The House of Scorta (21 page)

The procession paused for a moment. Everything came to a standstill. The crowd fell silent, collecting itself, and then the march resumed to the shrill and powerful sounds of the brass section. The procession’s passing was a moment of grace. Music filled people’s souls. Elia felt part of a whole. The statue of Sant’Elia drew near, carried by eight men covered in sweat. It seemed to dance above the crowd, gently swaying like a ship on the waves, rolling to the rhythms of the men’s steps. The Montepuccians made the sign of the Cross as it passed, and, at that moment, Elia’s and don Salvatore’s eyes met. The old priest nodded at him, smiled for emphasis, then blessed him. Elia thought of the time long ago when he had stolen the medals of San Michele and the whole village had hunted for him to make him pay for his blasphemous act. He crossed himself with feeling, letting the warmth of the old priest’s smile permeate him.

When the saint’s statue was in front of the tobacco shop, Anna squeezed her father’s hand a little tighter, and Elia felt that he’d been mistaken. His daughter might be the first to leave the village, but she was a Montepuccian through and through. She belonged to this land. She had its eyes and its pride. At that moment, she whispered in his ear: “Nothing ever satisfies the Scortas.” Elia said nothing. He was surprised by her comment, and especially by the calm, decisive tone in which she’d uttered it. What did she mean? Was she trying to warn him about some family shortcoming she’d just discovered? Or to tell him that she was familiar with and shared the Scorta’s ancient hunger, the hunger that had been their strength and their curse? He thought of all this, and suddenly it occurred to him that the meaning of her statement was much simpler than that. Anna was a Scorta. She had just become one. Despite the Manuzio name that she bore. Yes, that was it. She had just chosen the Scortas. He looked at her. Her gaze was deep and beautiful. Anna, the last of the Scortas. She had chosen the name. Chosen the line of the sun-eaters. She would make their insatiable appetite her own. Nothing ever satisfies the Scortas. With their eternal desire to eat the sky and drink the stars. He wanted to say something in response, but suddenly the music resumed, drowning out the murmurs of the crowd. He said nothing. He squeezed his daughter’s hand tightly.

Maria joined them in the doorway of the shop. She too had aged, but her eyes still had that wild glimmer that had driven Elia crazy. They huddled closely together, surrounded by the crowd. A powerful feeling swept over them. The procession was right in front of them. Its powerful music exhilarated them. The whole town was there. Children with candies in their hands. Women wearing perfume. It was as though it had always been this way. They stood quite erect in front of their tobacco shop. Proudly. Not with the arrogant pride of upstarts, but proud simply because the moment felt right.

Elia crossed himself and kissed the medal of the Blessed Virgin, a gift from his mother, that he wore around his neck. His place was here. There was no doubt about it. His place was here, in front of the tobacco shop. It could not be otherwise. He thought back on that eternity of actions, prayers, and hopes, and took great comfort in it. He had been a man, he thought to himself. Just a man. And all was well. Don Salvatore was right. Mankind, under the sun of Montepuccio, was, like the olives, eternal.

the Gargano massif:
A rocky massif in the region of Apulia in southeastern Italy.

la mala vita
: (It.) Literally, “the bad life.” In modern times (written as a single word,
malavita
), it has also become synonymous with the criminal underworld.

carabinieri
: The national police force in Italy, as distinguished from, for example, the local police forces. The carabinieri are a branch of the army.

Faelucc’
: Pronounced
fie-LOOCH
. Shortened version of Raffaeluccio, diminutive of Raffaele.

the Corso
: The Corso is usually the main street in an Italian town or city, though large urban centers may have more than one Corso. Rome, for example, has several, including the Via del Corso (usually called “il corso”) and the Corso Vittorio Emanuele, two of the main arteries in the city’s center.

Ma vaffanculo!
: A common Italian obscenity, roughly the equivalent of “go fuck yourself ” (literally, “go bugger yourself ”).

pancia piena
: (It.) “full belly.”

Madonna, che pasta!
: (It.) “My, what good pasta!”

sugo
: (It.) sauce.

Spaccanapoli
: An ancient, central quarter of Naples containing many of its most famous monuments and typically narrow streets. It is named after the equally ancient street that slices through the city, splitting it, as it were, in two (
spaccare
means “to split” or “to break”).

passeggiata
: (It.) “Stroll” or “promenade.” The evening
passeggiata
, when nearly everyone in town comes out to socialize, is an age-old custom in Italian towns large and small.

State Monopolies
: Tobacco, like salt, is a government-controlled product in Italy, overseen by the Monopolio di Stato.

caciocavallo … limoncello
: Caciocavallo is a pearshaped cheese typical of Apulia and all of Southern Italy; limoncello is a lemon liqueur, also southern, usually served very chilled.

Tabaccheria Scorta Mascalzone Rivendita no. 1
: “Scorta Mascalzone Tobacconist, Store no. 1.”

È arrivato l’asino fumatore! L’asino fumatore!
: (It.) “It’s the smoking donkey! The smoking donkey!”

Muratti:
Muratti Ambassador
is a brand of Italian cigarettes, once considered “high-class.”

amore di zio
: (It.) Literally, “love of your uncle,” a term of endearment for one’s nephew.

fra
: (It.) An affectionate abbrevation of the word
fratello
, “brother.”

“
Aïe, aïe, aïe / Domani non mi importa per niente / Questa notte devi morire con me
”
: (It.) “Ah, ah, ah!/ Tomorrow means nothing to me / Tonight you must die with me.” [Footnoted in original text.]

eight million lire
: At the time this episode is occurring, this would have been worth about eight thousand dollars.

Terremoto! Terremoto!
: (It.) “Earthquake! Earthquake!”

vecchietto
: (It.) “Little old man.”

Barese
: (It.) Someone from the Apulian city of Bari.

Stephen Sartarelli is an award-winning translator and poet. His most recent volume of verse is
The Open Vault
(Spuyten Duyvil, 2001).

Sophie Hawkes is a painter and printmaker and has translated widely from the French. They live together in southwest France.