In the sea that the Romans proudly called "Mare Nostrum," apart from several small islands, there are three really wide major ones. One island approximately has the shape of a triangle, the second of a rectangle, and the third of a tear.
The island with a rectangular shape is large more or less one hundred kilometres wide two hundred long. It rises from a deep blue sea and is covered with mountains and trees. But the mountains are very different from what you're used to seeing - they are not massive, but they make you think more of high mounds of huge rocks piled in disorder.
The legends say that these rocks were the deposit of ammunitions used by the Giants during the last war they fought against the Gods, just before the end of the mythical "Golden Age."
Even the island's trees are different from normal trees that can be seen in other lands. They are big, powerful, but twisted and bent into dramatic form. The legends tell that they are the images of the souls of the defeated and dying Giants, tortured by the gods after their last battle.
Some people claim that when the wind blows between those trees, the howling you can hear in the woods is nothing but the wailing sound of the eternally tormented souls.
On this large island there are several small cities, towns and villages where lives a people rough and tough like the island itself. They are an ancient people, proud and beautiful, who speak several languages that only those born on the island can understand. These people also have old and beautiful traditions to which they are very attached. They are a strong and proud people, not alien from a manly pride; a determined people; even stubborn in the opinion of some.
But just like on the hard rocks of the mountains, in the folds and crevices you can find lovely flowers full of fragrance and cloaked with soft and pleasant colours. In the same way within the folds of the heart and soul of this proud people you can find corners filled with sweetness and tenderness. These corners are well hidden, but are there.
Our story begins in the year of Lord 1872, in the village of Arbatax, which stands almost on the seashore.
This village consists of a small group of houses built on a slope that ends in a emerald sea . The houses are arranged along the main street. On top, nestled in the rocks and white like a rare gem on the edge of a dark open shell, and separated from the village by a dense forest, there is the sanctuary of Sant'Efisio.
Along the main street stands an old building that is called "Domus Dore" that is Dore House. It is an old and decadent house, which however retains a certain aspect of power and authority that does emerge from the other small and poor houses of the village and in which eight people lived. The inhabitants of Arbatax have always considered the Dore family as the oldest and noblest of the land. The Dore family members resemble the house in which they live - they too are decadent but proud.
This story begins on a Saturday evening, the eve of the feast of Sant'Efisio, the patron saint of the shepherds of Arbatax, who consist of the majority of the villagers. Anyone who approached the village could hear in the distance a confused noise, made of fireworks' pops and crackles and celebrating children's voices.
But in the main street of the village at that time, you could hear only the voice of Don Antonio Dore.
The man had blacks eyes; his hair was white as snow, and he had a short white goatee, triangular in shape and well cared for. The man was wearing the traditional dress, used by all the members of Dore family - he wore black boots that reached below the knee, from which emerged large white breeches; then a white shirt with a collar of lace, and around the waist he had, rolled up tight, a high sash of red silk; on the shirt he wore a short black wool vest open at the front. On his head he wore the tall, black, conic hat made of felt and folded on one side, which hung on the right side of his face.
"Be that as it is, the little boy one day disappeared," the old gentleman said, pulling a puff of smoke from his old clay pipe, turning to another old man who sat by his side, in front of the house.
"How did he disappear?" asked "Ziu" Santo Baule, the father- in-law of Don Antonio's eldest son.
"He disappeared. Overnight. Who has seen him? Where did the boy go? Nobody knows. Some say that his father killed him..."
"His father? Mother of God! How is it possible?" asked Ziu Santo with a surprised look.
"Bah... just because by now there is no more fear of God they dare say so. When we were young nobody would even dare to think such a thing. Not even to imagine that a father could kill the blood of his blood."
"Yes, it is as you say - there is no fear of God, that's true," Ziu Santo nodded.
"But I do not believe it. The little boy is gone, the son of the shepherd Primus was really a bad lot, I must admit. Think that at age thirteen he behaved..." said Don Antonio, then leaned toward the son's father-in-law and said in a low voice: "... like a prostitute..." and again in a normal voice, he continued: "Primus could no longer bear that. So he took his whip and struck a sound thrashing to his son. And so the boy ran away. And now he will be somewhere in the world living the life of a tramp, in my opinion... even if people whisper and murmur that awful thing. "
Ziu Santo Baule, who was called "ziu" that is uncle out of respect, and not being of noble family he could not be called "Don," lived in the house of the Dore family. He looked like Don Antonio, was as tall as the Don, and was the same age. He had the same white hair but no goatee, and also had the same voice and same way of speaking. But he wore black trousers and his boots were low, and the sash was black. Moreover his face betrayed his plebeian origins, of a former worker, and there was something not very fine, almost vulgar, in him.
"What do you mean by saying that the guy was acting like a prostitute?" Ziu Santo asked lowering his voice.
"The boy... you understand... it seems that... he had intimate relationships with men... sex, you know..." Don Antonio whispered, leaning toward the other man.
Ziu Santo shook his head, then he looked up at the end of the street where a woman dressed all in black was moving forward her long skirt almost brushing on the walls of the old gray and blackened houses.
"It seems... they say... and what's so odd? How many kids, before they can do it properly... do it with each other..." objected Ziu Santo looking back to Don Antonio.
"Having fun between kids, it's known, it's something that happens often. But doing it with men... well, it's not the same thing. And even worse, doing it with strangers!"
"Ah, my dear Don Antonio, but even if it were so, aren't the men who take advantage of a little boy in heat to blame?"
"You always excuse everything and everyone, Ziu Santo," said Don Antonio, shaking his head as if to disapprove, but smiling.
"And, for the Holy Son of God," Ziu Santo countered, "why do they always think ill of others?"
Don Antonio, returning to make a serious and severe expression, murmured: "We live in bad times. There is no fear of God and by now it seems that anything goes. Young people no longer believe in God, do not go to church, do not respect anything: this is the problem. And unfortunately we're old, and we are weak, the energy has left us. And everything is going from bad to worse. "
"Well, maybe it is as you say..." Ziu Santo sighed and began to beat with a hand on his thigh, rhythmically, frowning, and said nothing more.
Don Antonio looked at him for a while, studying him in silence. Then he said: "We are going to see incredible things, if god still preserves in us a bit of life. Incredible or better to say ugly, my dear Santo Baule. Yes, ugly."
Both thought the same thing or, rather, the same people.
Meanwhile the middle-aged woman dressed all in black and with a long triangular shawl on her head, with one hand clutched to her chest, had walked the street and came next to two old men.
"Have you seen Renzino, by any chance?" she asked in a gentle tone.
"He should be with Damianu, there in the yard," Ziu Santo said to his daughter.
"Holy Virgin, how hot it is the day. While I was on the sanctuary for the sacred function, I thought I would faint," said the tall, slender woman with black eyes and whose gray hair peeked from under her shawl. She was about to enter the house but stopped, turned toward the two men and asked: "Ettore has not returned yet, right? If he is not at home at this time, he will not come back tonight. I'm going to prepare dinner."
"What are you going to prepare for dinner, Martina?" asked Don Antonio.
"We still have some trout. Fortunately we do not have guests tonight."
"We can still get someone," Ziu Santo said softly, "This home is no longer as rich as before, but it is still convenient to stop here for dinner, for those who do not want to spend."
"There are still trout! I forgot!" Don Antonio said cheerfully. "And if a guest arrives, there is even enough for them, right? Ah, the good old days when for the holidays the house was full of guests! We even had ten, twelve others, some days. But people today have forgotten the holidays and do not honour any more the Holy Virgin or the saints. "
"People today have less and less money, my dear Don Antonio, and have learned to live without parties." Donna Martina said and entered the house.
In the darkened room, as she took off the large shawl from her head and folded it carefully, a plaintive and spiteful voice rose.
"Martina, you're here finally! You could at least light a lamp, before going to church, couldn't you? Everyone here leaves me alone and in the dark, as if I were already dead."
"Auntie, it is not yet night, and without the lamp it was cooler," she answered in a gentle tone, "But now I'll turn on a lamp."
Martina lit a candle and placed it on the large table in the centre of the room. The room was wide, the coffered ceiling low, and with the flickering yellow light of the lamp seemed more sad than before. The house was old and decayed even inside, but the furniture, even if a bit shabby, retained something of its ancient nobility, just like the inhabitants of the house.
On a bed across the room sat an old woman who was breathing with difficulty.
"And who's cool in here?" she resumed to complain, "Where can you feel the cool? Damianu, son of the devil, you may give me a little water, no?"
Donna Martina crossed the corridor, then the kitchen and looked out the door onto the courtyard. The kitchen was also larger than the hall and darker with smoke.
"Damianu, come on in, it's late. And bring a bit of water to Aunt Tana."
The boy came in, took the jug of water and poured half a glass.
"Damianu, silly idiot, you bring me this water or not?" groaned the old woman again.
The boy entered the room, approached the bed and handed the cup to the old woman. While Aunt Tana drank noisily, the servant looked at her. No two human beings could be more dissimilar.
Damianu was slender and with a small build, and seemed still a teenager. His mouth was somewhat large and he had almost perfect teeth, of an amazing white colour; his blue eyes were sweet and sad, but were those of a mature person. The smile of a teenager and adult look were always on the face of the servant, who kept his head bent slightly back. It was more as if his abundant mop of short black hair weighed on the head than in an attitude of defiance or pride. He was graceful and looked even younger than he really was; only his hands and his skin betrayed his true age.
Instead, the thick and heavy body, stocky but not fat, of the old woman was marked by pain, like her face. "I was born only to suffer," she often said. It seemed that everything bothered her and that she lived just to annoy everyone. The old woman - like the water pump, which at every movement of the lever first draws water then pours it - seemed to draw pain and then pour it over the others.
Damianu returned with a nimble and quiet pace into the kitchen and put the glass near the carafe of water. Then went out again into the courtyard to light a fire under the stoves that were next to the oven, under the canopy. When it got too hot, they cooked outdoors so not to smoke and overheat the house, and the canopy of the furnace was turned into the kitchen. In that family it was Damianu, more than Donna Martina, who had always cared to cook. He was an excellent cook.
The full moon seemed to hang on the bottom of the still pale sky, and lit up the long, narrow courtyard. From afar were still coming the sounds of fireworks and voices, brought there by gusts of a slight breeze. A boy of seven years, with a too large head and a few blond hairs, went through the gate that led from the end of the courtyard to the vegetable garden.
"Damianu, Damianu, come! From back here you can see well the fires!" he cried with his shrill and excited voice.
"No, Renzino, it's time you come back inside, instead. It's late, and anyway you can see the fireworks as well from here."
In fact traces of some fireworks crossed the pale sky and seemed almost as though attempting to reach the moon before opening up into a flower of coloured light.
"They fall near here? They fall in the forest?" Renzino asked in a worried tone.
"No, they fall much farther, farther away for sure," replied the servant.
"Farther, how much? And where? Maybe some fall even on my dad? They can harm him?"
"Let's hope not," Damianu replied, "Do you think he will come back tonight, Renzino?"
"I think so. And you, Dami?" the boy asked with a smile full of hope.
"I do not know," the boy said in a sad tone, and then he repented of having told this to the child. "Your father comes home when he wants."
"He is the master, right? He is so strong, he commands everybody, right?" Renzino asked and the tone of his voice did not allow a 'no' for an answer. "He can do whatever he wants. He can also be a villain if he wants, right? No one can touch him, no one can punish him, right?"
"Exactly, exactly..." admitted the boy, gravely.
Both were silent, while Damianu looked after the fire.
"Dami!" Renzino suddenly yelled, "Here, he is coming! You hear his horse?"
The boy shook his head. No it was not the pace of the horse of Ettore Dore, of the master. He could perfectly recognize the pace of the horse when it walked up the street after a long and tiring day. However, the horse stopped at the gate of the courtyard.
"I fear that we will have a guest tonight. Let's hope he is both the first and the last to come," Damianu whispered somewhat annoyed.
But Donna Martina came out onto the courtyard, exclaiming cheerfully: "I knew it, I, I said it! We have a guest tonight."
"But what a good news!" Damianu muttered between his teeth.
"Open the gate, Damianu. Ah, it would not have been really a party tonight without even a guest at our table!"
A man came down from his horse and saluted the old people still sitting in front of the house: "I find you well, God bless you!"
"More than well," said Don Antonio, and added, chuckling, "Do you not see that we still are two young boys?"
"And Ettore? Where is Ettore?" the man asked.
"Ettore may be back tomorrow. He had to go to Nuoro on family business."
"And Donna Martina, how is she? Oh, there you are, Damianu!" said the visitor entering the courtyard, and dragging the horse by the bridle. "Are you waiting to find a wife, Damianu? Where do I tie the horse, below the canopy?"
"No, Donna Martina and I have to cook, below the canopy."
"Ah, Damianu, a man who cooks! It is not men's work, this!" the man said with mild sarcasm.
"It is servant's work, replied the boy seriously.
"Damianu, tie the horse to that tree, as there is no place in the stable. There's too much stuff," said Donna Martina coming back in the yard to welcome the guest. "You are at home, come. What a pleasure to see you," the woman said to the newcomer.
Damianu took the horse and went to tie it to the corner where there was a tool shed, in front of the fence that hid it. He smiled at the lie of the mistress.
"Yeah," he thought, "the party is not a party without guests, but meanwhile the roof of the stable collapsed and there is no money to fix it... and Donna Martina is ashamed to show it."
"Your sisters and your mother are they all well?" Martina asked the man leading him into the house.
"Yes, thank you, are all well and are all nice and fresh as roses in May," replied the man following her. "And you, rather, how are you?"
In the room the old asthmatic woman looked toward the man who was entering. They approached the bed.
"And you, Donna Tana, how are you, eh?" asked the man.
"Ah, you're Marcus Laconi. Now I recognize you. There is so little light in here!" replied the woman fondling the lace collar on her skinny chest "But tell me, are your sisters already married?"
"No, not yet..." replied the man annoyed by the question that he knew had been done with malice.
The two old men entered the room, directly from the door to the street, dragging their chairs and sat at the table where they invited the guest to sit as well. Shortly after Donna Martina with Renzino arrived.
"This is the son of Ettore, isn't he?" asked the man watching the child. "He is his only son, I think... Ettore does not think of marrying again?"
"No, no," Donna Martina replied with a sad smile, "For the moment it looks like he does not think to take a wife. Yes this is his only son. Oh, here Damianu. Help yourself, Marcus, make yourself at home. Do you like trout? Take this one... "
While they were at the table there was a knock at the door to the street.
"My Dad! My Dad!" Renzino cried excitedly.
"No, your Dad will not knock at his house, right?" Marcus said, laughing.
A tall, thin man, dressed modestly was talking to Damianu on the doorstep: "I come from Orzulei and my name is Pilimu Salis. Pietro Cossu, who is a great friend of Don Antonio, sent me to give him this letter."
Damianu ushered the guest and went to tell Don Antonio. The noble old man took the letter and invited the newcomer to stop at their table, but the man thanked him and preferred to stay in the kitchen with the servant.
He was young but had to be very poor. He had sad big eyes, but very alert. Damianu felt his anger fall - after all, as the Dore played the great lords with who did not need their food, with a scrounger like that Laconi, it was only fair that they gave food to the poor also.
"Sit here, take this trout," he said offering him part of his food, "Now I'll give you also a glass of wine."
"May the Lord reward you, my boy. Are you the servant?"
"Eh, yes."
"But you're not of these parts, you speak differently. Where do you come from?"
"Somewhere in the world."
He poured himself another glass of wine: "You have a girlfriend, don't you?" he asked cheerfully.
"Not at all. I am not interested in girls! I have no time for girls, not me!" Damianu replied somewhat dryly.
"Oh no? So then... maybe... you would like to have some fun with me," said the man, grinning and winking at him.
Damianu looked at him wryly - he didn't like the joke. Then he went to serve the masters at the table.
"When we were younger, Ettore came to visit me at my village," Marcus was telling , "and we went together on horseback, secretly from my family, to a festival near my village. My God, how much fun we had! When you are a teenager you are somewhat thwarted. We had squandered all the money we had in our pockets... but we just had a lot of fun. "
Ziu Santo said. "Ettore is a good man, as good as the sacramental wine, although he has always been a guy a little too cheerful and enjoyed life in his own way."
"As long as one is young, he has to enjoy life!" the guest laughed loudly.
Damianu came and went with the dishes. When he returned to the kitchen, he saw that Matteo was entering there.
"Hi Damianu, hello stranger!" said the young man as happy as a child, "Would you give me something to eat? I'm late as I watched the fireworks - this year they were really beautiful, it seemed they rained rays of sunshine!"
Damianu put a plate in front of him and left the kitchen in a bad mood.
"What a grouchy guy, that servant," said the stranger to Matteo, studying him.
Matteo, starting to eat with a good appetite, glanced at the guest and said: "Damianu and I are more than servants, we are family."
"But the sick old woman, there, is the wife of Don Antonio?"
"No, no, Donna Tana is a distant relative. A rich woman, but mean as a Genoese. She holds on to her money when she could make a good life. And she makes the family keep her, so taking away from them the little they have. She says that she was a lady in waiting to the queen, up there in Turin. Well, it could be. She says that when she dies she will leave everything to Renzino, the son of Don Ettore. But she, first, will make all of us die..."
In that moment, the sound of the pace of a horse on the pavement of the street came from outside.
Damianu came in a rush in the kitchen. "Matteo, this is Don Ettore! He's back!" he said excitedly, then went out almost running into the yard to open the gate.
A few minutes later a young man, tall and slender and dressed completely in black, entered the kitchen. Matteo got up from the table. The young man nodded his greeting to the guest.
"Matteo, let my horse rest for a while, and when you have finished eating, take it to the blacksmith. Tomorrow morning, then, take it out to pasture," he said and took off his spurs that hung on a nail in the vestibule.
The guest who was in the kitchen looked curiously at the newcomer - he noted that he looked very much like Matteo, they had the same skin colour, the same big eyes and sweet expression, the same fold of the lips. But Don Ettore was taller than the servant, and unlike him, he looked grave and worried, while Matteo seemed carefree and happy.
The young master went into the room where Marcus Laconi received him with joy. Don Ettore seemed glad to see his old amusement mate. But Donna Martina and the two old men at once realized that the young man did not bear good news.
In the kitchen, when Matteo went out to take care of the master's horse, while Damianu was washing the dishes, the poor host asked him:
"But then it is true that Matteo is the illegitimate son of Don Antioco, the father of Don Ettore."
"What are you saying!" Damianu grumpily replied, looking sullen.
"Come on! They are two drops of water. And it is known that Don Antioco liked to ride... the girls of the local surroundings."
"Do not you ever dare speak ill of the dead, because they can no longer defend themselves," Damianu said dryly.
He finished the dishes, then went out on the vestibule and sat on the step, looking very thoughtful towards the mountain.
After dinner Matteo invited the guests poor to go out with him and accompany him as he led his master's horse to the blacksmith. Even Don Ettore went out with his friend Marcus. Donna Martina went to bed with Renzino. The two grandfathers went back into the street to chat some more. Damianu then returned and finished the dishes. Then he came into the hall and made his bed on the floor beside the bed of Donna Tana, who was already snoring lightly.
Then he went into the kitchen to prepare two pallets for Matteo and the poor guest. Marcus Laconi would sleep in one of the rooms upstairs, with the masters. He heard the two grandparents climb the stairs and go to bed.
Damianu did not want to sleep, so went out to the courtyard through the vestibule. He leaned against the tree in front of the canopy, and watched the moon that seemed to smile craftily in the sky. The night was quiet and warm but Damianu was tense and worried.