Yes, previously she had dropped him, as one says, for me; for the nice young officer... And look, Valdoggi! If that fool had not gone away for a year, thereby giving me the opportunity to fall in love with Margherita (unfortunately for me), by now those two no doubt would be man and wife, and probably happy. Yes, I knew them both well. They were made to get along marvelously. Look, I can picture quite well the life they would have lived together. Actually, I do picture it. Whenever I want, I can picture them both alive down in Potenza in their house. I even know the house where they would have gone to live, as soon as they were married. All I have to do is place Margherita, alive, in the various events of life as I have seen her so often. I shut my eyes and see her in those rooms with windows open to the sun. She's in there singing with her pretty voice, all trills and modulation. How she sang! She held her little hands interlocked on top of her blond hair, like this. 'Good morning, happy bride!' They would not have had children, you know? Margherita couldn't have any. See? If there is madness in all of this, this is my madness... I can see everything that would have been, if what had happened had not happened. I see it, I live in it; actually, I live only in it... The if, in a word, the if, understand?"

He became silent for quite a spell. Then he exclaimed with such exasperation that Valdoggi turned around to look at him, believing that he was crying:

"And what if they had sent me to Udine?"

This time the old woman did not repeat 'Destiny!' but she certainly uttered it in her heart. And so much so, that she shook her head sadly and sighed softly, keeping her eyes continuously lowered and moving under her chin all the silver tassels of those two ribbons that looked like they were taken from a funeral wreath.

When I Was Crazy

1. The Small Coin

First of all, let me preface my story by stating that I am now sane. Oh, as far as that goes, poor too. And bald. But when I was still myself, I mean, when I was the respected and wealthy Mr. Fausto Bandini, and had a head full of magnificent hair, I was crazy, crazy beyond the shadow of a doubt. And of course, a little leaner. And yet I still have these same eyes that have remained since then, frightened eyes set in a face completely marked with lines which reflect the chronic feelings of compassion that afflicted me.

Once in a while, in moments of distraction, I have relapses. But they are only flashes that Marta, my sensible wife, quickly puts an end to, with certain terrible little words of hers.

The other night, for example.

Things of small consequence, mind you. What can ever happen to a sane poor man (or to a poor sane man) reduced to living in a more orderly fashion than does an ant?

The finer the cloth, the more delicate the embroidery, I once read, I don't know where. But, first of all, one has to know how to embroider.

I was returning home. I believe no one can bother you more than an insistent beggar, when you don't have a single coin in your pocket, and yet he can tell by the expression on your face that you're quite willing to give him one.