Simone Lampo went over to the little stove to light a fire and make some coffee, but Nazzaro took hold of his arm and pulled him away vehemently.

"Coffee? Who needs coffee, Don Simo'! The fire is already lit. I lit it last night. Come on, let's run and see the other sight over there!"

"The other sight?" asked Simone Lampo, stunned. "What sight?"

"One over here, and one over there!" said Nazzaro. "The atonement for all those birds you ate. 'Set fire to the straw,' isn't that what I told you? Let's go saddle the donkey and then you'll see."

Simone Lampo felt a flush come over his face. He was afraid he understood all too well. He took hold of Nazzaro by the arm and, shaking him, shouted:

"What have you done?"

"I burned the grain in your field," answered Nazzaro calmly.

Simone Lampo turned pale at first, then, transfigured by his rage, hurled himself at the lunatic.

"You! The grain? Murderer! Are you speaking seriously? You burned my grain?"

Nazzaro pushed him away with a violent shove.

"Don Simo', what sort of game are we playing? Do you say one thing and mean together? You told me: 'Set fire to the straw,' and for the good of your soul I did set fire to the straw!"

"But now I'm going to send you to jail!" roared Simone Lampo.

Nazzaro burst out in a great laugh and said to him plainly:

"You're mad! Your soul, huh? Is that the way you want to save your soul? Nothing doing, Don Simo'! We won't do anything about it."

"But you've ruined me, murderer!" shouted Simone Lampo in another tone of voice, and now on the verge of crying. "How could I imagine that this is what you meant, that is, that you intended to burn my grain? How can I pay the tax to the bishop, the tax that weighs heavily on my field?"

Nazzaro looked at him with an air of disdainful pity.

"Infant! Sell the house, since it's of no use to you, and free your field from the tax. It's quickly done."

"Yes," sneered Simone Lampo, "and in the meantime what will I eat, now that I don't have my birds and my grain anymore?"

"I'll take care of that," answered Nazzaro calmly and in all seriousness. "Won't I be at your side? We have the donkey and we have the land. We'll do some hoeing and we'll eat. Take courage, Don Simo'!"

Simone Lampo was amazed to see the serene confidence of the lunatic who remained standing there in front of him, with his hand raised in a gesture of disdainful nonchalance and a smile of keen lightheartedness both in his blue eyes and on his lips which emerged from his long, thick, wadded beard.

A Horse in the Moon

In September, on that arid plateau of blue loamy soil whose crumbling cliffs fall sheer to the African sea, the countryside, already parched from the furious rays of the long summer sun, was gloomy. It still bristled everywhere with blackened stubble, with only a few almond trees and some century-old trunks of the Saracen olive scattered here and there. Nonetheless, out of respect for the bridegroom, it had been arranged that the bridal pair would spend at least the first few days of their honeymoon in this place.

The wedding feast, held in a hall of the ancient, solitary villa, was hardly a joyful occasion for the invited guests. Not one of them managed to overcome the embarrassment, or rather the consternation, inspired by the appearance and demeanor of that plump young man, barely twenty years of age, with the flushed face and those darting eyes — small, black, and shiny like those of a madman. The young man no longer understood anything; he neither ate nor drank, and his coloring became, from one moment to the next, more and more purplish, almost black.

It was common knowledge that when he had fallen madly in love with the girl who now sat beside him as his bride, he had begun to behave irrationally, going so far as to attempt suicide. Though he was quite wealthy, being the sole heir to the ancient Berardi estate, he had wanted to marry a girl who, after all, was merely the daughter of an infantry colonel transferred to Sicily with his regiment the year before. But the colonel, who was prejudiced against the inhabitants of the island, would have preferred not to grant his consent to this marriage, so as not to have to leave his daughter there, virtually among savages.

The consternation which the appearance and demeanor of the bridegroom inspired in the guests increased the more they noticed how different the spirit of the very young bride was from his. She was still but a child, vivacious, fresh, and carefree, and it seemed that she always shook off annoying thoughts with certain sudden bursts of sprightliness at once charming, naive, and crafty. Her craftiness, however, was like that of a cheeky youngster who as yet knows nothing of the world. A half-orphan, reared from infancy without a mother, she seemed quite clearly to be entering marriage without any preparation at all. At a certain point after dinner, everyone laughed, but then felt a chill when she turned to the bridegroom and exclaimed:

"My goodness, Nino, why are you squinting so? Let me... no, you're burning! Why are your hands so hot? Feel, Papa, feel how hot his hands are. Do you think he has a fever?"

The colonel, who was on tenterhooks, hastened the departure of the guests from the villa. Of course, he did so in order to bring an end to that spectacle which he considered indecent. They all climbed aboard the six carriages. The one in which the colonel rode—the widower seated beside the groom's widowed mother-proceeded slowly down the road and lagged a little behind because the bridal couple, she on the one side and he on the other, each holding hands with his respective parent, had wanted to follow a short distance on foot up to where the highway that led to the distant city began. At that point the colonel leaned down to kiss his daughter on the head. He coughed and muttered:

"Goodbye, Nino."

"Goodbye, Ida," said the bridegroom's mother laughingly; and their carriage moved on at a fast trot in order to catch up with the other ones transporting the guests.

The newlyweds stood there a while to follow it with their eyes.