Tales of Madness (12 page)

"Set fire to the straw!"

Lo and behold, it was Nazzaro, panting and extremely cheerful and fidgety.

"Did you come running?"

"Yes. It's done!"

"What've you done?"

"Everything. We'll talk about it tomorrow, Don Simo'! I'm dead tired."

He plunked himself down on a chair and began rubbing his
legs with both hands, while his eyes, like those of a wild animal,
shone with a glimmer of strange laughter. A trace of this laughter formed on his lips, which emerged from his long thick beard.

"The birds?" he asked.

"They're downstairs sleeping."

"Good. Aren't you sleepy?"

"Yes. I waited such a long time for you..."

Simone Lampo, blissfully leaning on his elbow, gazed at him from his bed. How he liked that crazy vagabond! He no longer felt sleepy, but wanted to continue the conversation.

"Tell me, Nazzaro, why do you count the stars?"

"Because I like counting them. Go to sleep!"

"Wait. Tell me, are you happy?"

"About what?" asked Nazzaro, raising his head, which he had already nestled between his arms resting on the coffee table.

"About everything," answered Simone Lampo. "About living like this..."

"Happy? We're all suffering, Don Simo'! But don't worry about it. It'll pass. Let's sleep."

Again he nestled his head between his arms.

Simone Lampo poked his head out from under the covers to put out the candle, but at that instant, he held his breath. The idea of staying in the dark with that lunatic bothered him a little.

"Tell me, Nazzaro, would you like to stay with me forever?"

"One shouldn't say forever. As long as you wish. Why not?"

"And will you be friendly to me?"

"Why not? But you can't be the master, nor I the servant. Together. I've been watching you for quite a while, you know? Knowing that you talk to your donkey and even to yourself, I said to myself: 'He's almost ready...' But I didn't want to approach you, because you kept birds imprisoned in your house. Now that you've told me that you want to save your soul, I'll stay with you as long as you wish. In the meantime, I've taken you on your word, and the first step has been taken. Good night."

"How about the rosary? Don't you say it? You talk so much about God!"

"I've already said it. My rosary is in the sky. A Hail Mary for each star."

"Ah, is that why you count them?"

"Yes, that's why. Good night."

Nazzaro went over to awaken him.

"Don Simo', the birds are calling us."

The birds, frightened by their entrance, began to screech all at the same time, and, flapping their wings furiously, flew upwards toward the ceiling.

"Oh, how many, how many there are!" exclaimed Nazzaro
compassionately, with tears in his eyes. "Poor creatures of God!"

"There were even more!" exclaimed Simone Lampo, shaking his head.

"You deserve to be hanged, Don Simo'!" the other shouted at him, showing him his fists. "I don't know whether the
atonement I've had you make will suffice! Come on, let's go! We
have to first make them all go into one room."

"That's not necessary. Look!" said Simone Lampo, grasping a bunch of small ropes that by means of an extremely complicated mechanism kept the screens flush against the openings of the large and small windows.

He hung on them and yanked downwards. At that moment all the screens came crashing down together, making a devilish racket.

"Now let's chase them out! Let's chase them out! Freedom! Freedom! Shoo! Shoo! Shoo!"

Since the birds had been cooped up in there for several months, they at first didn't know how to take wing in that sudden commotion. Dismayed, they hung suspended, fluttering their wings. It took several of the more spirited of them to hurl themselves out like so many arrows, with a screech of jubilation and fear at the same time. The others then followed suit, flocks and flocks of them having been chased out in great disorder. At first they scattered themselves as if to recover a bit from their confusion. They flew throughout the neighborhood, onto the ridges of roofs, onto small chimneys, onto windowsills, onto the railings of balconies. They stirred up a great clamor of amazement in the street below. In response, Nazzaro wept from great emotion, and together with Simone Lampo continued to shout throughout the now empty rooms:

"Shoo! Shoo! Freedom! Freedom!"

Then, they too, went to look out the windows in order to enjoy
a view of the street invaded by all those little birds set free in the early light of dawn. But already some windows were opening. A boy and a woman laughingly attempted to catch this or that little bird. Then Nazzaro, infuriated, stretched out his arms and began yelling like a madman:

"Leave them alone! Don't be rash! Oh, you rascal! Oh, you sacrilegious thief! Let them go!"

Simone Lampo tried to calm him down.

"Come on, don't worry! They won't let anyone catch them any more ..."

They returned to the upper floor, relieved and happy. Simone
Lampo went over to the little stove to light a fire and make some
coffee, but Nazzaro took hold of his arm and pulled him away vehemently.

"Coffee? Who needs coffee, Don Simo'! The fire is already lit. I
lit it last night. Come on, let's run and see the other sight over there!"

"The other sight?" asked Simone Lampo, stunned. "What sight?"

"One over here, and one over there!" said Nazzaro. "The atonement for all those birds you ate. 'Set fire to the straw,' isn't that what I told you? Let's go saddle the donkey and then you'll see."

Simone Lampo felt a flush come over his face. He was afraid he understood all too well. He took hold of Nazzaro by the arm and, shaking him, shouted:

"What have you done?"

"I burned the grain in your field," answered Nazzaro calmly.

Simone Lampo turned pale at first, then, transfigured by his rage, hurled himself at the lunatic.

"You! The grain? Murderer! Are you speaking seriously? You burned my grain?"

Nazzaro looked at him with an air of disdainful pity.

"I'll take care of that," answered Nazzaro calmly and in all seriousness. "Won't I be at your side? We have the donkey and we have the land. We'll do some hoeing and we'll eat. Take courage, Don Simo'!"

Simone Lampo was amazed to see the serene confidence of the lunatic who remained standing there in front of him, with his hand raised in a gesture of disdainful nonchalance and a smile of keen lightheartedness both in his blue eyes and on his lips which emerged from his long, thick, wadded beard.

The wedding feast, held in a hall of the ancient, solitary villa, was hardly a joyful occasion for the invited guests. Not one of them managed to overcome the embarrassment, or rather the consternation, inspired by the appearance and demeanor of that plump young man, barely twenty years of age, with the flushed face and those darting eyes — small, black, and shiny like those of a madman. The young man no longer understood anything; he neither ate nor drank, and his coloring became, from one moment to the next, more and more purplish, almost black.

It was common knowledge that when he had fallen madly in love with the girl who now sat beside him as his bride, he had begun to behave irrationally, going so far as to attempt suicide. Though he was quite wealthy, being the sole heir to the ancient Berardi estate, he had wanted to marry a girl who, after all, was merely the daughter of an infantry colonel transferred to Sicily with his regiment the year before. But the colonel, who was prejudiced against the inhabitants of the island, would have preferred not to grant his consent to this marriage, so as not to have to leave his daughter there, virtually among savages.

The consternation which the appearance and demeanor of the bridegroom inspired in the guests increased the more they noticed how different the spirit of the very young bride was from his. She was still but a child, vivacious, fresh, and carefree, and it seemed that she always shook off annoying thoughts with certain sudden bursts of sprightliness at once charming, naive, and crafty. Her craftiness, however, was like that of a cheeky youngster who as yet knows nothing of the world. A half-orphan, reared from infancy without a mother, she seemed quite clearly to be entering marriage without any preparation at all. At a certain point after dinner, everyone laughed, but then felt a chill when she turned to the bridegroom and exclaimed: