A Winter's Night (20 page)

That same night, Gaetano fell ill.

The town doctor was called only a couple of days later because everyone hoped that he would get better on his own. Young Bruni was a strapping sort who'd gotten through the worst of the war unscathed; he was capable of lifting a sack weighing a hundred kilos from the ground and hoisting it onto his shoulders without help. What could possibly bring down a man of his mettle?

Neither the doctor nor anyone else had an answer. Different cures were attempted, both those prescribed by the doctor and the ones Clerice pulled from her vast stores of wisdom. Without any success, unfortunately. Armando and Fredo took over for Gaetano in the stable, while he continued to worsen until he couldn't even get out of bed anymore. Silvana stayed at his side day and night. When he nodded off, she prayed to the Madonna to save her husband because she loved him and didn't want to lose him, and because she was pregnant and didn't want their child to be born without a father. Sometimes she couldn't bear the anguish and she'd curl up in a corner of the bedroom and burst into tears, hiding her face between the two walls. Clerice would come up with hot broth, or a brew of herbs or a special unguent to rub on his chest that she alone knew the composition of. But any small improvements turned out to be fleeting. He would come out of a swoon uttering strange expressions and once Silvana was sure she heard the name of her rival. She went straight to her mother-in-law, the matriarch and ultimate authority of the family, to ask for advice. Clerice lowered her head, looking stricken and deeply disheartened.

“That's why, then,” she whispered. “It's her. She's making him die . . . ”

“What are you saying,
mamma
?” asked Silvana.

“Nothing is more terrible than a woman's spite, daughter.”

“You can't believe in curses?”

“The Church tells us we mustn't, but I know things that no priest knows. Have you ever heard of scorned or betrayed women who lift footprints? We call it the
pedga
, I don't know how you say that in your town: it's that mass of mud which sticks to a man's shoes when he's working in the fields, in winter when the ground is damp, or even in the summer after a sudden storm. When it gets too heavy, it drops off his shoe and gets left behind on the ground, conserving the print of the foot that it dropped from.

“If a woman has evil intentions, she'll gather up the
pedga
and put it at the spot where the main branches of an oak tree join. Little by little, the wind, the rain and the sun start to crumble the lump of dirt and the man who left it begins to waste away. When there's nothing left of the lump, the man dies. Before your wedding, there were several storms, and Gaetano often went into the fields to bring home grass for the animals.”

Silvana brought her hand to her mouth and gasped: “Oh, no!” Clerice stared at her, eyes brimming, and nodded. “Isn't there anything we can do?”

“If you can find the
pedga
, you must collect it, taking great care so that it does not crumble, cook it in an oven and then hide it in a place where no one can find it. If you do, the victim of the curse will start to get better and finally regain his health completely.”

Silvana wept disconsolately with her face hidden in her hands, and Clerice looked at her son, so big and so strong, lying in bed limp as a rag. For a brief moment, she thought that she would do anything she had to do to save him. Anything. Before she could speak, Silvana broke out: “I'll find that woman, and I'll force her to talk, to tell me where she's hidden my husband's footprint, I'll torture her if I have to, rip out her nails one by one . . . ”

Clerice raised her hand to stop the delirium. “No, you won't. What if our minds are being clouded by our despair? Acting against her could be the gravest injustice of all. We know nothing, we've seen nothing; you only heard, or thought you heard, a word from the lips of a sick man who was delirious with fever. We'll pray to the Madonna: she who saw her son die can understand us.”

Gaetano died, six months after marrying, nothing but skin and bones. His brothers carried him to the cemetery and buried him next to his father. Before dying, he had told his wife what name to give the baby if it were a boy, and what name to give her if she were a girl.

Silvana gave birth to a girl who died before she was six months old, and she closed herself up in mute, brokenhearted grief. Clerice never stopped praying and appealing to the Madonna: if She hadn't been able to grant her the blessing of saving her son and the little one, could She at least give her the strength to bear such pain and to carry on, with faith and a strong will, in the certainty that one day they would all be reunited in heaven.

For several months, Silvana remained in the Bruni house, and she would often accompany her mother-in-law to the cemetery to pray on the graves of their dead. Then one day, she said: “
Mamma
, I've decided to return to my own family. You are a good woman and I love you dearly. All of you here treat me with respect, like a sister, but this is not my home any longer because I've lost my husband and my daughter.”

Clerice touched her cheek: “You're right, and I understand you, daughter. If it were up to me, I'd keep you here happily because you are the wife of my son and you gave birth to his child, but it's only right that you return to your family. If you can, make a new life for yourself. Remember, though, that whatever may happen, the doors of this house are always open to you, by day or by night, in good weather and bad. May God bless you.”

The day of her departure was decided. Floti hitched the mare to the cart and loaded it with his sister-in-law's dowry and her personal things. Silvana held Clerice tight in a long embrace and both women wept in silence. She hugged Maria and said goodbye to her brothers-in-law one by one. Floti helped her up, called out to the horse, and they were off.

Silvana never came back. Her family moved to Piedmont for work and the Brunis lost touch with them, but Clerice never forgot her; she kept the girl close in her heart and her thoughts, because Silvana had loved her son with a strong, sincere love and, had God willed it, she could have made him happy.

 

Gaetano's death, so sudden and unexpected, cast a shadow of deep sadness over the family, and the death of his little daughter seemed to be a further sign of ineluctable destiny. The good fortune of the Brunis, who had all seven escaped the scourge of the war, had evaporated all at once. The inconsolable pain which was always present in Clerice's eyes and in all of her gestures made it hard for any of the others to even think of forgetting. Savino, the youngest of them all, was the one who took it best. He was handsome and full of life; girls liked him so much he was invited to enjoy their charms even without promises of eternal love. Floti, born with a strong will and personality, tried to persevere and instill courage in the others as well and, most of all, he looked out for his mother. He took her for rides in the carriage, to visit relatives or to the market where she could buy a few little gifts. He talked to her as much as he could.

“
Mamma
, these are things that happen, sadly, in every family. You still have six sons and two daughters who love you and who want to see you smile again. You who have faith know that you'll see Gaetano again in the next world, because he was a good boy and wouldn't hurt a fly.”

“A mother can never resign herself to losing a child,” she answered. “It's a pain that won't kill you but it will never leave you. I pray every day that God will give me the strength to carry on and still be a good mother to all my children.”

As time passed, Clerice managed, at least in part, to return to her old life, to take care of the everyday chores and the housekeeping. Fredo and Dante married and her daughters-in-law recognized, through their behavior, the role of authority that was due her. It was customary, when a daughter-in-law first entered her husband's home, that she not speak at the dinner table unless her mother-in-law invited her to do so, but Clerice wanted the two girls to feel at ease and asked them to join in the conversation from the start. She treated them with affection, but in her heart Silvana remained her favorite, perhaps because she'd lost her, perhaps because she'd watched her care for her son with such loving devotion.

Before a year and a half was up, both girls gave birth. Clerice called a midwife, even if that meant spending money, because she didn't want to embarrass them by assisting them herself. One had a girl, the other a boy and life seemed to smile on the Brunis again.

Until one day an event occurred that was destined to radically change the life of the whole family.

The season of the grape harvest had just begun when the mailman came by with a registered letter addressed to: ‘Esteemed Mrs. Clerice Bruni, née Ori.' The addressee was quite flustered at receiving such a missive, which brought to mind state offices and incomprehensible language. She immediately called Floti, who she knew was capable of handling such a situation. He signed for the letter, since any member of her family could do so, and opened the envelope. The mailman had, in the meantime, mounted his bicycle and was loudly ringing the bell to warn carters and cyclists that he was on the road again.

Floti's expression changed considerably as he read the letter.

“Bad news?” asked Clerice, expecting nothing less.

“On the contrary,
mamma
. Let's go in, it's cold out here.”

“Well?” asked Clerice again as she shut the door behind her.

Floti sat down and laid the letter on the table: “Mother, you've come in to an inheritance.”

“What?!”

“That's what it says here. This letter comes from a notary in Genova who is summoning you to his office so he can read you the will of one of your relatives. It seems that this person has made you his universal heir.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means he's left you everything he had.”

“How much is that?” asked Clerice.

“It doesn't say in the letter, and that's why they sent it to you. You'll find out when you're before the notary. He'll read the will in the presence of two witnesses, so no one can dispute what's written there.”

“So I have to go to Genova?”

“I would say so.”

Clerice, who was still on her feet, sat down and fell silent as she thought about what Floti had just said, her elbows planted firmly on the table.

“How far is Genova?”

“
Mamma
, it's not like you have to walk there. You get on the train and you go. At every stop, the stationmaster calls out the name of the place. When you hear: ‘Genova! Genova Station!' you get out, otherwise the train will take you someplace else and it won't stop until it gets to the next station.”

“I have to think about it,” she said, after having thought about it for quite some time.

“Mamma, there's nothing to think about! We're talking about an inheritance; this could be a very important opportunity for our family. Try to remember which relatives of yours might have been living around Genova. There must be some way we can figure it out. Your parents, or your grandparents, must have mentioned them to you. Someone who set off to seek their fortune . . . ”

Clerice was looking more and more confused. She said again: “I have to think about it, and then we'll talk.”

“Take your time,” said Floti curtly, “but keep in mind that if no one shows up to claim an inheritance, after a certain time, the government will take the money and the land.”

For several days, neither Floti nor his mother mentioned it again, and neither of them spoke with a living soul about it, not even with the family. It was Clerice who broke the silence. She stopped Floti while he was leaving with a cartload of milk cans to take to the dairy.

“I've thought about that letter, Floti, and I have decided that it's best to talk to the whole family about it. Tonight.”

“The best thing, mother? I'm not so sure. What if one of us talks to someone in town about it? Armando, for instance: have you seen him lately? I haven't. But I bet that if I wander over to the
osteria
, I'll find him shooting the breeze with the loafers there.”

“He's still your brother,” replied Clerice, “even if he is more frail than you are. He has a good heart and he wouldn't hurt a fly. Tonight, Floti, after dinner. All of you must be there.”

Floti left the house and headed towards the dairy. The fact that his mother hadn't trusted his judgment, despite the fact that he knew more than his brothers did, annoyed him, and so did having to take orders from an old woman who had never left town her whole life long. But she was his mother and he had to respect her wishes.

That evening they all gathered around the table, even Maria.

Clerice waited until everyone had finished dinner before she began talking. They'd been chatting about the weather, the stable, about Lola who'd just had a calf three days before, about when they'd have to start pruning the grapevines, about Checco who had plans to marry in the fall and needed to organize his wedding.

At about nine o'clock, Clerice spoke up. “Something has come up,” she began, “and I want all of you to listen to me carefully. I received a letter five days ago. Only Floti knows about it, because he was there when it arrived and he helped me to understand what it said.”

“A letter?” demanded Fredo. “What letter?”

They all stopped to listen, even Armando who had been telling Savino the last joke he'd heard at the
osteria
. It wasn't often that a letter arrived.

“Good news or bad news?” asked Checco.

“More good than bad, certainly,” replied Clerice, “but things are not so simple. You tell them, Floti, you can explain better.”

Floti, thus invested with the duty that in effect put him in the role of their dead father as the family patriarch, although he was not the eldest, spoke up. “It's a letter that a notary wrote to mother,” he told them, “saying that a relative of hers has died and left everything to her in inheritance.”