of
Guiseppe in his drunken, quarrelsome condition, but Marta noticed that
the little hand in hers trembled and held her own more tightly whenever
Guiseppe turned toward them.
Worn and tired from the long tramp, Pappina inquired of Marta: "Where
is he going? I can't walk much farther. I feel weak, Marta."
"_Poverina_ [poor little one], I do not know, but we are together and
you are safe with me," Marta replied as they followed Guiseppe through
the merry crowd that was enjoying the pleasures of the walk and the
beauties of the moonlit bay.
When he reached the theater, he stopped and put down the Punchinellos.
Assuming a bravado air, he ordered Pappina to sing.
"You remember what I said?" he asked. "You shall sing all night if I
will it so. Marta knows me. She can tell you that I say what I mean and
mean what I say. It is not the Punchinellos to-night, it is you." He
shook his fist in Pappina's face.
Rebellious, tired, and hungry, she quickly lifted her clenched fist to
strike again, but Marta enfolded the little doubled-up hand in hers.
"It is best to obey to-night," she whispered. "Sing for me, my bird,
for I love you."
Marta's loving words appealed to Pappina as nothing else would have
done. She rose quickly and sang the best she could. The poor little
girl put no animation in the vivacious song she tried to sing; it might
have passed for a funeral dirge.
After the long tramp it was hard for the child to stand and sing; to
dance was impossible. There was a plaintiveness in her voice and in her
manner. She was but a baby, forced beyond her strength; made to sing
for her food.
Her face looked drawn and white, even her lips were colorless. At times
her voice could scarcely be heard. When she staggered in her efforts to
dance, as she did many times, she looked helplessly and appealingly at
Marta.
Guiseppe's eyes were on the crowd only. He noticed their interest
in the singer, and nothing more. When Pappina finished the song, he
shouted: "Give! Give! Here, little one, pass your tambourine."
Marta knew and the people knew. The tambourine was passed.
"Fill, so the brute will take her home." Only Marta of our three
wanderers understood these words, spoken in English.
Guiseppe quickly took possession of the money. "I am thirsty. Wine,
wine!" he exclaimed, "I must have wine. Who wouldn't drink, with her--"
He pointed to Pappina and left the sentence unfinished. "Wait for me
here, and don't move or I'll kill you both."
He was out of sight in a moment, disappearing into a wine shop. They
heard his boisterous laugh within. Marta took Pappina's hand in hers.
"_Carissima_," she said, "you are so hungry and so tired! Guiseppe is
not himself. He forgets."
A new light shone in Pappina's eyes. She was given new strength. This
time she would sing, not from fear of Guiseppe, perhaps not from love
of Marta. She was just a worn-out, tired little child whose tender age
should have ensured her protection at home--only seven years old, but
forced to battle with the world, seeking refuge through her songs from
storms and hunger, a weatherbeaten bird. For her there was now no place
called home, no place to lay her tired little head. She knew that to
sing and dance meant money, and that she and Marta were hungry and in
need of money for supper. She took her tambourine from Marta, threw it
high in the air, caught it, and began to dance.
The gaping crowd that had watched her efforts before stood almost
aghast as she swayed and tipped and toed, till one would have thought
her little feet would refuse to take another step. Then, pausing a
moment to take breath, she started to sing the rollicking song Guiseppe
had just taught her--with gestures and grimaces, stopping to speak,
dashing into song, now laughing so infectiously that every bystander
joined with her.
She finished the song in an uproar of laughter, applause, and shouts of
"Bravo, bravo!"
The enthusiastic listeners fairly threw _soldi_ at her. Pappina wanted
them for supper for Marta and herself. They had tramped all day with
but a bite of bread in the early morning. Pappina's haggard little face
glowed with pleasure as she took the well-filled tambourine to Marta.
"See, Marta, yours to-night--not Guiseppe's--yours!"
"No, not mine; it is yours alone, _carissima_."
"Then it is yours and mine. Come, let's go. Macaroni, Marta! Hurry,
dear Marta."
"Pappina, _mia carissima_, Pappina!" Marta walked a few steps then
stopped. "Should Guiseppe return and find us gone!" Even as she spoke
she did not feel her usual fear.
"But I am starved, Marta. I must eat, unless, dear, good Marta, you who
love me say I mustn't."
Marta hesitated for a moment, looking down the street to see if her
husband was returning. He was nowhere in sight. Her love for Pappina
conquered her fear of Guiseppe's displeasure.
"Wait for me here," she said. "I will go and bring us food."
With all haste it was purchased and eaten. It was long after they had
finished their simple meal that Guiseppe returned from his revelry.
His mood was changed. He had drank so much wine he could scarcely stand
up. He loved the little girl who had filled his purse. He laid his hand
caressingly on her head. She shuddered at his touch, and clung close to
Marta, who looked fearlessly into Guiseppe's face and said sternly:
"I am used to your thoughtlessness, used even to cruelty; but Pappina
is worn out, and she must have her rest."
"Eh! What's that you say? She's tired? Macaroni and a bottle of wine
will build her up. Come on, sweet one." Stretching out his hand to
Pappina, he continued: "Throughout the town those who have seen you
and heard you to-night sing your praises. They believe you are mine.
_Ebbene!_ So you are, sweet one--so you are."
"Guiseppe," and Pappina looked pleadingly into his half-closed eyes,
"Guiseppe, if you love me so much, take me where we shall sleep
to-night. I'm not hungry, Guiseppe, but I'm so tired. I want to go to
sleep."
Worn out, Pappina began to cry. Marta quickly gathered the child into
her arms and carried her to a place Guiseppe selected as suitable to
spend the night.
* * * * *
Sabbath morning! So beautiful it dawned that it seemed to be wooing
man, woman and child to worship the God who could give to his children
so perfect a day. Flowers, grass, birds and sky, with the bright Bay of
Salerno in the glint of the morning sun, all attested to the wonders of
a marvelous world with its perfection in every phase of nature as it
appeared this Sunday in Salerno.
Guiseppe slept in a drunken stupor. Marta was afraid to speak, even
in a whisper, for fear of disturbing his slumber. Pappina, harboring
a feeling of hatred stronger than ever, grew tired of waiting for
Guiseppe to awaken.
"Marta," she said softly.
"Sh!" Marta raised her finger to silence Pappina, who for a time sat
quiet. Then the stillness began to irritate her.
"Marta," she began again and once more Marta tried to silence her, but
this time in vain. "I won't 'sh,' for it must be time to go to church,
and surely he," (pointing to Guiseppe), "ought to pray."
Guiseppe, hearing her voice, sat up and looked about him in a dazed way
out of his bleary eyes. Pappina, seeing him thus, needed courage to
speak at all, but with her characteristic fearlessness she said:
"Come, Guiseppe, it's Sunday. We must go to church."
"Sunday! Let me sleep. Sunday, did you say? There's nothing to do on
Sunday except pray. I'll sleep. If you two simpletons want to pray, go
on to church and let me alone. Get along, I'll wait." He fell over on
the ground and was soon snoring loudly.
Hand in hand Marta and Pappina walked away.
"I dared not ask Guiseppe for money. You saw, _carina_, he is not yet
himself."
Pappina's face was wreathed in smiles as she stooped down to bring up
_soldi_ she had hidden in her shoe the night before. It was not the
cleanest hand in the world that handed the money to Marta, but the
little grime on it did not prevent Marta from seizing it and covering
it with kisses.
"I am so glad, so glad, _carina_!" she exclaimed. "Now you need not go
hungry to church."
After a hasty breakfast they were soon in the celebrated St. Matthew's
Cathedral. Marta, fearful of Guiseppe's displeasure if he were to
awaken and be kept waiting too long, wished to say a short prayer and
return at once, but Pappina was anxious to follow the people and see
the things that interested them. She suddenly seized Marta by the arm
and almost dragged her out of the church. There was a look of terror on
the child's face.
"_Carina_, what is it?"
"Those ladies--you saw them, Marta! The man with them--you said he was
a guide--didn't you hear what he was telling them?" She covered her
face with her hands. "Oh, I cannot bear to think of it!"
"No, I did not hear. Tell me, what did he say that frightened you?
Perhaps you didn't understand."
"Oh. I did. I heard every word. He told them that three saints' heads
had been cut off right by that column where we were standing. It scared
me so that now I am afraid to go back, and I wanted so much to go to
the tomb of the Pope. The guide said one is buried in the church. You
have seen so much, Marta--have you ever seen a Pope's tomb?"
"No, _carina_, but we must go back now, at once, to Guiseppe."
"Back to Guiseppe," Pappina repeated slowly, "back to Guiseppe." She
grew thoughtful. "Marta, must we go back to Guiseppe? May we not run a
way?"
"Oh, my sweet baby, we must--we must go back to Guiseppe!"
They met him walking to meet them. He smiled kindly as they approached
him. He even held out his hand to Pappina, but she paid no attention to
his overture for friendship and forgiveness.
"Have you already said your prayers?" he asked, looking at Marta.
"Our prayers were short," she replied. "We thought you would not like
to be kept waiting."
"And Pappina! She has no use for Guiseppe this morning." He took one of
her curls in his hand as he spoke.
"You were bad yesterday, Guiseppe," Pappina answered with a jerk of her
head that snatched the curl from his hand.
"You are right, _bambina_, you are right. Forgive me. Guiseppe was a
regular brute yesterday; wasn't he?" he asked in a tone that seemed to
crave denial from the child.
"You were, Guiseppe," she replied with a sunny smile as she took hold
of his hand, "you really were; but if you are sorry, I'll forgive you."