‘I’m delighted, because they’re God-fearing people.’ And padron Cipolla shrugged his shoulders when he went down the strada del Nero, past the house of those Malavoglias, who now wanted to launch themselves as shopkeepers.

Trade was going well because the eggs were always fresh, so that now that ’Ntoni hung around the wine shop, Santuzza sent to Maruzza for olives, when there were good drinkers who weren’t thirsty. Thus penny by penny they paid mastro Turi Zuppiddo, and had the Provvidenza patched up once again, so that now she really did look like an old shoe; but at the same time they put the odd lira aside. They had purchased a good stock of barrels, and the salt for the anchovies, if St. Francis were to send good luck, the new sail for the Provvidenza, and they had put a bit of money aside in the chest of drawers.

‘We’re like ants,’ said padron ’Ntoni; and he counted the money every day, and then went to amble past the medlar tree, with his hands behind his back. The door was closed, the sparrows were twittering on the roof, and the vine swayed gently in the window. The old man climbed on to the wall of the vegetable garden, where they had sowed onions which were like a sea of white plumes, and then he would run after zio Crocifisso, saying a hundred times:

‘You know, zio Crocifisso, if we manage to get that money together for the house, you must sell it to us, because it has always belonged to the Malavoglia’.

“Home is home, though it be never so homely,’ and I want to die where I was born. ‘Happy is the man who dies in his own bed.” Zio Crocifisso said yes grudgingly, so as not to compromise himself; and he had a new tile put on the roof, or a trowel-full of lime on the courtyard wall, so that the price would rise. Zio Crocifisso would reassure him, telling him not to worry.

‘The house won’t run away. All you need to do is keep your eye on it. Everyone keeps their eyes on things that matter to them.’ And once he added:

‘Aren’t you going to marry off your Mena now?’

‘I’ll marry her off when God wills,’ replied padron ’Ntoni; ‘if it were up to me I’d marry her off to-morrow.’

‘If I were you I’d give her to Alfio Mosca, he’s a good boy, honest and hard-working; and he’s looking for a wife all over the place, that’s his only fault. Now they say he’ll come back to the village, and I’d say he’s tailor-made for your grand-daughter.’

‘Didn’t they say he wanted to take your niece la Vespa?’

‘You too!’ Dumb bell began to shout. ‘Who says so? That’s all gossip; he wants to get his hands on my niece’s smallholding, that’s what he wants. A fine business, eh? What would you say if I sold your house to someone else?’

Here Piedipapera, who was always hanging around the square, and as soon as two or three people were having a discussion he tried to muscle in to act the broker, promptly poked his nose in as well.

‘Now la Vespa has Brasi Cipolla on her hands, since the marriage with St. Agatha went up in smoke, I’ve seen them with my own eyes, going together along the path by the stream; I’d gone there to look for two smooth stones for the plaster for that leaking trough. And she was acting so coy, the little flirt! with the corners of her handkerchief over her mouth, and saying to him:

‘By this blessed medal I’ve got here, it’s not true. Pooh! You make me sick when you talk to me about that doting old uncle of mine!’ She was talking about you, zio Crocifisso; and she let him touch her medal, and you know where she keeps it!’ Dumb bell was acting dumb, and shaking his head, dumbfounded. Piedipapera went on:

‘And Brasi said: ‘So what shall we do?’ ‘I don’t know what you’re going to do,’ answered la Vespa, ‘but if it is true that you love me, you won’t leave me in this state, because when I don’t see you my heart feels as if it’s split in two, like two segments of orange, and if they marry you to someone else I swear by this blessed medal I have here, that you’ll see something serious happen in this village, and I’ll throw myself into the sea with all my clothes.’ Brasi scratched his head, and went on:

‘As far as I’m concerned, I want nothing more; but what will my father do?’

‘Let’s leave the village,’ she said, ‘as if we were man and wife, and when the damage is done, your father will have to say yes. He has no other sons and he doesn’t know who to leave his property to.”

‘Pretty goings on, eh,’ Zio Crocifisso started to shriek, forgetting that he was deaf.

‘That witch has the devil tweaking her under her skirts! And to think that they wear the holy medal of the Virgin round their necks! Padron Fortunato will have to be told, and no two ways about it. We have our standards, don’t we? If padron Fortunato doesn’t keep a watch out, that witch of a niece of mine will quite simply rob him of his son, poor thing!’

And he ran off down the street like a mad man.

‘I beg of you, don’t say that I saw them,’ shouted Piedipapera, in pursuit. ‘I don’t want to put myself in the wrong with that viper of a niece of yours.’

In an instant zio Crocifisso had the whole village topsy turvy, and he even wanted to send the guards and don Michele to put la Vespa into custody; after all, she was his niece, and it was his duty to take care of her; and don Michele was paid for that, to watch over decent folks’ interests. People enjoyed seeing padron Cipolla running this way and that with his tongue lolling, and they relished the fact that that great ninny of a son of his should have got tangled up with la Vespa, while it seemed that not even Victor Emanuel’s daughter was good enough for him, because he had jilted the Malavoglia girl without even so much as a by your leave.

But there had been no black handkerchief for Mena, when Brasi jilted her; indeed now she had started to sing again while she was at her loom, or helping to salt anchovies on fine summer evenings. This time St. Francis really had sent good luck. There had been an anchovy season such as had never been seen, real bounty for the whole village; the boats returned laden, with the men singing and waving their caps from afar, to signàl to the women as they waited with their babies in their arms.

The retailers came in crowds from the town, on foot, on horseback, by cart, and Piedipapera didn’t have time to scratch his head. Towards evensong there was a positive market on the seashore, and shouts and racketting of all kinds. In the Malavoglia’s courtyard the light stayed on till midnight, almost like a party. The girls sang, and the neighbours came to help, because there was enough for everyone to earn something, and there were four rows of barrels all ready lined up along the wall, with their stones weighing down on top.

‘This is when I’d like Zuppidda here,’ exclaimed ’Ntoni, sitting on the stones so that he too could make weight, with his hands under his armpits.

‘Now you can see that we too are doing all right, and we don’t give a hang about don Michele and don Silvestro!’

The retailers pursued padron ’Ntoni waving their money. Piedipapera tugged him by the sleeve, saying to him:

‘Now is the time to make a profit.’ But padron ’Ntoni held out. ‘We’ll talk about it at All Saints; then the anchovies will get a better price. No, I don’t want any deposits, I don’t want to tie my hands! I know how things go.’ And he brought down his fist on the barrels, saying to his grandchildren:

‘This represents your house, and Mena’s dowry.