A Winter's Night (26 page)

Floti heard their verdict when he returned home for dinner. Dante spoke on behalf of the others: “It's too much money and we'll have to make too many sacrifices to pay the installments. And what if something goes wrong? The toil of a farmer is at the mercy of the weather. What if a hailstorm comes up and destroys the whole harvest? Or if the season is too damp and the wheat and hemp get moldy before we can pick them? I say, let's go on as we have been. After all, we've always had what we needed.”

Floti made a last ditch effort: “But can't you see that if we don't buy the land someone else will? And it might be someone even worse than Barzini who, if nothing else, at least left us alone. When the land is sold, we'll be sold with it, in a certain sense, and you know that. If we buy it we'll own ourselves and our destiny.”

Nothing doing. The true reason for their refusal was another; each of them, some more than others, thought that in reality nothing would change for them: they'd still be slogging away in the fields, milking the cows, emptying out the stable, hoeing and shoveling, spreading manure, beating hemp in the heat of summer, pruning the vines with freezing hands in the winter. While Floti couldn't do any of all that, poor thing, he had a piece of shrapnel in his lung. And so he had to go to the market, eat at the
osteria
with the brokers and the dealers, wheel around in a carriage, dress in a suit, shirt and tie because he had to make a good impression, especially when you go to the bank to deposit your money. He would have become the real boss, he would have decided the family interests, and this didn't suit them in the slightest, not them and not their wives, for whom every occasion was good to fan the flames.

When he learned about what had happened, Fonso, who had studied in books, said that this sorry state of affairs was exactly what had happened in the fable told by Menenius Agrippa, but no one paid any attention because no one had ever heard mention of any
Meno Grippa
.

Word got out in town because Armando couldn't keep piss to himself, let alone a secret. Many attributed the family's failure to buy the land to the envy Floti's brothers felt towards him and the influence that their wives had on those boys. But Dante and the others weren't all wrong. A debt of that size and an investment so important could certainly scare people who were used to conducting a life that was harsh but predictable, always the same, a life where the only surprises came from nature.

Whoever was right or whoever was wrong, the truth was that this was the last opportunity that fate offered the Brunis to deliver themselves from a state of eternal subservience and prepare a different future for themselves and their children. Now it was just a question of time: the time that it would take for the Barzinis to find a buyer. Then the Brunis would, of necessity, have to make a decision.

Floti had got it in his head that he didn't want Fonso to court his sister Maria. He had nothing against the man personally, on the contrary, he was a serious lad who didn't mind hard work and enjoyed a good reputation in town.

It was a gut feeling. He felt that Fonso wasn't suited to Maria, ugly as he was, with that big, prominent jaw of his. And half deaf to boot. He knew that he and his sister had already been talking, and that talk might already have gone pretty far. He needed to break things up now if he didn't want to find Fonso in the house one day asking for Maria's hand in marriage.

 

As for Fonso, he knew that he needed to offer his fiancée and her brothers some assurances, and that meant a steady job, something that was not easy to find in that day and age. It was simply a question of supply exceeding demand; physical labor just wasn't worth much. But that didn't frighten Fonso: the important thing was getting an in and then showing the boss just what you could do.

An employment exchange existed, but the bosses preferred the do-it-yourself approach, which involved a visit to the “wall.” This was a brick parapet that overlooked the now dry medieval moat which surrounded the town. Four artificial mounds marked its four corners. All of the laborers looking for work would gather there in the morning and lean against or sit on the wall, chatting with the others and waiting for someone to come along and hire them for a day or two or, if they were lucky, for the entire season. Fonso didn't go too often because if he wasn't already working someplace, he preferred to help someone who needed it, free of charge, rather than loiter around with the others. Even if he worked for free, there was some recompense at the end of the day: a flask of wine, a piece of loin, a slice of lard to make a tasty
soffritto
for pasta, or some chicken feet, neck, wings and innards for broth.

One morning, as he was passing by the wall, a couple of friends who were there looking for work stopped him and just at that moment, the steward of the Baccoli estate showed up. Baccoli was a lawyer in Bologna, and he owned vast tracts of farmland just outside town. He pointed his finger at six of the men, one after another: “ . . . you, you, you and you go to over the farm on Via Emilia, there are ten furlongs of stubble to be turned over so we can sow the alfalfa.” Those who'd been called upon got onto their bicycles and rode off in a group towards their destination. At that same instant, the overseer noticed Fonso's sturdy build and added: “And you go with them!”

Fonso thanked him and jumped on his own bicycle, pedaling hard to catch up with the others, who had a few minutes' head start. Given his experience, he already had an idea of why they had been recruited. To prepare a stubble field for planting alfalfa, it wasn't necessary to dig up ten furlongs of soil: a couple of oxen with a plow and then a final go with the harrow would accomplish the task much quicker and much better. This was certainly a test of strength, and Fonso knew very well what it entailed: the diggers would be lined up at the starting line and each would have to dig as fast as he could under the careful eye of the steward, who would be checking from behind whether anyone was cheating by not digging the shovel in deep enough so as to make quicker progress. In the evening, the slowest would be eliminated.

And that's just how it went. By dusk, Fonso was a length beyond the rest; the second guy was at least twenty meters behind him. It was a ruthless test, but everyone accepted it: it was right that the best man win. But in many cases, the problem was that some of them were undernourished and didn't have enough energy to sustain such backbreaking work. They had all figured that there was something important being tested here and had participated with all the strength and stamina they could summon up. The weakest of all proved to be a fifty-year-old farmhand named Mario. He collapsed twice that first day, pale and sweat-soaked, and when he got to the end, he had tears in his eyes, knowing that he would never be able to win the job.

He was, in fact, let go the next day. Another was sent home the day after, a third the next day, two on the fourth day and another on the fifth. On the sixth day, Fonso was the only one left.

‘We need a foreman,' the steward told him, ‘and you're it. We're hiring you at a fixed salary, you'll be paid by the week. If the landowner likes you, you'll even get a bonus at Christ­mas.'

Fonso thanked him, hiding his satisfaction but, once he was out on the road, he started singing his
stornelli
at the top of his lungs, because he'd finally had a stroke of good luck! If his friends hadn't stopped him in front of the wall exactly at the moment that Baccoli's steward showed up, no one would have noticed him and he certainly wouldn't have been called upon to dig up the land on Via Emilia. Now he was a man with a sure salary and a steady job that could last him his whole lifetime. Now he could maintain a family and he could ask for Maria's hand in marriage, knowing that he'd be able to offer her a decent life.

Should he talk to Floti first, or Clerice? He thought it would be best to start from the toughest. If her brother said yes, the others would certainly fall in. But you could see from a mile away that Floti wasn't thrilled about the situation; he was jealous of his sister, somehow. Clerice, on the other hand, was very fond of him and would almost certainly accept his proposal without opposition. He decided to wait a couple of days, plucking up his courage and waiting until the news got out in town that he had become the foreman of a big estate, a stable job with a fixed salary, ready cash at the end of the week.

It was a Thursday evening in late April when he walked into the Bruni courtyard and asked if Floti was there so he could have a word with him.

“He's in the shed,” replied Fredo, “unhitching the mare from the carriage.”

Fonso went in that direction and met up with Floti as he was coming out of the shed.

“Nice evening, isn't it, Floti?” he said.

“It's a fine evening indeed, Fonso. What brings you here at this time of day?”

“I'd like to talk with you.”

“I'm listening,” said Floti.

“It's about Maria.”

“Maria's not here.”

“She's not here? Has she gone to do the shopping?”

“No, she's gone to Florence and she'll be there a long time.”

“Florence? Without saying a word?”

“You know I have a married sister in Florence. She's not well just now and needs company. We thought that it would do Maria well to have a change of air, to stay in the city for a while. In Florence, everyone speaks Italian, so she can learn some there; it may come in handy.”

Fonso lowered his head and frowned: “‘Far from your eyes, far from your heart.' Is that what you're aiming for, Floti?”

Floti sighed, “It's no use playing games here, Fonso. It's true, that's one of the reasons I sent her to Florence. It's not that I have anything against you, you know. You're a good, honest man, a hard worker. I know what you're thinking: that when I was in prison you were always here helping in the fields, beating hemp at midday when the heat and the strain are enough to kill you, pulling the water-soaked hemp out of the pond when it's slippery and heavy as lead. See? I haven't forgotten and I'm no ingrate; I'll find a way to make good on my debt. You don't have any vices, Fonso, but I don't think you're the right man for Maria, and there's no way I'll let you marry into this family. Women don't understand a thing when they're in love, but then . . . if someone had pointed certain things out to them while they were in time . . . ”

Fonso held up his hand: “Stop, Floti. That's enough. I don't understand, although I already knew you felt this way about me. You lost your own wife: she was beautiful and you were in love, just like me and your sister. It's not our fault! We love each other and we want to marry, to have a family. It's true, she's much more beautiful than I am handsome, but what does it matter? And now I'm a person with a steady job and a pretty good salary that will come in regularly. You're making a mistake here. Who says that she'd be happier with another man? You could ruin her life by giving her to someone that you like but that she doesn't. We'll be happy together. Why do you want to separate us?”

Floti scowled: “That's my business, Fonso, don't get mixed up in it. Maria's in Florence now and we'll see how that goes. As they say, ‘if they're roses, they'll bloom, if they're thorns, they'll prick you.' Time will tell. But I'm against you marrying her and there's nothing I can do about that.”

Fonso could not resign himself: “You're taking on a big responsibility, here, Floti, and I'm surprised at you. You, who have suffered the death of the woman you loved and were put into prison, an innocent man. You know what it means to be unhappy, to suffer. Why take it out on us? What have we done to you?”

“Nothing,” said Floti. “That's it and there's no changing it.”

Fonso wanted to insist, but he understood it was useless. There was nothing more to be said. His voice was trembling and he didn't want to break down in front of Floti. He left with tears in his eyes.

He walked his bicycle out to the street and started towards home, his heart swelling, as it began to get dark. After just a few dozen meters, he heard a whispered voice calling out to him: “Fonso, Fonso . . . ”

“Who's there?” he asked.

“It's me, Maria,” replied a voice on the other side of the hedge.

“Maria? But then you haven't gone to Florence!”

“Come over to this side, here, there's a hole in the hedge.”

Fonso leaned his bicycle on the side of the ditch and leapt over to the other side.

“Where are you? I can't see you!”

“I'm up here on the elm tree. I was picking leaves for the cows and I saw you. Wait, I'm coming down.”

“No, don't move. I'll come up, that way no one can see us.”

He pulled himself up swiftly along the enormous trunk and found her in the middle of the foliage. He embraced her. “What is this? Ten minutes ago your brother told me you were in Florence.”

“Well, it's not far from the truth. I'm leaving tomorrow. He's taking me to the station in Bologna and from there I'll take a train to Florence. He told you I'd already left because he didn't want us to say goodbye. He's worried I'll change my mind.”

“Can't you change your mind? You know he doesn't want us to get married, don't you?”

Maria lowered her eyes. “I know. And he thinks that if I go to Florence I'll forget you. Listen to what I'm saying, Fonso: I can't disobey my brother, because he's the head of the family and he loves me. He thinks he's right in doing this, he doesn't realize what a mistake it is, but if you wait for me, I'll be back, sooner or later, and we'll get married because I will never forget you. Whatever happens, I will never forget you, do you understand?”

“But maybe, if your mother . . . ”

“No, it won't work, believe me. There are already enough reasons to quarrel in my family, it's terrible and I can't bear it any longer. I don't want to add to them. I hope I'll be back for Christmas, and all the time I'll spend in Florence will be like hell and purgatory put together.”